CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

He hadn't seen her in the Sculpture Gardens for weeks, so he went to her spot. Dropping his pack on the ground, he pulled out his phone, and found the right number. Head still foggy from pulling another all-nighter-he still hadn't caught up from the week of school he'd missed-he tipped his head back and drank in the fresh, crisp air.

When he was a kid-couldn't remember the exact age-some guy his mom brought home needed the bathroom, but Dylan had been using it. In a rage, the guy had slammed the door on Dylan's arm. A couple of times. He'd heard the snap, felt the staggering pain. The music had been loud that night, so no one'd heard him scream. He'd crawled into bed, but the pain had kept him up all night.

He remembered lying there, wide-eyed from a pain so intense it made him sweat profusely, soaking the sheet. He remembered wondering when it would pass, thinking it had to pass.

Turned out he'd broken the arm in several places. But that pain? He lived with it now. Only instead of physical, it was his heart. And it wasn't getting better. Nor would it.

Because Nicole O'Donnell was his deep down. And he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't deny his deep down one more second.

He had to make the call.

Punching in the numbers, he wondered how the man would respond. Would he tear him a new asshole? Or see his name and just ignore the call? But Dylan realized right then it didn't matter how the man responded because it was time. And if this guy wouldn't help him, he'd go somewhere else.

Shit had to change, and it had to change now.

"Yello?"

"Mr. O'Donnell? Bill? This is Dylan McCaffrey. I was hoping I could talk to you."

The last time he'd been in this house it had smelled stale, like rotting gym socks. That was the day he'd come back to school, only to find his roommates blocking him from going upstairs. James had packed up his duffel and told him to hurry up and get his shit together because they missed him and wanted him back.

That was when he thought he could have school, but not Nicole. He couldn't mess with her again-not unless he was absolutely sure he could be with her.

Today, the scent of lavender filled the air. A few people sat in the living room, conversation halting as they noticed him. Last time they'd formed a vigilante group, ready to kick his ass out. Today, they watched.

Heading for the stairs, he noticed the boxes on the kitchen counter, waiting for delivery. He wondered who'd taken over his job but felt a little punch of excitement because he'd only worked peripherally for Sweet Treats before-but now? Now he was all-in.

He made it up the stairs without any confrontations. Kicking the door open with his boot, he tossed the duffle bag onto his bed, dropped the backpack on the floor, and dumped the textbooks on his desk.

James, typing away on his laptop at his desk, twisted around. "Give me one more sec-oh." Surprise turned into disapproval, as he took in Dylan's belongings. "What's happening here?"

"I'm back."

"Oh, no, you're not." James got up, eyeing Dylan's belongings.

"Forget it. I'm not living in that hell hole in town anymore."

"You're also not living across the hall from the girl you destroyed."

"My room."

"Oh, that's just great. You've moved on, so you think you can just come back? God, how did I miss this prickish side of you?"

"Moved on? Are you fucking kidding me? I'll never move on from her. Never." He unzipped his bag and dug around for his sheets, tossing them on the mattress. "Get your shit off my bed."

"I'm not letting you back in here. You will seriously have to kill me first."

"I'm going to fix it. I'm fixing everything."

Dylan waited, watching emotion play across his roommate's features. Until James softened. "I'm not sure that's possible."

"Anything's possible if you hang in long enough."

"What changed?" He sat on the edge of his bed and crossed a leg over his knee. "Wait a minute, what have you done?"

"What I should have done a long damn time ago."

The sight of her on the concrete bench made his pulse quicken. She sat huddled in her puffy yellow parka, mittens, snow boots, and scarf, and he smiled. She wouldn't talk to him at home. She ignored him when they passed each other on campus, but he'd have her full attention here.

Gloved hands wrapped around a large paper coffee cup, she had her eyes closed as she breathed in the steam.

"Hey."

Her body jolted, the hot liquid lurching out the tiny opening. At first she looked angry to see him, but then she just looked annoyed. "What do you want?"

Same attitude she'd given him the past two weeks. "I have something to say to you. And before you leave, I know this is your special place, so I won't be long." He sat down beside her. "I talked to your dad last week."

"My dad? Why?"

"I needed his help."

"Okay." She looked away. "Well, I hope he helped you."

"He did. But it's because I was ready for it."

"Good for you." Clearly, she wanted him to leave.

"I want you to know that I'm not transferring."

She held up a hand. "I'm glad my dad could help you, and I hope your life works out, but it's not my business anymore. I don't want to hear about it."

"Your dad said something to me over the break. Remember when he overheard my conversation with Kelsi, and he took me golfing?"

She gave no acknowledgement. Her cheeks matched the pink tip of her nose and her dark hair flipped out of the blue beanie that had a big furry pom pom on top, and she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. And he wouldn't quit. He just wouldn't quit till he won her back.

"On the way home that day, he said that when a kid grows up with parents like ours, we become anxious. For you, it was about food. Only you channeled a bad symptom of anxiety-hoarding-into something really good. You bake magical desserts. Well, that and you've made it your life's work to make sure people don't go hungry." He smiled, but she remained unmoved. "I didn't do that. I just held on tight to the idea that if I continued to control things, I could keep the worst thing from happening."

She let out the faintest exhalation.

"He told me that the only way to overcome my anxiety was to break away from the situation causing it. Unless I did that, I'd never have perspective. I'd just be in this endless loop of enabling. Nothing would get better, nothing would change. As you've pointed out so many times."

"Dylan..." She sounded tired, uninterested. Fortunately, he knew her better. Knew her enough to know the way she clutched the cup, the way her brow furrowed, meant she was very much interested in what he had to say.

"When I came back to school, after I ended things with you-"

"You didn't bother ending anything. You left me on Avenue of the Americas on New Year's Eve. I never heard from you again."

"I did that." He nodded. What could he say? "Not because my feelings for you changed, but because I felt guilt. At the time I actually believed that if I gave up my happiness, I could keep my mom alive. Weird, but true. When Kelsi told me my mom had tried to kill herself, I thought it was because I'd chosen you over her. The hit of anxiety made me...well, I couldn't think. I just acted. I went home, right back to the life I'd left. Because my worst fear had come true. I'd chosen my own happiness over hers and nearly cost my mom her life. But your dad was right. I needed to come back here, get away from everything, just be alone-"

"You've hardly been alone. Nor have you gotten away from anything-you've just recreated your life in Gun Powder."

"Yes, I know that, Nicole. It felt less like a betrayal-like I hadn't really left my mom and my friends behind-when I hung around people I thought were like me. My point is that in the time away, I thought about what you said, about the real choice I had to make. And I realized that letting guilt inform my decisions was going to fuck things up for everybody. So, I talked to your dad. I told him everything." He let out a breath, feeling lighter, more confident. "Your dad's a good guy."

"I know."

An icy wind cut through the garden, and he had to lower his head, turn his eyes away from the gust. "I cut her off, Nic. I changed my phone number." He let out a breath. "I told her I loved her and that, when she got better, to let Uncle Zach know so I could come see her."

She nodded, deep sadness in her eyes. "That's great. Really great. I'm happy for you." And then she got up, a rustle of bulky material, and she walked away from him.

He saw the moment she recognized him through the swarm of bodies leaving their classes and heading off in different directions. Nicole averted her gaze, as usual, but this time he blocked her.

"I need to talk to you."

Flanked by her friends, she easily sidestepped him. "I've got to get to Psych."

A hand on her shoulder, he pulled her back. "It's important."

She stopped, turned toward him, looked him straight in the eye, and said, "I asked you to leave me alone, and I meant it."

He forced himself to ignore the sharp stab of pain her brutal words delivered in such a soft voice. "I got a call from your dad."

"Why? Is there something wrong?" Digging into her bag for her phone, a look of concern gripped her features when she read the screen. "He called a half hour ago." She quietly told her friends she'd catch up with them later, as she hit her dad's number. "Did something happen?" she asked Dylan. He led her aside, out of the flow of passersby.

Her attention snapped to the phone. "Dad?" After a few moments of listening, shock hit her, sending her shoulders back, her eyes wide. "The hospital? What happened? Is he all right?"

He doubted Bill had gotten new information on Brandon's condition in the twenty minutes since they'd talked, but he tensed, waiting for her reaction.

"Oh, my God." Wincing, she placed a hand on her chest, like she'd taken a deep breath that hurt too much to expel. "Is he going to be all right?" For just one brief moment, her gaze locked with his-his heart lurched with hope that she'd turn to him-but then she looked away.

"Yes. Okay. Yes. I'm coming home now." Anger replaced worry, and she narrowed her eyes at Dylan. "No, Dad. I can drive myself." She started walking away. "I don't need him."

Oh, but she did. Not a chance in hell he'd let her drive five hours home in icy conditions when she was freaking out about her unconscious brother.

She grew even more agitated. "Forget it. Don't worry how I get there. Let me go so I can pack a bag. Okay, bye. Wait. Dad? If you find out anything-anything at all-let me know. Okay, thanks." She dumped the phone in her purse and took off across the quad.

With a hand on her shoulder, Dylan gently steered her toward the parking lot. "I've already packed you a bag."

"You what?" She shrugged away from his touch. "You went into my room? You can't do that."

"Well, I did. Now let's go."

Her eyes flashed. "No. I'll get James." She veered left, toward the Science buildings-he didn't know why, since James didn't take any science classes-and then stopped short, turning in a slow circle, as if disoriented.

"We don't have time to find James right now." His gut ached that she needed James and not him.

Her eyes filled with tears. "Okay." She started toward the parking lot. "Why did my dad call you?"

"You weren't answering your phone."

"I had it on silent."

"And he wanted me to drive you."

"You're not driving me. I can drive myself."

"Probably not a good idea in these conditions." Sheets of ice covered the roads.

"Then I'll get James."

"James is from Atlanta. He's not used to driving in this."

"Oh, my God, Dylan, I can't handle this right now. Just go." She scrounged around in her purse and wound up dropping her phone. They both lowered to get it, cracking heads. "Dammit, Dylan, just leave me alone." Clutching the phone to her chest, she inhaled. "Thank you for your help, but I don't need you anymore." She pulled keys out of her bag and then headed off. But she faltered, looking around. He could tell she'd forgotten where she'd parked.

He wrapped a hand around her waist, gently tugged. "Come on. Let's go see your brother."

"I feel sick. I think I'm going to be sick."

He suspected adrenaline was to blame, and he didn't really think she'd throw up, so he guided her to the parking lot where he'd found her Jetta.

At the car, he popped the trunk, tossed the bag he'd left on the ground into it. Then, he met her at the driver's side. "Get in, please."

"I don't want you."

"I know that. I brought your pillow. You can sleep. We don't have to talk."

"You don't get to take care of me."

He smiled because she made it sound like the privilege it was. "I know. Get in the car. Let's go see Brandon."

Saying his name out loud did the trick. She hurried around to the passenger side.

Dylan cranked the ignition and flipped on the defroster. Then, he grabbed the scraper from the backseat. After de-icing the windshield, he pulled her pillow out of the carry-on bag he'd packed and handed it to her.

Once on the road, she bunched the pillow in her lap. "What was he doing home? He should be at school."

"I don't know." He turned on the wipers to remove the melting ice. His skin burned as it made the transition from cold to warm.

"What if he doesn't wake up?" The anguish in her tone killed him. He reached out and cupped her knee. She tensed but didn't bat his hand away. "Who plays hockey in the middle of the night?"

"He'll wake up."

She set her phone in the cup holder. "They don't know anything." She tugged off her gloves, rubbing her hands together. "Oh, my God. What if there's a blood clot or something. People die that way."