**Chapter 29: Holiday Surprises and Heartbreaks** As December hurtles to a close, the festive spirit sweeps over me like a warm blanket. The holidays burst into life, bringing with them three glorious weeks filled with family, laughter, and an endless buffet of holiday treats. This break is a cherished time spent with my dad, but first, I'm bound for Connecticut to steal a couple of days with Dean. His family is off to St. Bart’s for a tropical getaway, leaving me with this precious window to be with him until he returns to New York for our fleeting final days of freedom together. Dean had extended an invitation to join them in paradise—a tempting offer, one I struggled to decline. But while the thought of basking under the sun sounded dreamy, Brooklyn calls to me more strongly. Who knows where life will lead me post-graduation? I have to squeeze every precious moment with my dad while I still can. Still, the twinge of sadness bites as I bid farewell to Connecticut. Despite my initial misgivings, Dean’s family turned out to be refreshingly genuine. Contrary to my skepticism about the lives of filthy-rich lawyers (I mean, they own three houses, possibly more), Dean's parents were remarkably down to earth. His mother, Lori, opted for comfort over luxury, donning jeans and flannel throughout my stay, revealing that her greatest joy during time off was trading her corporate attire for something cozier. She’s kept her maiden name and practices law, a testament to her fierce independence. Dean's father, Peter, mirrored that easygoing vibe. He’d sneak in a little work each morning, but his afternoons were filled with laughter and family activities—skiing with Summer, joining in on hockey games with his sons on their private rink. Yes, a skating rink right in their backyard. And Nick, Dean's brother, was one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met. He brought along his new girlfriend, a lawyer, who initially appeared tense but soon revealed her warm side. Then there was Summer, whose no-filter personality, vibrant laughter, and larger-than-life presence made me feel almost envious of her energy. Honestly, at times, I thought I might love her almost as much as I loved Dean. Although leaving the Heyward-Di Laurentises felt bittersweet, the excitement of seeing my dad electrified me. I splurged on a cab ride back to Brooklyn, and as late afternoon sun filtered through the city, I rolled my oversized suitcase through the familiar front door and called out for him. Dad lounged in the living room, clad in sweats and engrossed in a book titled *The Physics of Hockey*. His face brightened with a proud smile as I entered. He fussed over my arrival, prompting a flurry of questions about his health, before shifting the conversation towards my delightful visit in Connecticut. When I mentioned how much fun I had, his expression dulled slightly, igniting a flicker of disappointment in my heart. We were on regular call terms so he was aware of my relationship with Dean, but his silence on the subject had been deafening. Finally, the dam broke. "He’s not long-term, AJ," Dad murmured, a weary sigh escaping him. "I hope you know that." His blunt honesty cut deep. While Dean and I weren't planning wedding bells anytime soon, I hadn’t considered a breakup imminent. We’re young and head over heels in love; of course, challenges lie ahead with me in New York or LA and him in Cambridge for the next couple of years, but I believed we could weather any storm together. Once Dean wraps up law school, he'd have the freedom to practice anywhere, including right beside me. And yet, Dad's skepticism hung heavy in the air between us. "He could be,” I countered softly, “long-term, I mean." Dad shook his head firmly, his voice softening only slightly. “Do you want to know the most important lesson I learned after eighteen years with your mom?” I inched closer on the couch, eager to hear him out. “Relationships can be a real challenge sometimes.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Mom said the same thing.” The mention of her sent a dull ache through me; I remembered our last heartfelt conversation. "She told me you both faced some hard times in your marriage." Dad’s pain echoed in the silence that followed. “We did. It was the traveling. Your mom gave up modeling after you were born, so she stayed home while I was away a lot.” He met my gaze fiercely. “I never strayed, AJ. That’s not where our struggles stemmed from.” “I know,” I replied, though we both understood the underlying tension. “It was damn difficult,” he continued, his voice wavering. “The long separations, those fleeting phone calls. I’d return home, and it felt like meeting a stranger all over again. We had to rebuild our connection each time. And then she got sick, and everything became ten times harder.” My throat tightened as memories of Mom's illness flooded back. I was only twelve when cancer gripped her. I recall begging Dad to let me accompany them on those dreaded chemo appointments, carelessly shielding me from her suffering while they sent me to my aunt's. But those protective gestures couldn’t erase the images burned into my memory. “AJ...” Dad’s voice cleared, shifting the focus once more. “I know boys like Dean. They’re not equipped for life’s hard blows. What if—you know—a sickness struck? Or a life-altering challenge? If this economy collapses and takes everything away from him?” The disdain dripped from his words. “He’ll buckle under pressure like a flimsy tent during a storm.” “That's not true!” I protested. “Dean is a good man, and he’s good for me.” “You’re kidding yourself, AJ. Yes, he seems perfect—now. But once real life hits? The moment you're faced with something ugly, he’ll disappear, retreating back into his cozy bubble. He doesn’t handle the ugly side of reality well." "You’re wrong,” I whispered, feeling my heart race. “I hate to say this to you, sweetheart,” Dad said, pain etching his features. "You think it doesn’t hurt me to see that expression on your face? But I want you to be ready for the moment when it happens." He exhaled sharply, resigned. “Mark my words. You won’t be able to rely on him. Better to come to terms with that sooner rather than later.” I refused to let my father's harsh warning—and unfair assessment of Dean—dull the holiday spirit. I understood his worries; he wanted to shield me from heartache. In that blunt manner that was quintessentially my dad, he was looking out for me. What he failed to see, however, was that Dean had already been there for me when it mattered most. He rushed to support me the night Sean's vicious words shattered my confidence. I ground my teeth and chose to set aside my doubts about the relationship that filled me with joy. I was determined to embrace the joy of the season. Christmas Eve—also my birthday—arrived, and I found myself curled up at home beside Dad. True to tradition, we tuned into *It’s a Wonderful Life*, and of course, the tears flowed freely as the film unfolded. Afterward, we sipped hot chocolate as he handed me his usual birthday gift—three hundred bucks scribbled with a note challenging me to “buy something pretty.” Gift-giving wasn't Dad's strong suit, but I cherished it, knowing I had the only gift that truly mattered: my dad, vibrant and with me in the moment. Just days later, Dean returned from St. Bart’s, an aura of relaxation and a warm sun-kissed glow enveloping him as he pulled up in front of the brownstone. It struck me as odd that he opted to drive instead of letting me hop on the train; I voiced my curiosity, and he simply grinned, “We’re not heading to Manhattan. I have a birthday surprise for you.” “You already surprised me,” I chimed back, recalling the incredible call and steamy moments we shared while he was away. That night had left me grateful that Dad was a sound sleeper. “This one is even better,” he assured me before planting a swift kiss on my lips and pulling away from the curb. "I missed you." That goofy smile returned to my face as I replied, "I missed you too." With a wink, he reached for my hand, placing it on his lap, where it met a decidedly enthusiastic response. "Little Dean missed you as well," he teased. “I can see that,” I laughed, rubbing against him, eliciting a groan. “Keep doing that, and I’ll lose control,” he warned, his voice thick with anticipation. “Is that a challenge?” I asked, eyes sparkling with mischief as I lowered his zipper, slipping my hand inside. The heat radiating off him almost took my breath away. I barely had time to tease him before he gasped, “I’m coming.” I couldn't allow him to ruin his pants, likely more expensive than my entire college tuition. Instead, I leaned down to indulge, relishing the heated moment as waves of pleasure flooded through him. “Sweet Jesus,” he murmured after, brushing a gentle hand against my cheek, his eyes softening. “I fucking love you, baby." “Naah, you just love road head,” I quipped, chuckling. He shook his head, defiant. “No, I love you.” At that moment, my heart soared higher than it ever had. Settling back into my seat, I gazed out as we crossed the bridge toward New Jersey, unaware of where we were headed but thrilled to follow Dean wherever he might lead. I’d accompany him into the depths of the earth if he asked me to be the Meg Ryan to his Tom Hanks, or even the Sam to his Frodo. Finally, he broke into my daydreams. “We’re here,” he announced. The sudden transition jolted me back to the present. Dean parked the BMW in front of an unassuming building nestled in the industrial heart of Newark. I squinted through the windshield to decipher the sign, and before I knew it, I inhaled sharply, astonished. I whirled around to him. He wore a beaming grin. “Oh my God. Really?!” “Yup.” He hopped out and rounded the car, swinging open my door with a flourish. I took his hand eagerly, practically skipping toward the glass double doors, an overwhelming sense of excitement churning in my chest. As we entered the lobby of the dance studio, I shot him a playful look. “But I thought you said you didn’t want to salsa dance? You’re only supposed to do what you want, right?” He shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes twinkling. “I am doing what I want.” My mind reeled as I awaited his explanation, disbelief sweetening the air. “I’m making you happy.” The word "squish" could describe the sensation blooming in my heart, overflowing with love and gratitude for this earnest guy who continually surprised me.* --- **Dean:** Life was calling, a relentless reminder of responsibilities pressing against the joyful backdrop of the holidays. As much as I loved the sandy beaches, reconnecting with my family, and the thrill of surprising AJ with dance lessons, the time had come to slip back into reality. My first week back on campus was a bustling whirlwind, crammed with hockey practice, classes, and coaching the Hurricanes, each moment pulling me further from the holiday spirit. Luckily, Allie’s schedule was equally jam-packed, so our sex life revolved around hasty encounters throughout the week, but they still kept the flames flickering. Another Saturday rolled in, and to our collective frustration, the team lost yet another home game. The word “playoffs” was altogether absent from conversations, a grim acknowledgment of our fate. But I continued working closely with Hunter. Regardless of how the current season unfolded—spoiler: it wouldn’t—we needed to prepare him for Briar and his potential role as a team leader. To my surprise, Coach O’Shea, who had been surprisingly upbeat, approved an hour of extra ice time on Sunday night, which Hunter and I fully utilized. As I drove home after our practice, a good mood enveloped me. I was excited—tonight, Allie was spending the night, and I craved some quality time with her, the kind that’d knock our previous hurried escapades into oblivion. Lost in my thoughts, I entered the kitchen only to notice the familiar — and decidedly unusual — sight of my roommates gathered around the table. Even Tucker, who had been missing in action since the semester kicked off, seemed present, his presence a mystery. I raised an eyebrow, suppressing the urge to tease him and his undisclosed love life — whether girlfriend or boyfriend, the air of secrecy was thick around him. “What’s up?” I asked casually, only to be met with a blanket of silence. My heart sank further as their ominous expressions tacitly confirmed that something was deeply wrong. The moisture pooling in Logan's eyes sent alarm bells ringing in my chest. “What’s going on?” I pressed, unease creeping into my voice. The silence stretched, tightening my gut with dread. Logan scrubbed at his eyes, visibly struggling to maintain composure. “Seriously, if someone doesn’t tell me what’s happening right this fucking second—” “Coach called,” Garrett interrupted, somber and low. My mind raced, hands turning to ice as anxiety took hold. "What’s wrong?" “Just got off the phone with Patrick Deluca, and—” Patrick Deluca? The football team’s coach? What could he possibly want with Coach Jensen? My confusion morphed into panic as I focused on Garrett’s tense expression. He elaborated carefully, “Deluca called because he knows we’re friends with Beau—” Beau? "Is this about him?" I interjected. "What happened?" All eyes shifted, avoiding my gaze. Garrett inhaled sharply, his eyes darting away as he prepared to deliver the worst of news. “He… ah… died.” The world came crashing down in an instant, the overwhelming weight of his words paralyzing me.