Three days after I stormed out of Dean’s house, throwing my heart’s frustrations into the atmosphere like confetti, I find myself in the Coffee Hut on campus, awaiting his arrival. The moment he steps through that door, the world around us seems to halt. Every eye in the room is drawn to him, a magnetic pull that I can’t help but feel myself. And oh my God, there he is—the Dean I fell in love with. His green eyes twinkle with a playful charm as he strides to the counter, placing his order. His blond hair, tousled just enough, frames that chiseled face, and those cargo pants? They cling to him like they were painted on. I can’t help but admire how absolutely breathtaking he looks. But beyond his looks, there’s a different energy today. I can see in his eyes that he hasn't been drinking; perhaps it's been days since he last touched a drink. The news had hit me hard—a cruel strike to my already battered heart. Just last night, Hannah had informed me that Dean had failed a drug test and was kicked off the team. Though I knew this wouldn’t bode well for him—hockey is his life—my heart still fractured at the thought. Excessive partying always carries a price, and Dean had been dancing dangerously close to that edge. When he slides into the seat opposite me, I prepare myself for the conversation I know is coming. I expect tension, anger, anything but his surprising indifference to the situation. He simply shrugs when I bring up the drug test. “I had it coming,” he admits, a shadow crossing his face. “But I didn’t come here to talk about the team. I wanted to apologize to you.” Those words resonate deep within me, echoing an all-too-familiar pain. I nod, knowing this moment mirrors another from just months prior, yet this iteration feels inherently more devastating. Last time it was me and Sean, and while that heartache still stung, nothing could compare to the tumult of emotions that Dean elicits within me. I'm hopelessly, desperately in love with him. “I… I’m so sorry, baby. I fucked up.” His fingers glide around his coffee cup, displaying a tenderness that's both familiar and heartbreaking. “I didn’t handle Beau’s death too well. Honestly, I’m still not sure how to handle it. But at least I’m sober.” With each word, my heart feels heavy. “I’m sorry I missed your play. I’m sorry I put you in a position where you had to make excuses for me, with Coach Ellis and—” his voice falters, filled with self-reproach, “—Dakota. I’m going to apologize to them too, but I wanted to see you first.” My heart twists as I recall his calls and texts buzzing my phone for three long days. Each time, I felt too fragile to respond, my emotions raw and exposed. Dean gulps his coffee, his gaze weighed down by shame. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” Oh, the turmoil within! My heart has recently survived a hurricane, a storm propelled by Dean himself. I still can’t forget that night, standing in front of the crowd and searching in vain for his familiar face, only to return home and find him lost in clouds of smoke, high as a kite. Could I forgive him? “Of course I can,” I whisper, recognizing the flicker of hope in his eyes—withering as quickly as it ignited. “But this isn’t just about forgiveness.” “Then what’s it about?” “Did you ask me here to get back together?” I meet his gaze, trembling under the weight of the question. He nods slowly, every line of his face softening in a vulnerable glow. “I love you,” he rasps. “I don’t want to be apart from you.” A wave of agony unfurls inside me. As much as I long to entwine with him, I know that I can’t, not right now. “I... can’t be with you,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. He lets out an anguished sound, a mixture of disbelief and despair. “At least not right now,” I continue, gripping my coffee cup tightly, trying to draw warmth from its surface. “I’ve never been alone, Dean. It’s always been one relationship after another. I don’t know how to be on my own, and I think I need to figure that out. You said it yourself—you’re still dealing with your own loss. You have people you need to apologize to. So while you deal with your stuff, I’ll deal with mine.” His jaw tightens, and I can sense the storm of emotions beneath his calm facade. I brace myself for an argument, longing for the seasoned Dean, the one who never backs down. Yet he surprises me with a simple, “How long?” I hesitate, biting my lip. “I don’t know—maybe a few weeks? A month? I just need to be on my own right now. No boyfriend. Just me.” Sadness washes over his features. “Okay.” Questions flicker in his eyes—Is this a break or a real end? Did I shatter what we had? Do you still love me? But the words never escape his lips. Instead, he softly murmurs, “Take as much time as you need, baby.” --- **Dean** I anticipated Allie would say one of two things: "I’m done with you, Dean," or "I forgive you, Dean." However, this torturous limbo was unexpected. A breakup or a tearful reunion seemed more certain than this aching void that now stretched before us. But fine; if she needs space, I’ll respect that. The heartfelt kiss we shared just before parting lingers in my mind, a small victory in this uncertain moment. When I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, I felt her lean into the caress—a reminder that she still cares. I hold onto that as I plunge into my apology quest, armed with a literal list of people who deserve my remorse. I check off names like a man possessed. The first few are easy, accomplished with almost no effort. I encounter Hannah first, who is still simmering from the chaos I created in her best friend’s life. By recounting everything I adore about Allie and promising to change, I win her forgiveness. WELLSY ✓ Next, I tackle my teammates. I might be suspended, but I can still face them. Surprisingly, they greet me with understanding; I don’t believe they carry the weight of the season anymore. Garrett assures me they’re giving it their all, but I think they’re all craving a fresh start come fall. THE TEAM ✓ My heart weighs heavy as I drive toward Hastings, my final stop being Coach Ellis. Before I even get the chance to deliver my carefully thought-out speech, he claps me on the shoulder. “Save it for the boys. Good to have you back.” COACH ELLIS ✓ Afterward, I help out with the kids' practice, and the darkness that lingers around my heart begins to lift. I glide over the ice, giving instructive tips, and for the first time in days, I feel some semblance of joy. But when I climb into the bleachers, Dakota’s presence makes my pulse quicken. Her pink notebook rests in her lap like a shield, a pencil poised—but she’s anything but welcoming. The hurt in those big blue eyes mirrors my own guilt. “So, what’s on the agenda from the evil Mrs. Klein today?” I say, my tone rough. She doesn’t respond. “I know you’re probably supposed to write a paragraph about your hero, and I’m sure I don’t qualify...but if it’s about the person you hate the most? I could probably get you ten pages of material.” A giggle escapes her, but she quickly mutes it with her hand, as if the sound were shameful. “Dakota,” I sigh, feeling like the worst version of myself. Finally, she meets my gaze, her annoyance palpable. “I’m mad at you.” “I know,” I say, swallowing my own shame. I’ve let everyone down—especially her. “I’m really sorry for disappearing, Koty. I never meant to hurt you.” The large weight of guilt settles in my gut again. I remember she lost her dad and how I might have reopened old wounds. “I didn’t handle my friend’s death very well,” I offer. “I’ve never really lost anyone close to me. I know that’s no excuse, but…” I trail off, struggling. I desperately miss Beau—the talks about everything and nothing, sharing laughs about Twilight. “I’m sorry for bailing on you, Dakota. I give you permission to punch me if that helps.” She giggles again, shaking her head. “Stop being such a girl, Dean. I like you again.” “Really?” “Uh-huh!” She blows a bubble and reminds me it’s time to help her with her assignment about her favorite movie. “Okay then, what’s your favorite?” “The Princess Diaries.” Of course, it is. “Let’s do this!” DAKOTA ✓ Back home, I find time to call Joanna Maxwell during her dinner break. Apologizing for not attending the memorial, we exchange memories of Beau—the pain lessening with every word spoken. JOANNA ✓ Finally, I bear down on the difficult call. I dial the number Miranda O’Shea, my high school ex. Fitz managed to dig it up for me; no idea how he did it, but here we are. The phone rings, stretching out painfully as silence fills the air. Just as I’m about to hang up, a breathless voice breaks the stillness. “Hello?” “Miranda?” “Who’s this?” “It’s... Dean. Di Laurentis.” The silence seems to stretch, thick and awkward. “Um, how did you get my number?” she asks softly. “A friend tracked it down.” I prepare myself for an uncomfortable confrontation, maintaining my distance from the mess of our past. “I won’t keep you long,” I say, plowing forward. “I need to apologize for what went down between us back then.” She exhales sharply, tension coating her voice. “I’m sorry too, you know. I was dealing with a lot.” Another hesitation hangs in the air. We both know the weight of unresolved feelings, like an old ghost refusing to be laid to rest. “Honestly, I’m just sorry for everything. I never meant to hurt you,” I explain, feeling the gravity of past decisions. “I’m fine. I’m graduating from Duke this spring,” she answers, excitement creeping into her tone, surprising me. We share updates, short and bittersweet, and as the call ends, I realize that chapter of my life aches to close with some semblance of peace. MIRANDA O’SHEA ✓ One last name on my list is left unchecked—the man who haunted my thoughts for far too long. Miranda’s father. Frank. I won’t bother. He’ll never accept me, nor do I owe him anything. I have enough to work through without tackling that particular beast. --- Another week passes. Allie remains in her world, and I exist in mine. We exchange brief texts—nothing more than casual check-ins. Meanwhile, every hour stretches as I yearn to hold her, to kiss her, to make love to her once more. But patience is a promise I made, and I respect that boundary. Yet, I can’t resist poking Hannah for updates. I hear Allie aced her screenwriting class and even indulged in some bright green nails. My spirits lift momentarily with each nugget of joy I discover. The last time Hannah reveals Allie flew to LA, my heart plummets. Has she left for good? But Hannah quickly reassures me. The folks at Fox want her to audition in person. Can you even know the pride that swells within my chest? I text her a congratulation, and she responds hours later, saying she’s about to board her flight home and promises we’ll talk soon. I prepare for my own journey, flying out of Logan Airport on Saturday morning. New York awaits; I’ve one final item to cross off my list, and I’m determined to make it count.