**Chapter 34** “You can’t possibly turn down that role!” Hannah’s disbelief slices through the air as she glares at me, her eyes wide with indignation. “Why not?” I counter, feeling the weight of her expectation. “Because it’s a leading part in a sitcom! What if it becomes a smash hit? You could snag an Emmy!” I take a slow sip of my coffee, the warm liquid grounding me. Deep down, I know I’m being absurd. Ira had already spilled his own disbelief earlier, pleading with me to accept this opportunity. Yet when it comes to my career, I’ve always trusted my instincts, and right now, they’re screaming that this role isn’t for me. “I haven’t made a final decision,” I say, trying to project confidence. “They’ve given me until Wednesday.” It’s Saturday—the clock is ticking, four whole days to mull over this dilemma. Yet, a nagging instinct warns me there’s nothing to deliberate. A part of me is tempted to reach out to Dean, to solicit his counsel. After all, I usually run my choices past him, just like I did with Fletch and Sean. But I force myself to pause. No one else can decide this for me. It’s my choice alone. Honestly, I’ve savored the solitude these past few weeks. I relish the freedom to ponder my own life for a change. But even so, I miss Dean. Oh, how I miss him. I’ve been bombarding Hannah with inquiries, and she assured me he’s been keeping busy with the Hurricanes, even making a few joyous outings with the guys to Malone’s. As far as she knows, it’s just been a couple of beers. No scandalous photos of him with other girls have surfaced on his social media, but a flicker of anxiety still gnaws at me. Dean is, without a doubt, the most irresistibly charming guy I’ve ever encountered. I find myself praying he’s keeping his hands to himself, because the thought of him with someone else is unbearable. I didn’t bring up the topic while we were at the coffee shop, hoping he’d honor this time apart and refrain from wandering. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to think so, but I love him fiercely, and if I find out some girl tried to snatch him away, I’d unleash fury. He belongs to me, and I’m finally ready to stake my claim. This time apart was meant to help me find my footing, but now it’s time to bring my man back to where he belongs. Unfortunately, Dean has flown to New York for the night to visit his parents. Hannah had mentioned it earlier, and a flash of concern crossed my mind; spending just one night in Manhattan feels off, and it raises alarms cautioning me. As I contemplate all of this, my phone breaks the tranquil silence with an alarming ring. My heart sinks when I see my dad’s number flash across the screen. A moment later, I’m jolted by my father’s deep voice. “I don’t want you to worry,” he begins, and I can't help but think, who begins a conversation that way? Instantly, I’m worried! I slam my coffee mug down onto the kitchenette table before springing to my feet, Hannah watching my every move, eyes wide. “What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?” I demand, panic rising within me. “I just told you not to worry!” he retorts. I could scream. Sometimes, I could really do without his sarcasm. “I took a little spill this afternoon, that’s all. Thought I might’ve broken my arm, so I called an ambulance.” Panic surges within me. “Oh my gosh, are you all right?” “I’m fine,” he insists, his tone solid. “Just a sprained wrist. No broken bones, I swear.” Then a hint of sarcasm creeps in. “I could ask the hospital to send you copies of my X-rays if you like.” My teeth grind together in frustration. “Don’t be a jerk, Dad.” He lets out a heavy sigh, muffled over the line. “I’m sorry. I just knew you’d freak out. I promise I’m okay. My wrist hurts a bit, but I’m on some pain medication.” “How did you get home from the hospital?” I ask, the knot in my stomach easing. “Taxi. Now I’m lounging on the couch watching the Hawkeyes game.” I take a deep, calming breath. “Please just take it easy, okay? No heavy lifting, no running around. Just... relax for the next few days.” “I will, love you, AJ.” “Love you too.” I hang up, spinning to Hannah, who looks concerned. “Is your dad okay?” “He says he is,” I reply, though I know better. Dad is a former hockey player. They always insist they’re fine, even when they’re bleeding out or spitting teeth. With another deep breath, I pull up Dean’s number and hit call. *Dean* Joe Hayes opens his door, the biggest, angriest scowl etched across his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me! She sent you here to check on me?” I lightly push his shoulder aside to step through the doorway. No doubt he’d never invite me in willingly. “Yep,” I confirm, glancing around as I step inside. Thankfully, the place looks intact. I scan the stairs, remembering Allie’s words about Joe’s “spill.” No blood or broken floorboards, just reassurance. He’s not showcasing any bruises either, leaning into a cane but standing steadier than last I saw him. “Please don’t tell me you flew in just to babysit me,” he grumbles. “Nope. Already in town visiting my family,” I reply as I slide off my jacket, draping it over the back of the armchair, then settle into the couch. “What are you doing?” His voice is incredulous. “Getting comfortable.” I smirk, raising a brow. “I didn’t mention? I’m staying the night.” “Hell no!” His indignation makes me chuckle. “Sir, we already established that arguing with your daughter is futile. She asked me to keep an eye on you tonight, and that’s what I intend to do. She’s done too much for me, I’d sell my soul to do this for her.” “I don’t like this,” he huffs. “I don’t care,” I retort, cheerfully. And that’s how I find myself enduring an hour of college football with Joe Hayes. As the clock strikes nine, my stomach groans. I realize I hadn’t eaten yet, and when I suggest ordering a pizza, Joe doesn’t object. “Sausage and bacon okay?” I inquire. He grunts, which I assume means yes. Another hour passes in silence as we devour our pizza, savoring each slice with drinks in hand, shifting from football to hockey. The Bruins are on tonight. Each goal scored elicits cheers, and we exchange looks afterward as if to remember who exactly we’re sharing this experience with. During a break between periods, I place my beer down and say, “I love your daughter, sir.” “I know you do, pretty boy.” Whether it’s an acceptance or a sign of disapproval, I choose to interpret it positively. Around eleven, I assist him up the stairs, waiting outside his bedroom door as he clumsily navigates his evening routine. I knock gently. “You doing okay in there?” “I’m fucking fine. Go to bed.” Chuckling, I slip into Allie’s childhood bedroom, and the scent hits me. It’s that fragrance—the one always surrounding Allie, always eluding my sense of recognition. I stride over to her dresser, where a small vial catches my eye, its label pale blue, inscribed with “Allie” in elegant script. What the hell? “Eva had it made for her.” Startled, I turn to see Mr. Hayes looming in the doorway, clad in nothing but plaid boxers. My eyes widen, taking in the fit physique of a man clearly in his late forties yet sporting a six-pack. That explains what attracted Eva. I suddenly realize if Joe looks this good, Allie’s likely got high standards for her partner. At my bewildered expression, he gestures to the perfume bottle I’m holding. “That was a gift for Eva. She had a French friend—a designer who knew a perfumer. He created this scent, made uniquely for her. When AJ saw it, she wanted one for her twelfth birthday. Eva was unwell at the time, desperately wanted to make her daughter happy. When AJ asked for a custom scent, Eva went above and beyond, blending strawberries and roses.” I can’t help but laugh, finally connecting the dots. Those two fragrances are worlds apart, but handcrafted together—they make perfect sense; they capture Allie exquisitely. “She had six vials made. I think AJ's down to three now? She hoards that stuff.” “Wow,” I say, impressed. “That’s pretty badass.” Joe nods. “Eva spent a lot of time in France, spoke it fluently too. She always wanted AJ to learn it, but AJ wasn’t interested.” My heart hugs tighter. “She’s trying to teach herself now.” Joe raises an eyebrow. “Really?” “Yeah,” I reply, smiling. “She’s been watching a French soap opera. I’ve watched two seasons with her.” I roll my eyes playfully. “It’s surprisingly good.” That elicits genuine laughter from him, brightening his blue eyes. “You ain’t half bad either, pretty boy.” With that, he strolls out of the room. *Allie* I’m anxiously waiting in Dean’s room when he walks in on Sunday night. I would have picked him up from the airport, but he left his car parked long-term, so he made his way back from Boston alone. His green eyes soften upon seeing me. “Hi.” “Hi.” I jump up instinctively, but we stand there, frozen five feet apart, neither willing or daring to bridge that gap. The distance feels insurmountable. In a sudden surge of emotion, I throw myself into his arms, and he catches me effortlessly, his strong hands wrapping around my waist. I bury my face into his chest, voice trembling as I whisper, “Thank you for checking on him.” “Of course,” he replies, his fingers winding through my hair. Gently, he tilts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “He’s okay, babe. I promise. A little sore but purely precautionary. He’s completely fine.” I’ve heard this already, reassurances from both him and my dad. But seeing that certainty etched in Dean’s expression is what I truly needed to feel. I grip him tighter as relief floods me. His lips brush against my temple, his deep breath drawing my attention to the scent that’s distinctly him. “I missed you,” he murmurs, and I reply just as softly, “I missed you too.” I pull away just slightly to meet his gaze once more, resolute. “I don’t need any more time alone.” A slow smile spreads across his face. "Thank fuck." He flops down on the edge of the bed, tugging me gently into his lap. “I’ve been losing my mind without you these past few weeks.” “I know. But this separation has been enlightening for me. I needed to reevaluate my life without hanging on to someone else’s identity. It made me realize something crucial.” “And can you?” he asks, eyes bright with curiosity. “Absolutely.” I trace my fingers along his jaw, rough with dark blond stubble. “But I don’t want to be alone. I want to be with you.” Before I know it, his lips find mine in tender urgency, a soft dance over my mouth that builds with each passing moment until I’m yearning for more. Just when I part my lips in invitation, he pulls away. “Wellsy mentioned you might turn down the Fox pilot,” he says, teasingly chiding. “Argh! Seriously? Why does everyone insist on pestering me about this?” I sigh, the weight of it overwhelming. “I haven’t made my decision yet!” “But you’re leaning that way,” he presses. I hesitate, finally nodding. He sighs deeply, disappointment etched on his handsome features. “I understand your reasoning, but I can’t let you do that, babe.” With that, I practically tumble off his lap, hitting the bed as he strides over to where he discarded his coat. Reaching into a pocket, he retrieves an envelope, and my pulse quickens at the sight. He places it in my hands firmly. “Open it.” I do so, my heart racing. There it is—confirmation numbers for two flights to Los Angeles. Great, just great. It’s like they’re all connected to some hive mind. “You’re not coming with me,” I shoot back at Dean sharply. “What?” “I’m not turning down the role for you. I was—” “It’s not for me,” he interrupts, looking startled. “—turning it down because—” I begin again, then pause. “Wait, what?” “It’s for your dad,” Dean clarifies. “I know you don’t want to be far from him. Instead of sacrificing your dream to stay on the East Coast, he can come with you to the West Coast. I already talked to him; he’s on board. Said he’d look for a rental once you give him the green light.” I’m… utterly dumbfounded. Memories of Sean’s insistence from the coffeehouse sting me—now here’s Dean urging me to go without him. Dad was wrong... and right. He was both. Dean may have crumbled, but perhaps he needed that fall to realize life’s imperfections, the things you can’t control. He can’t just stop living when things get tough. Feeling warmth spread across my face, I return the envelope to him. “I’m still turning down the project.” His brows furrow in confusion. “Allie-Cat—” “Not because of my dad,” I clarify, cutting him off. “Although I appreciate knowing he’s willing to relocate if I decide to work in LA. I’m turning it down because the project isn’t right for me. I just don’t connect with the role. The contract demands a commitment of seven seasons if it takes off, and I refuse to tie down seven years of my life for a part I can’t relate to.” “Yikes. Well, I guess I should’ve asked you before purchasing those non-refundable tickets, huh?” he mutters, feigning irritation. “You think?” I respond dryly. With a laugh, he yanks me back into his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist and arms around his neck. I lean in, craving a kiss, but he slyly speaks before I can connect. “I made some decisions too,” he reveals, glancing away bashfully. “Really? Like what?” My curiosity piques, noting the pink creeping across his cheeks. “I’m going to be a gym teacher.” My jaw drops. “Seriously?” A hint of embarrassment creeps onto his face. “Yeah, I spoke with Coach Ellis about options. Apparently, private schools are flexible with teaching requirements. I don’t need an education degree but can upgrade my current one. If I pursue an extra year of classes, I could teach and work at the same time.” He shifts nervously. “I did something crummy.” “What?” I urge, eager for more. “I mentioned the Di Laurentis name while I was on the phone with those admissions officers.” I stifle a laugh. “That’s fine; it’s for a good cause, right?” Because seeing Dean work with kids could have a profound impact. “Then I spoke to my prep school’s new hockey coach and asked about any openings for PE or coaching.” His excitement is palpable now. “There’s an opening for both in Manhattan, grades one to eight. The job would start in the fall—Phys. Ed classes for all grades and coaching the girls’ hockey team.” “Girls?” I beam with pride. “That should be fun.” “I think I might interview for it,” he concludes, enthusiasm lighting his features. “You better! If this is what you want, you need to chase it!” As inspiration strikes, I pause, realization washing over me. “Wait. You’re not going to law school? Did you tell your parents?” “Yup, and yes. That’s why I went to New York this weekend. Spent hours talking with my dad. The same with Nick later on, right before you called to check on your dad. They were both incredibly supportive.” No surprise there. Dean’s family is phenomenal. I smile proudly. “I’m so proud of you.” “I’m proud of me too.” He leans in, gently brushing his nose against mine before peppering kisses along my jawline, igniting a fire deep within me. Oh, sweet Moses. It’s been way too long—almost a month? More? I can’t quite remember, but the warmth of his lips on my neck stirs desire that has been pent up for too long. “Dean,” I whisper. “Mmm?” he hums. “I love you.” “I love you too.” He responds, his tongue teasing the shell of my ear. “But I don’t want you right now.” His head jerks back as if I’ve slapped him. “Could you repeat that, please?” “I don’t want you.” With a playful grin, I add, “I want Little Dean.” Laughter erupts from him, echoing through the room. Then, with casual ease, he unzips his pants, ready to give me exactly what I desire.