Upstairs, Dylan knocked gently on the guest room door, balancing the breakfast tray with practiced ease.
Lana's soft voice responded, "Come in."
The door creaked open, and Dylan stepped in with a warm smile. Lana was propped up against a few pillows, her hair tousled, cheeks still pale but her eyes alert. She looked both surprised and hesitant.
"You didn't have to" she started.
"I know," Dylan cut in gently, placing the tray on the small table by her bed. "But I wanted to."
Lana offered a small smile. "Thank you… it smells amazing."
"You should eat while it's warm. Chef says it's light but filling shouldn't bother your ribs."
She nodded, and he pulled the chair closer, sitting with an easy grace. For a moment, silence passed, broken only by the clink of cutlery as Lana picked at the eggs. Then Dylan leaned forward, his voice lower.
"How are you feeling this morning? Be honest."
Lana glanced at him, eyes soft. "Sore. But better. Sleeping in a bed that doesn't feel like concrete helps."
He chuckled. "Good. And if you need anything anything at all you let me know. Don't be shy."
Her heart thudded quietly. "You're already doing too much."
"I'm not," Dylan said, tone quiet but intense. "You're here because I want you safe. That's all."
She looked at him, unsure what to say. There was something in his voice, in the way he looked at her protective, yes, but layered with something else. Something she didn't dare name.
Before the silence grew too heavy, a knock interrupted them. It was sharp and brief.
Dylan stood. "That must be Mason."
The door opened, and Mason poked his head in only to find his father already seated beside Lana, her breakfast nearly finished.
He paused, his expression unreadable.
"I brought coffee," he said flatly, holding up a second mug.
"Too late," Dylan said with a smirk, standing to his full height. "I beat you to it."
"Great. Should've known you'd beat me to it." Mason said annoyed.
Lana could almost feel the tension thicken. She cleared her throat. "Mason, this breakfast is amazing. Tell the chef thank you."
"I will," he said, his gaze flicking between her and Dylan. "Just wanted to check if you needed anything else before I head out. I told Carlyle you'll be here for a few days."
Lana nodded. "Thanks for telling her. And… I'm okay, really."
Mason gave a small, tight smile. "Good."
He turned to go, then paused, glancing at his dad still rooted in place.
"You coming downstairs with me," Mason asked pointedly, "or are you planning to stay here all day?"
Dylan blinked, a slow grin tugging at his lips. "Tempting."
Mason rolled his eyes and walked out.
Dylan turned back to Lana. "He's so dramatic."
She smiled, cheeks flushing pink.
"I'll check in later," he added, his voice softer now. "Just rest. No stress."
And with that, Dylan followed Mason out, the door closing quietly behind him, leaving Lana staring at the empty chair feeling just a little warmer than before.
Dylan followed Mason downstairs into the living room, the silent tension between them almost crackling in the air.
Mason dropped onto the couch, arms folded, watching his father with narrowed eyes. Dylan, as usual, was composed too composed.
"You're really pushing it, Dad."
Dylan crossed to the bar cart and poured himself a glass of water. "Morning to you too, son."
"Don't deflect," Mason said. "You're acting like it's totally normal to sit at a girl's bedside while she eats breakfast. You were in there smiling and joking like you're…"
He trailed off, jaw tight.
"Like I'm what?" Dylan asked, calm but cool.
Mason leaned forward. "Like you're into her."
There. It was out. Heavy and thick between them.
Dylan didn't flinch. "And what if I was?"
Mason's face twisted, shocked. "You're not serious."
Dylan exhaled slowly, setting the glass down. "I'm not saying I am. I'm just saying… Lana's not just any girl."
"Yeah," Mason said. "She's my friend. She's eighteen."
"And I'm not blind," Dylan snapped, finally allowing frustration to rise in his tone. "I didn't plan this. But she's different. There's something… real there."
Mason stood, his voice rising slightly. "She's still recovering from bruised ribs from that party. She shouldn't even have been working that evening. She should have stayed at her dorm. And now she's here, in your house, being waited on like she's…"
He stopped himself, jaw tense.
"She wouldn't have been safe!" Dylan snapped back. "I was trying to protect her. And I have protected her."
Mason stared at his father, his shoulders tense, breathing shallow.
"She trusts you," he said tightly. "Don't use that to your advantage."
Dylan's jaw flexed. "You think I'll hurt her?"
"I think," Mason said slowly, "you don't know what you're doing. And she doesn't either."
A pause. Then Dylan spoke, softer now.
"I've never met anyone like her, Mason."
Mason didn't reply. He shook his head slightly, then walked toward the hallway.
"I'm heading to campus. Don't make things harder than they already are."
And then he was gone, leaving Dylan alone in silence, his hand tightening around the empty glass. His thoughts were full of a girl with kind eyes, bruised ribs, and a smile that was becoming harder and harder to forget.