Page 171 of Dirty Like Dylan

The earliest explorers got to see the world in a whole new way; a way that most people would never even dream of. But it was photography that gradually brought those views to the masses. Because of photographs, an ordinary person could see places and things and people that they would otherwise never get to see in their lives.

Photography totally opened up our view of the world, and I believed that it still had the power to do that. To make us see each other in ways we never would’ve had a chance to before.

The power of photography had invited me into the delivery room, where Jessa and Brody’s baby boy had entered the world. I’d been one of the very first people to see him as he squirmed and cried and gazed up into his daddy’s eyes for the first time, as he latched onto his mother’s breast, as Brody cried and Jessa laughed in delirious ecstasy.

My camera had captured it all, so they could share those moments with their loved ones. So that years from now, they could see themselves in those tender moments, the way I’d seen them.

My work was never about keeping myself at a distance. It wasn’t about keeping some imaginary safe barrier between myself and my subjects. It was about making contact. Breaking barriers down.

It was about connection.

So why was I so fucking afraid of that in my own life?

Why was I so afraid to let Dylan pull me out from behind the lens, where he could really see me?

As I pushed outside, through the door from the hospital, I actually felt kind of reborn myself. It was the surreal, floaty feeling from the lack of sleep, from being inside the hospital too long, so focused through my camera, and the adrenaline, the early-morning sun shining in my eyes; I knew that. But it was something else, too.

It took me a long minute, as I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the light, to see the man standing there, looking at me, his auburn hair flaming in the morning sun.

“Hi,” I said, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.

“Hi.”

I drifted toward him. “Um… I don’t think they’re allowed visitors right now. I just got kicked out so they could sleep. You might have to come back later in the day.”

“I’ll come back,” Dylan said, taking a step toward me. “But I’m not here to see them right now. I’m here for you.”

I blinked up at him. I was seriously sleep-deprived. “Me?”

“I didn’t want you to have to go home alone.”

“Oh. Well… thank you. I could use the ride. In all the excitement, I left some things back at Jessa’s house, and—”

“Amber. I’m not talking about Jessa’s place. I’m talking about home.” He reached out and pulled me closer. “We’ll go get your stuff. Then you’re coming home with me.”

He kissed me, and I sank into his arms. I was so fucking tired. And so glad to be held—by him.

“Okay,” I whispered, giving in… unable to fight this anymore.

Maybe I was tired of fighting the love I felt for him.

Maybe, in a way, I’d just finally learned what love was.

* * *

As we walked into the silence of Dylan’s house, I asked, “Ashley’s sleeping?”

“He’s gone,” Dylan said.

“Next door?”

“To the city.”

I turned to him. I was processing too slowly, probably, but again, lack of sleep. “He didn’t come back with us…?”

“No.” Dylan stood in front of me, his green eyes on mine. “We had a talk.”

“Oh.” I got the feeling I knew what that talk was about, more or less, from the look on his face. “So… he told you…?”

---