Page 21 of Mud & Moxie
He huffs a laugh, low and real. “Guess I am.”
The sound startles me more than thunder.
Because it’s genuine. Not his usual sarcastic huff, but something warmer.
Something I wasn’t expecting.
***
The storm settles into steady rain. Inside the barn, the air is thick with damp earth, hay, and wet wood. Dylan sets the hammer aside, flexing sore hands. I lower the flashlight and shake the ache from my arm.
For a while we just stand there, leaning against opposite beams, listening to the rain. The silence feels heavier than thunder. My heart still races, but not from fear—from how close he is, from the way his eyes flick to mine then away like he’s holding something back.
“You always do this?” I ask softly. “Throw yourself at storms like you can wrestle them into submission?”
His jaw tightens. He stares at the floorboards. “Someone’s gotta hold the line.”
I push off the beam, stepping closer. “That’s not an answer, Dylan.”
He exhales slowly, shoulders sagging like the storm wrung him out. “When my dad died, it felt like the whole farm could collapse overnight. Mom leaned on me. My brothers looked to me. If I didn’t hold it together, the place fell apart.” He finally looks at me, eyes raw. “I don’t get the luxury of letting things go. Not then. Not now.”
My throat tightens. The sarcasm I usually reach for slips away. “I’m sorry. That must have been brutal.”
Silence stretches. I break it with a brittle laugh. “Think city life’s easier? Try waking to a hundred thousand strangers waiting for you to be perfect. Every post, every picture—if it’s not flawless, they’ll tear you down. And sometimes, I believe them.”
Surprise flickers across his face. For once, he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens. Really listens.
And somehow, in this creaking barn with rain hammering outside, it feels like we both set our armor down—for a minute.
***
The quiet stretches, fragile as a taut thread between us. Dylan leans against the beam, shirt damp and clinging to broad shoulders. I can’t look away. Not when his guard is down, not when he’s letting me see the cracks.
I step closer. “You don’t always have to be the strong one,” I whisper. The words are softer than I expect, but true. “You don’t have to carry it all alone.”
His gaze locks on mine, steady, searching. “And you don’t always have to be perfect,” he says quietly. “Not with me.”
The barn groans, wind shifting, but neither of us moves. My pulse hammers, heat blooming in my chest. I’ve told myself for years that I hated my brother’s best friend. Maybe I believed it then. But standing here now, so close I can see gold flecks in his eyes, I know I hadn’t given him a fair chance.
Our shoulders brush, and this time neither of us pulls away.
The air is heavy, electric.
Every nerve in me screams to close the gap, to find out if the pull between us is as real as it feels.
***
The air hums, so charged it feels like even the storm pauses to listen. Dylan’s gaze drops to my lips. My breath hitches. One more step and I’d be in his arms. One lean closer and years of distance and sharp words would shatter.
I want it. God help me, I want it. His warmth, his steady strength, the promise that maybe—just maybe—I don’t have to keep pretending I’m fine on my own.
I tilt my chin up. He mirrors me, his hand lifting like he might brush the damp hair from my cheek. My heart pounds so loud I’m sure he hears it. The world narrows to just this: him, me, the space between us about to ignite.
Then—
The barn door bangs open. Wind howling. “Madison? Dylan?”
Matthew’s voice cuts sharp as he reappears, rain streaming from his coat after wrestling the south doors closed. His eyes locking on us—too close, too telling.
