Page 59 of The Assist
I smile a little, stepping in beside her to take a look. Not that I’m an expert, but the silence when I try the ignition myself isn’t a good sign. I shut the door again. “No spark. It’s probably the battery. Or the starter motor.”
She leans against the frame, with her arms folded across her chest, and she gives me a look that’s part exasperation, part tired. “Of course it is.”
The wind picks up slightly, and has her tugging her coat tighter around her. The sky spits faint drops of rain, just enough to annoy. She’s shivering, even though she’s trying to act like she’s not.
I glance toward my car. “Come on. I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to. You can call the breakdown company and cancel, I’ll get my mate to tow it to his garage and fix it for you. It’ll be cheaper than the AA and he owes me a favour.”
She hesitates. There’s that flicker of resistance again, that protective wall she puts up whenever we get too close. But after a beat, she nods. “Alright.”
With a nod, I grab her bags from the boot and we walk to my car in silence, and I can feel the tension still clinging to her. To both of us. The aftermath of last night’s kiss and the weight of this thing we keep circling around like we’re afraid to touch it.
I open the car door for her and she slides into the passenger seat, pulls the seatbelt over her chest, and exhales slowly like she’s preparing herself for whatever might happen next. Once I know she’s safe, I close her door gently and walk around the car to climb in. I start the car and pull out of the lot. Firing up the sat nav, I say “Put your address in,” and she leans across the centre console and starts to type.
We drive in silence at first. The kind of quiet that’s almost loud. Every second stretches like it’s trying to tell us something we’re not brave enough to say. Then she speaks. “You don’t have to look after me, you know.”
I glance over, with my brow furrowed. “Is that what you think this is?”
“I think you’re used to being the guy who fixes things. Takes care of people. Maybe you think I need that too.”
I grip the wheel tighter. “I don’t think you need me, Mia.” She doesn’t say anything, and I sigh, slowing slightly as we hit a red light. My jaw tightens before I can stop it. “It’s not aboutneeding.” My voice is rough, and low. “I just want to be the person you don’t have to guard yourself around all the damn time.”
Her eyes stay fixed on the road ahead. “That’s not fair.”
“No. Maybe not.” I rest my elbow on the door, fingers brushing my lips. “But it’s the truth.”
We drive a few more blocks before she speaks again. “You make it really hard to stay professional.”
That draws a humourless chuckle from me. “Good. Because you make it impossible for me to be anythingbutreal.”
She looks at me then. And I can feel her stare more than I see it. Like heat spreading under my skin. “Dylan…”
“I know.” I glance over. “Coach. Teammates. Risking your job. I get it.”
“Do you?” she asks, her voice barely audible.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Because I’ve spent half my life trying to live up to someone else’s rules too.” The words hang between us. I didn’t mean to say it like that. To bring him into it. But once it’s out there, I can’t pull it back.
Mia shifts slightly in her seat. “Your dad?”
I nod once.
She doesn’t press, but I keep going anyway.
“He didn’t talk to me for a year after I signed my first pro contract. Said it should’ve been him. That I got the life he never did. And maybe he’s right. But he stopped being proud of me the second I got what he couldn’t.” She’s quiet, but I can feel her listening. “It screws with your head, you know? When the one person you want approval from acts like you don’t deserve it. So yeah, maybe I do try to take care of people. Maybe I try too hard sometimes. But it’s better than feeling like I’m still chasing someone who’s never gonna say ‘well done.’”
Mia’s gaze softens. “You don’t have to chase anyone, Dylan.”
I flick a glance at her. “Yeah? Then why does it still feel like I’m running?”
She doesn’t answer.
We pull onto her street a minute later. I park outside her flat and kill the engine, but neither of us moves to get out. It’s quiet for a moment. Then she shifts to face me slightly. “Last night…” she starts, then stops. “It wasn’t nothing.”
I stare ahead, my jaw tight and I can feel it ticking beneath the skin. “Didn’t feel like nothing.”
