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letsgetrowdy43 · 9 hours ago

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In case you missed it!!!

Spring into summer (Rowan’s version)—

Brock Boeser x Dylan (Morrison) Boeser

Warnings: kind of angsty but has a happy ending!! No real warnings that I can think of, but if you notice one please lmk!!!

Notes: loosely based on the song ‘Spring into summer’ by Lizzy McAlpine

Autumn leaves were scattered across the driveway as Dylan Boeser wrapped her scarf around her neck and helped Mia out of the backseat. The five-year-old clutched her stuffed bunny in one hand and her older sister’s fingers in the other.

Avery, now seven, was already marching ahead, her little ladybug backpack bouncing, and her free hand was shoved into the pocket of her green coat as she made a beeline toward the familiar front door.

Brock's house smelled like him, cedarwood and laundry detergent, and a touch of the musky cologne he always wore with his game-day suits. Dylan noticed it the moment she stepped inside her old home, carrying Mia’s duffel and backpack.

"Hey," Brock said, appearing from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel, one that they bought together just after they moved in together. His voice was low, careful. A warmth that she missed so greatly. "Hi." Dylan kept her tone neutral. Not cold, not warm.

Brock crouched to greet the girls, scooping Mia into a bear hug and ruffling Avery’s hair. “How was school and ballet class?” Avery grinned. “I got the spin right this time! Miss Kayla said we are almost ready for the recital.” "That’s awesome, Ave. You’ll show me later?"

“Only if you and Mommy come watch together.”

Brock glanced at Dylan, whose lips now formed a straight line, then he quickly looked down at his daughter. “We’ll talk about that,” he said gently.

Dylan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to seem impatient. These drop-offs always hurt more than she expected. Like little paper cuts to her heart as she walked into a house that used to be her home and dropped her daughters off to the man who used to be hers.

Luckily, the girls didn’t cry anymore. They didn’t ask why Daddy wasn’t at dinner or why Mommy didn’t sleep over. But they wanted it to go back to their idea of normal, and that was infinitely worse.

Mia fished a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket and handed it to Brock. “We made this in class. It’s our family tree.”

Brock unfolded it. There, in crayon and marker, was a stick-figure family standing under a rainbow. Four figures, Mommy, Daddy, Avery, Mia, and the dogs. All holding hands.

Dylan caught his eyes flick toward her. Something flickered there.

It felt like regret, but she summed it up as fatigue from the game last night.

“Very nice, Mia!” he said softly. The little girl beamed. “We are a family, see.”

Silence filled the space for a beat too long.

Dylan exhaled, “Of course we are baby." She smiled as her eyes flickered to Brock, who was already staring at her.

"Okay, girls, give mumma a kiss.”

Mia tugged at her hand. “Don’t go yet, please.” “I’ll see you Sunday night. Remember to be good for Daddy, okay?” She kissed their cheeks and brushed back a blonde curl from Mia’s face.

Brock held the door open for her. Their hands nearly brushed. Neither acknowledged it.

“Thanks for bringing them,” he said. “Of course,” she replied, stepping out into the fading light. “Take care.”

As Dylan walked down the steps to her car, she didn’t look back.

But from the door frame, the two dogs, two pairs of small eyes watched, and one set, bigger, tired, watched as she drove away. He stood behind them, wondering if it was already too late, or just the long road home.

★★★★

The door clicked shut behind him with a soft transition from sulking to being there for his daughters.

Brock leaned his forehead against it for a second, listening to the muffled giggles of the girls as they raced toward the living room, the dogs trailing right behind them, in hopes of a movie before bath and bedtime. Their energy echoed off the walls, where pictures of the two of them and the dogs, along with a few of Dylan with the babies from before the split, were scattered.

He ran a hand over his face, then down the back of his neck. The house felt full again. But it was temporary.

Everything seemed temporary right now.

“Daddy, can we watch Encanto again?” Avery called from the couch, already climbing under the throw blanket. “Didn’t you just watch that with your mom yesterday?” he said, forcing a smile as he walked in.

“Yeah, but she cries every time their abuela apologizes. You don’t cry.” Brock chuckled, sitting down beside her, “I might.”

Mia crawled up into his lap like it was second nature. He blinked at the weight of her, small and trusting. “You smell like Mommy,” she mumbled, nuzzling her face against his sweater, the one Dylan had gotten him for his 30th birthday.

His face fell slightly.

He didn’t respond. Just wrapped his arms around her, pressing a light kiss to her temple. The lump in his throat sat heavy as he searched for the remote.

The TV flickered and turned on. The opening song filled the room, but Brock’s mind drifted to the paper drawing, which he promised to pin with a magnet on the fridge. The look Dylan gave him when she thought he wasn’t watching was almost guarded, something like disappointment over old affection.

He wondered how many times she had waited for him to come home, not just physically, but emotionally.

And when exactly did she stop expecting him at all?

Mia had fallen asleep before the third song. Avery was halfway there.

Brock muted the TV once he knew they were both asleep and sat quietly, listening to the steady rhythm of their breaths. This was peace. He was always chasing this, but never managed to hold onto it when it mattered most. Little blonde spitting images of the love of his life sat huddled around him, as he spiralled.

Maybe Dylan was right to walk away.

But watching his daughters curled up beside him, Brock made a quiet promise he didn’t quite know how to fulfill just yet.

He wouldn’t let them grow up thinking this kind of distance was normal.

He’d show up. Even if it was late.

Even if he had to learn how from scratch.

★★★★

Sunday evening came too quickly. And just when he was feeling his happiest, he had to switch out with Dylan and send the girls to their other home.

The sun was just beginning to slip behind the trees when Brock buckled Avery and Mia into the backseat of Dylan’s car. She’d dropped them off a few days ago, he had weekends, she the week days.

He leaned into the backseat and placed their backpacks on the floor between them.

“Lunch bags are in the big pockets, I washed them and got new water bottles for them, and don’t forget Mia's art folder, which is in the smaller pouch for tomorrow,” he said, tapping the bags and looking at Dylan, who mouthed a short 'thank you.'

“Thanks, Daddy,” Avery said, then paused. “Mummy?” Dylan smiled. “What baby?” “Did your friend Alex come over this weekend? Did he bring donuts again? The pink one with sprinkles.”

The name Alex landed like a rock to the chest. Brock blinked once and then twice, forcing his smile not to slip as he turned to his now ex.

“Oh yeah?” he said carefully. “Is… he a friend from work?” “No,” Mia said, interjecting while innocently swinging her feet. “She said they met at the grocery store. He was really funny. He made Avery laugh until she spit out her juice.” Avery giggled at the memory.

Brock looked up and saw Dylan's face in her hands, embarrassment filling her face as she continued to listen to her daughters rat her out.

“Sounds like fun,” he said, standing up straighter.

Avery tilted her head. “Are you mad?” Brock looked at her, surprised. “No,” he said too quickly. “Why would I be mad?” “You got that squint,” she replied.

“What squint?”

“The one you make when you’re pretending not to feel stuff.”

Brock laughed, but it was clearly forced. This kid was too sharp for her own good.

“I’m not mad, Ave. Mumma deserves someone funny.”

She didn’t look convinced, but Dylan's face fell at his confession.

“Did everything go okay this weekend?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “Yeah,” he said, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. “They were great, we saw a movie, then Petey came over and went on a hike with us and the dogs, great stuff.”

There was an awkward beat. He wanted to ask about Alex, but he didn’t. Quickly deciding it wasn’t his place, not anymore. But he noticed how she didn’t offer anything up, either.

As she helped Mia with her seatbelt, Brock stepped back, the weight of unsaid things pressing down on him.

“Bye, Daddy!” Avery called, waving through the window.

He waved back, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The car pulled away, and Brock stood there on the sidewalk a moment longer, the crisp wind cutting through his jacket.

Inside, the house felt colder than usual.

On the fridge, the family drawing still hung.

★★★★

The restaurant was dimly lit, all reclaimed wood and warm lighting, the kind of place that made everything feel romantic. Dylan was a pessimist through and through... and somthing about this kushy restraunt was pissing her off

She twirled her wine glass, watching the red liquid slowly swirl. Across from her, Alex was telling a story about getting locked out of his apartment in college with only boxers on and a pair of glasses that weren't his own.

She smiled, laughed even, because it was funny, in a neat, over told way.

The issue was so clear, and it was that this perfectly sculpted and put-together man was not Brock.

Brock was real, emotional, and raw in an uncensored way. Their conversations always made Dylan feel like the most important girl in the world, because when they talked he shared almost every piece of himslef with her, but he also wanted to hear about her feelings and thoughts.

“You’re easy to talk to,” Alex said, tilting his head slightly before taking a swig from his beer, “I don’t mean that as a line. I just… like how calm you are.”

Dylan tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded. “Thanks. I think I had to learn how to be.” He leaned in a little, a glint of distaste in his eyes as he said, “Brock, right?”

The name felt louder than the hum of everything in the background. She paused, then took a sip of her wine.

“We were together a long time. Two kids. A lot of history.” “I get it,” Alex said gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

But that was the thing, she wanted to explain.

If she was being honest Brock was her favourite topic of conversation, and as she's grown outside of their marriage she had realized how the positives really did outweight the negatives.

She wanted to give context. To draw a map of who she was and how she got here. But with Alex, she didn’t know where to start, or why she even felt the need to.

There was literally nothing wrong with him. He was warm, emotionally available, and thoughtful. He asked about her work. He complimented her parenting. He even remembered Avery’s favourite cartoon characters from the first time he met her.

But somewhere deep in her chest, a small voice kept asking, 'Why doesn’t this feel like home?'

And if she was being honest, it was because this man was not her Brock.

After dinner, they walked outside. The air had a chill to it, and the sky was starting to darken.

“Want to go for a walk?” he asked. She hesitated. “I should probably get home,” she said. “Kids have school tomorrow, and I hate to keep my mom up watching them.” Alex nodded, a little too understanding. “Of course. I’ll walk you to your car.”

They paused when they reached it. The silence stretched.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said. She smiled, but it didn’t feel all that genuine. “Yeah… I’d like that too.”

He kissed her cheek.

It was chaste, respectful. No pressure. He stepped back with a hopeful grin waiting for her give him a little more.

But she just nodded.

Dylan got in the car, turned on the ignition, and let her hands sit on the wheel for a long moment.

Alex was present. But being present wasn’t the same as knowing her. And being a fresh start wasn’t the same as being the one.

As she pulled away from the curb, she didn’t feel excited.

She felt unsatisfied. And for the first time since the separation, she wondered if she had really let go of Brock, or if she’d just been holding her breath.

★★★★

The tiny red chairs made Brock feel like a misplaced giant.

He sat across from Ms. Rodgers in Avery’s first-grade classroom, nodding politely as she went over test scores, reading progress, and “areas for growth.” He had never been to a one-on-one meeting, and had promised Dylan he'd be as present as possible so he could report back to her.

So present he was, focused on every word, and even took notes on his phone.

But what caught him off guard wasn’t the curriculum, or even those 'areas of growth' which Brock deemed bullshit cause his baby is perfect.

It was the binder on the table.

Avery’s “portfolio,” Ms. Rodgers explained. A collection of projects, journal entries, and other things she had worked on the first half of the year. He flipped through it, smiling at the drawings and shaky handwriting.

Then came a laminated page with a question written across the top in purple marker, “Who helps you do your best?”

Beneath it, Avery had drawn two figures. One labelled “Mommy,” holding a lunchbox and a calendar. The other, “Daddy,” standing next to a hockey stick.

Ms. Rodgers smiled warmly as Brock's face lit up. “She’s such a thoughtful kid. Always mentions how organized her mom is, Dylan even sends me weekly notes about what Avery’s working on at home. It really makes a difference.”

Brock nodded, gut sinking.

“She said you take her to the rink sometimes,” Ms. Carver added. “That’s really special too, especially when all the big changes have been really hard on her.”

He smiled again, weaker this time, as he nodded, speechless.

After the meeting, he walked out into the parking lot slowly. He sat in his truck, pulled out his phone, and stared at Dylan’s contact for a long time.

Then, without overthinking it, he typed out a message.

"Hey Dyl. Just left Avery’s parent teacher conference, Rodgers said she is doing really good!! I'll send you some of the notes she gave me when I get back home. Her teacher showed me all the notes you’ve been sending her. I didn’t know you did that. I guess I didn’t know a lot of what you did, back then. I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. And I’m sorry I didn’t say that more when it counted."

He hovered for a second, thumb shaking slightly, then hit send.

★★★★

Avery’s voice was unusually sweet when she asked Dylan if they could have a "family" picnic at the park. “Just us?” Dylan asked, packing goldfish into little containers. “Like… us-us. You and Daddy, and Mia. Please?”

Dylan hesitated, caught between the ache in her chest and the look in Avery’s eyes, so hopeful it made her eyes shine.

“Okay,” she said finally, “but you have to call Daddy and ask him if he can.”

Avery was practically vibrating with excitement when Dylan dialled his number.

And of course he said yes.

The park was quiet for a warm afternoon, late fall leaves crunching under the girl's sneakers. Dylan arrived first, an old throw blanket slung over one arm, a soft cooler in the other.

A little selfish bit inside of her had assumed Brock wouldn’t come.

But he did.

Five minutes early on the dot, he appeared across the grass, holding a grocery bag with Mia’s favourite juice boxes and a couple of different snacks and the dogs. The girls ran to him like magnets, Avery beaming with not-so-hidden satisfaction as he leant down to pick both of them up and press a kiss to each of their cheeks.

Dylan offered a small smile to the man as he sat down across from her. Brock returned the smile, uncertain but trying as they fell into the routine of talking about school and work.

The girls immediately tore off toward the playground after a quick lunch of crackers and fruit.

“Don’t go too far!” Dylan called out as she watched the two running in the field. “We won’t!” Avery yelled over her shoulder, dragging Mia by the hand. “We forgot our ball in Mumma's car, be right back!”

Dylan frowned. “Wait—”

But they were already gone.

Brock chuckled under his breath as he watched them heading towards the car, “They’re scheming.” Dylan looked at him, then sighed and shook her head, "Not subtle in the slightest.”

Silence settled between them; it was honestly awkward, but not unbearable.

Brock reached into the bag and handed her a cheese scone, “Your favourite, right?” She blinked as she took it from him. “You remembered that?” “Some things stick,” he said, “and you're pretty unforgettable."

They sat for a moment, eating the pastries quietly. Nearby, children screamed happily on monkey bars and swings. Neither of them looked at each other, but neither made a move to leave the blanket.

“I got your message, sorry for not responding,” Dylan said finally, her voice softer than before, “but thank you, for saying that, and noticing.” “I meant it, even if it's too late.”

“It's not too late,” she looked at her hands, growing nervous, “but thank you for noticing..”

He nodded. “I’m trying. Not just with them. With me, and for you.” Dylan looked at him, studying him. “Therapy?” “Every Tuesday morning at 11:00. It sucks. But it’s helping.” “That’s good,” she said.

“You seem... different,” she added, hoping he'd pick up on the appreciation for change. “Trying to be. I don’t want the girls to think disappearing is normal. Or shutting down when things get hard.” She nodded slowly. “I think they already notice.”

They both looked toward the playground, where Mia and Avery were hiding behind a bench, very poorly pretending not to spy on the.

“They planned this,” Dylan said, smiling despite herself. “Oh yeah. We are fully being emotionally manipulated by our children.”

They both laughed. Not forced, but real.

The sound of normalcy surprised them. It was just a little quiet, and in away familiar.

★★★★

A few weeks later, Dylan found herself out with Alex once again, the girls with Brock for the weekend.

The wine was good and the food, even better. Still, Dylan couldn’t quite focus on the date itself, and she was even less interested in the man sitting across from her.

Alex was telling a story about a coworker’s dog ruining a Zoom meeting earlier in the week, adding on how he'd love for her to meet a few of his work friends, but she kept checking her watch without meaning to. Her body was here, a quiet table tucked away in the corner of some hole-in-the-wall restaurant, but her mind kept drifting.

She was focused on her family, who were on the other side of the city.

Think about Avery’s science project, which Brock promised to help finish over the weekend. Whether Brock remembered to pack Mia’s allergy meds for tomorrow's softball game. To the strange significance of the conversation they’d had at the park.

Alex trailed off, watching her. His smile was still there, but fading as he caught on to her clear disappearance at the table.

She smiled when she was supposed to. Laughed once or twice while he rambled. But even she could feel the hollowness in it.

Alex, to his credit, didn’t pretend not to notice but also was very forgiving in his address if the issue.

Midway through the story, he paused, fork poised over his plate, “You know,” he said, voice light but steady, “I think I’ve been talking for ten minutes, and you haven’t heard a word of it, or even added to the conversation.”

Dylan blinked, caught in her own world as she used the napkin in her lap to wipe her face, “I'm so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, but he was studying her now. “You’ve been somewhere else all night, and I don't want to ” She exhaled and put her silverware down. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I wanted to want this. I really did.”

He sat back slightly, arms folding across his chest. Not defensive or upset in any way, but almost a little judgmental. “Is this about your ex-husband?”

She hesitated.

He shook his head with a small laugh. “I really don’t get it. Not completely. I know I wasn’t around for whatever happened between you two, but from what I’ve picked up… he wasn’t great to you.”

“The ending really wasn’t great,” Dylan said quietly. “For a short time, it wasn’t. But the before was amazing, and he was really great and so present.”

“Then why?” he asked, not accusing, just genuinely confused. “Why let him take up space again? Why not move forward with someone who actually shows up?”

She looked down, fiddling with her napkin. The truth was ugly and simple.

“Because I, of course, still have a lot of love for him,” she said.

Alex didn’t respond right away. He just stared at her for a long, heavy moment.

“You still love him,” he echoed, more to himself than to her. “After everything?”

“Yes,” she said, barely above a whisper. “And I’ve tried to lessen it, but obviously I have a lot of care for the father of my children. But I’ve worked so hard to move on. I dated, I made new routines, I even started thinking maybe someone like you, someone kind and reliable, was what I needed.”

“I am kind and reliable,” Alex said with a tired smile.

“You are. That’s the thing. You’ve been wonderful. But it’s not about who’s ‘better.’ It’s not even about what’s smart or safe. It’s just…” She shrugged helplessly. “I don't think I'm ready to make it go away.”

Alex leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He wasn’t angry. Just hurt, and quietly exhausted.

“Does he know?”

“No,” Dylan said. “And I’m not even sure it matters right now. I’m not telling you this because I’m planning to get back together with him. I’m telling you because I owe you honesty.”

He nodded, slowly. “Well. This sucks.”

She winced. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

He laughed softly, but it didn’t have much humor in it. “At least I didn’t meet your kids.”

“You did, actually. Twice.”

“Right,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Then I guess I was already halfway in.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I want you to know,” she added, “you didn’t do anything wrong. I just... didn’t realize I was so confused. That there was a part of me still waiting for something that might never come.”

Alex stood up and grabbed his coat. “Well, for what it’s worth, I hope he doesn’t waste it this time.”

She got up too. “Thank you. Really.”

He opened the door for her, stepping out into the cool night. The street was mostly empty. They stood under a lamppost, the air still and clean.

Alex looked at her one last time. “Take care of yourself, Dylan.”

“You too.”

They didn’t hug. Just a quiet goodbye. And then he was gone, walking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets.

Dylan sat in her car afterward, staring out the windshield.

And then the tears started, and didn't stop for a long time.

★★★★

The storm hit just after dinner.

Rain slammed against the windows at Brock’s place, wind curling around the corners of the house like something alive.

Mia had been cranky all day, low appetite, redden cheeks, but it wasn’t until she woke up from her nap burning hot and crying for Dylan that Brock knew it wasn’t just a bad day.

She was curled on the couch now, cheeks flushed, breathing quick and shallow. He held a cold washcloth to her forehead, but she was barely responsive, mumbling nonsense and reaching out with sticky hands.

“Mummy,” she whimpered. “I want Mummy.”

Brock didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his phone and called.

Dylan answered on the second ring. “Everything okay?”

“Mia’s sick,” he said, already pacing. “Like, really sick. She’s got a fever and she keeps asking for you. Can you come?”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

She arrived in under seven, soaked from the rain but focused. No small talk. Just eyes on Mia.

“She’s burning up,” Dylan murmured, crouching beside the couch. “Did she throw up?”

“No. Just sweating a lot. She keeps drifting off and waking up disoriented.”

Dylan nodded, already pulling out her phone to log Mia’s symptoms in the medical app she always used. “She had a bug like this last winter. It spiked quick, then broke in the morning.”

Suddenly the two were back into their old routine, Dylan heading into the kitchen to find the thermometer as Brock sat helping Mia to have sips of water, talking softly to soothe her. Dylan stroked her daughter’s hair while Brock held her hand.

When Mia finally drifted into a deeper sleep, curled against Dylan’s side on the couch, Brock quietly adjusted a blanket over them.

The three of them sat like that for a long moment, Avery once in a while coming in to watch the movie Mia had picked and then leaving to keep playing by herself.

Eventually, Dylan shifted carefully and stood, easing Mia down onto the pillows. “She’ll probably sleep through the night now.”

Brock nodded. “Tea?”

She hesitated, then followed him into the kitchen.

The storm outside had softened to a steady hum. The two sat across from each other with mismatched mugs and the kind of stillness that wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

“She still reaches for you first when she’s scared,” Brock said.

“She lives with me most of the time,” Dylan replied gently. “She reaches for you when she needs to be brave.”

That made him smile, small and grateful.

They didn’t fill the silence right away. No need. The weight of what just happened, of how natural it had felt to move around each other, to put Mia first without fumbling lingered in the air between them.

“I forgot what this felt like,” Brock said eventually. “The... us part. When we’re not fighting.”

“Me too,” Dylan said. “It used to be easy.”

“Then it wasn’t.”

“Yeah.”

He glanced at her. “I’m not trying to rewrite anything. I know how far I checked out. I know how much you carried.”

Dylan looked down at her tea, fingers curled around the mug. “It was lonely.”

“I know,” he said. “I think I needed to fall apart a little to understand how much you held together.”

She looked up at him. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The kettle clicked behind them.

Something had shifted. Not erased the past, but moved through it together, for the first time in a long time.

And that, Dylan realized, was more real than anything she'd felt in a while.

★★★★

The next morning was overcast, the air still thick with the last trace of rain.

Mia was finally sleeping peacefully in the guest room, a cool towel draped over her forehead. Dylan had left early for work, a morning shift she couldn’t get out of but not before Brock promised to call at any sign of trouble.

Avery sat at the kitchen table in her favorite faded hoodie, legs tucked under her, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her.

She was drawing something, a crooked-looking tree with four stick figures under it.

Brock poured himself a second cup of coffee, then leaned against the counter and watched her.

“You guys always draw trees,” he said gently.

“It’s our family tree,” she replied without looking up. “Except I don’t know where to put the lines anymore.”

He walked over and sat down beside her.

She glanced at him. “You slept on the couch, right?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

Silence. The kind that kids are unusually good at holding.

Brock studied her drawing again, the four stick figures looked happier than he felt like they had any right to. “You’re a good artist.”

She shrugged. “I keep practicing.”

Another pause.

Then, without lifting her head, she said, “You were nicer last night.”

Brock blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You were like... calm. You didn’t talk all sharp. You and Mom didn’t sound like you were holding your breath all the time.”

He stared at her. There was no judgment in her voice, no malice. Just an observation.

He took a breath. “Yeah. I think I’ve been... different lately.”

She nodded like she already knew.

“I didn’t always know how to be a dad,” he added. “I mean, I was trying. But sometimes I was just... there, not all that good.”

“You didn’t used to come to the school plays,” Avery said. “But you came last time. You clapped really loud.”

“That’s ‘cause you were awesome bug.”

She smiled faintly, a little proud.

Brock leaned his arms on the table. “I’m trying to be better. Not just standing in the room, but being in it, with you. With Mia. With your mom. Cause I love you guys a lot.”

“You and Mom aren’t getting back together, right?”

The question hit gently, but directly. He didn’t flinch.

“I don’t know,” Brock said. “We’re just trying to be nice to each other right now. That’s a good place to start, don’t you think?”

Avery looked at him carefully, her gaze older than it should’ve been.

“I think Mom still loves you,” she said.

“I love her too,” Brock replied, voice low. “That’s not the hard part.”

“What is?”

“Making sure I don’t hurt her the same way again.”

Avery was quiet, considering that, “Okay.”

She went back to her drawing, adding leaves to the tree.

Brock watched her for a moment longer, then reached across and gently added his own little stick figure to the page.

Avery smiled. Just a little. But she didn’t move his drawing.

And that felt like something.

★★★★

The café was nothing special. Midday light filtered through streaked windows. It smelled faintly of burnt espresso and cinnamon. Dylan had picked it because she knew they wouldn’t run into anyone here.

She was already sitting when Brock walked in, shoulders damp from the drizzle, jacket unzipped like he hadn’t noticed the weather.

He sat down across from her with a cautious smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she said.

There was a long pause. Neither of them sipped their drinks.

“I’m not sure how to start,” Brock admitted.

“Then don’t,” Dylan replied. “We don’t have to start. We’re just talking.”

He nodded. “Okay. That’s easier.”

Another pause.

“I keep thinking about how much I missed,” Brock finally said. “Not big stuff. The little things. The way Mia asks for her apples a certain way. Avery’s half-smile when she’s pretending not to be proud of herself.”

Dylan watched him, her face unreadable.

“I wasn’t present,” he continued. “I was in the room, but not there. And I didn’t even see it until after we split.”

“I know,” she said, voice soft. “That’s what hurt the most. Not the fights. Not even the loneliness. Just... that you didn’t seem to notice any of it.”

“I see it now. I’m seeing a lot I didn’t let myself look at before.”

She nodded, slowly. “You seem different. But that doesn’t mean I know what to do with that.”

“I don’t either,” Brock said. “I’m not asking to pick up where we left off. I don’t even know if I want that exact thing again.”

That caught her off guard. “You don’t?”

He shook his head. “I want something better. Not perfect. Honest. Something we build on purpose this time, if we even get there.”

Dylan stared into her cup. “I’m still tired, Brock. I’m still figuring out how to feel safe again. With you, with myself. I need space that doesn’t disappear the second things start to feel good.”

“I want to give you that,” he said. “Whether we end up together again or not.”

She looked up at him. Not as the man who left her carrying too much, or the man who’d suddenly shown up when it mattered, but as someone... trying. And for once, not trying to fix things, just to be there.

“I think I’d like to try being around each other more,” she said. “Not for the girls. For us. Just to see.”

His shoulders relaxed just a little. Not relief, but maybe a tiny bit of hope.

“Okay,” he said. “One step at a time?”

She nodded. “One step.”

They didn’t touch. They didn’t make promises.

But when they left, they walked out into the rain side by side.

And neither of them rushed ahead.

★★★★

The school gym smelled faintly of popcorn and floor polish, filled with the hum of excited families, folding chairs, and crumpled programs. The lights were too bright, the sound system crackled, and still it felt important.

Dylan arrived a few minutes early, scanning the rows until she spotted Brock and Mia already seated near the middle. He’d saved her a seat beside him without asking.

She hesitated just a second before sitting down. Not out of hesitation, just habit.

“Hey,” he said quietly, offering her the extra program.

“Hey,” she replied, taking it.

There wasn’t much talking. Just a few shared smiles as kindergartners in flower costumes did their best to stay in sync.

When Avery’s group took the stage, Dylan leaned forward instinctively. Brock did too.

She was in a purple leotard, hair pulled back into a tight, slightly crooked bun, and honestly some of Brock’s best work. And when she caught sight of them sitting side by side her face lit up.

Dylan caught the moment just as Brock did. Their daughter hadn’t looked relieved. She looked proud.

They both clapped louder than necessary when her number ended. Brock may have stood. Dylan rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

Afterward, in the crowded hallway, Avery came bounding toward them, her face flushed and happy.

“You both came!”

“Of course we did,” Dylan said, crouching to fix a loose hairpin.

“You guys sat together.”

Brock glanced at Dylan. She nodded, just a little.

“We wanted to,” he said honestly.

Mia tugged at Brock’s jacket. “Can we take a picture?”

Avery grinned. “A family picture?”

Dylan’s hand found its place around Mia’s shoulder. Brock rested a hand on Avery’s back. And when the flash went off, there was no sense of pretending.

They weren’t a picture-perfect family.

But they were present.

★★★★

Early spring had arrived with the faint smell of rain, and everything felt like it was quietly waking up, even the old family house where Brock had lived by himself since the split.

Inside, the kitchen was busy as usual. The girls were laughing, cooking with the kind of chaos that only kids could have. Avery had declared it "Family Night," as she did most weeks, but this time something felt a little different.

Brock was chopping vegetables, while Dylan stirred the sauce. They had this new routine of making dinner, sitting down together, talking.

The table was cluttered with plates and half-finished dishes of pasta, and after dinner, the four of them spilled onto the back steps, as they always did in spring. The girls huddled together under a blanket, while Brock handed Dylan a second one, his movements easy and natural now. She didn’t argue, didn’t pull away.

The conversation was light, mostly about school, a new project Avery was excited about, Mia’s latest obsession with making friendship bracelets.

The usual small talk.

And yet, Dylan found herself watching the quiet ease between them all. How they had found a way to just be again, without the weight of what had been.

Eventually, the girls went inside. They had school tomorrow after all, and despite the lingering warmth of the night, they were both tired.

Brock stood up to take the blankets inside, but when he came back out, Dylan was still sitting on the steps, her feet resting against the cool concrete. She looked up at him, her face softened by the dim light from the kitchen window.

“I should go,” she said quietly. “It’s getting late.”

He looked at her for a long moment. He picked up something in the way she was sitting, not quite ready to leave. It made him pause.

“You don’t have to,” Brock said softly. “I mean... you’re welcome to stay.”

Dylan blinked, looking up at him in a way that made his heart beat just a little faster as her sift smile grew.

It was small invitation, but the weight of it hit him harder than he expected. He hadn’t anticipated feeling so vulnerable, not after everything they’d been through.

She wasn’t just staying for the night, this was a quiet step forward.

She hesitated for a beat longer, then stood, brushing the blanket off her lap. “I could... stay,” she said, almost to herself, as if confirming the possibility.

Brock’s breath caught, and he looked away for just a moment. It had taken so much to get to this place.

And now, it felt like something real was finally possible.

As Dylan walked inside, Brock felt his chest tighten.

This was no longer a simple decision to “be nice” or “make it work for the girls.” This was a decision that had taken them both time to be ready for, to let go of old habits and fears, and to simply trust that this, whatever it was, could still feel like home.

Later, as they both stood in the doorway of the guest room, he paused before going back to the kitchen to clean up.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice low.

Dylan’s gaze softened. She smiled, not in a grand gesture, but in that quiet way she did when she felt something realwithout needing to say it out loud.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think I am.”

Brock swallowed hard. There was no perfect moment. But as Dylan closed the door behind her, he felt almost giddy.

And as he turned to walk back to the kitchen, he let himself exhal.

And it was in that small, unspoken moment, Brock realized how much he had missed this. Missed them.

And when the two crawled into their old bed later that night, relishing in the feeling of the other's arms, they realized how okay they would be.

#brock boeser x oc #brock boeser fanfiction #brock boeser x reader #brock boeser

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letsgetrowdy43 · 19 hours ago