Chapter 129 Butter Me Up Contrary to the soft cloudiness that hung over New Hope, Philadelphia looked like it was crying blood. The rain came down so violently that the sky itself seemed furious—pounding against the windshield, the roof, the road. Wipers screeched back and forth, barely keeping up. Every flash of lightning painted the street silver for half a second before plunging us back into blurred darkness. I sat there, fingers clutching my seatbelt, eyes fixed ahead as Dean wrestled with the steering wheel like the car was a wild animal. “You sure we shouldn’t park and wait till it stops a little?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady even as my pulse jumped. “I’ve read enough stories about cars sliding off the road in weather like this.” “But we’re almost there.” His tone was light, almost dismissive. Then he pointed toward the windshield. “My wipers are quite strong, you know?” “Dean,” I said dryly, “I understand if you have dreams of returning to New Hope in a body bag, but I have no such plans myself. I must get to Roman in one piece.”He laughed, the sound short and nervous. “Your way of speaking always gets to me.” “Well, the only thing getting to us right now, if you don’t pull over, is an accident,” I said, staring out the fogged window. The world outside was just a mix of headlights and rain. “Find a safe spot. I don’t feel comfortable.” He sighed, shoulders slumping like I’d taken the air out of him. “Whatever you say, Sav.” A few minutes later, we eased off the main road. He parked under the shadow of a closed diner, the sign flickering in the rain— “All Times Breakfast,” glowing and dying at the same time. Inside the car, silence settled. Only the sound of rain slamming against the roof and windows filled the space. It should’ve been peaceful—but it wasn’t. It was awkward. Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, humming the Beatles song, Eleanor Rigby, that didn’t even fit the atmosphere. His rhythm was uneven, offbeat, anxious. I didn’t bother to look at him. Instead, I pretended to scroll through my phone, eyes unfocused on the endless screenshots I’d taken of clothes, shoes, bags, even furniture I’d probably never buy. Well, that's because I can't afford them. It was pathetic, really. With everything I had saved on that phone—things I told myself I’d own someday—I’d probably need more than half a million dollars. Maybe more. Maybe I could trick Roman into buying them for me. The thought shouldn't have amused me. But it did. The sound of Dean’s humming faltered, then stopped. “Sav?” I didn’t look up immediately. “What?” He was rubbing the back of his neck again, same way he did when we were at the hospital. The movement caught my eye even though I didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. “I, uh… kinda overheard your conversation with Mrs. Hart.” He hesitated, voice uncertain. “Your mom, I mean.” The air left my lungs on the spot. For a second, my heart actually dropped—not dramatically, not in fear, but in cold disbelief. My fingers went still on the screen. Did he… did he perhaps hear it from outside? “What did you hear?” I asked quietly, the words sharp enough to cut through the drum of the rain. He blinked at me, startled by my tone, and jerked back a little, raising both hands like I’d aimed a loaded weapon at him. “I come in peace, Savannah.”“Tell me,” I snapped. He swallowed. “Is Julius really… not your real dad?” I leaned back against the seat and exhaled, forcing my heartbeat to slow. “Oh. That.” I looked back at my phone. “Yeah, it’s true.” “And his brother is your biological father?” he asked softly. I shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. “Isn’t it crazy? Nature sure had a good laugh at my expense.” “Don’t be like that, Sav. I’m sure—” “Dean.” I cut him off, not raising my voice this time. “You’re the last person I’d ever want a lecture from. So, please, just shut up.” He went quiet. For a moment, only the rain answered. Then he sighed, long and heavy. “I’m sorry, Sav. I really am. I never should’ve believed Chloe when she told me you were cheating on me. I never should’ve agreed to her stupid plan. I should’ve called you, confronted you—anything. I was wrong. I was stupid.” I turned my head just enough to look at him. His expression was soaked in guilt. The kind that looks practiced, like someone who’s been rehearsing their apology for months.“Great speech,” I said flatly. “Almost touching. But it’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” “It’s not too late to do the right thing.” His voice dropped lower, quieter. “And yeah, it’s true that I said I only pursued you to get to Chloe. That’s true. But I’ve realized it’s one of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made in life.” The wipers kept squealing back and forth, marking every beat of silence that followed. Against my better judgment, I locked my phone and set it face-down on my lap. Maybe curiosity, maybe exhaustion — whatever it was, he noticed it instantly. He took a breath, and the words started to pour out. “I used to think dating Chloe was the best thing that could ever happen to me,” he said. “Especially back then. She had this… glow about her, you know? Everyone watched her. The girls wanted to be her. All the guys talked about her, followed her on social media. I thought if I could be the one to date her, it’d mean something. That I’d finally—” “Be someone?” I interrupted. He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Something like that. But she never actually noticed me. Not really. And then one day she posted a picture with you — and I recognized you from college. That’s when I thought… Maybe if I dated you, she’d finally pay attention. And she did.” I smiled without warmth. “Wow. It’s nice hearing it straight from your mouth.” He grimaced. “Sav, I’m sorry.” “Are you saying that because you’re truly sorry,” I asked, eyes narrowing, “or the fact that you’re scared because you’re potentially facing jail time?” He scratched his head, avoiding my gaze. “Does it really matter which one? I’m just trying to do the right thing here.” I gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “No, you’re not. You’re doing this because you’re scared. Because you think if you butter me up enough, maybe I’ll say something good for you in court. Am I right, Dean?” He didn’t answer immediately. Just sat there, jaw tight, eyes darting between me and the rain. Outside, the storm roared louder, the wind shoving against the car, the rain hammering the glass. Inside, everything felt still. And even though I didn’t care anymore—not about him, not about what we were—I could feel it. The quiet, pathetic hope in his silence. The kind that made me want to laugh and scream at the same time.