Rating: NC-17 for Darco slash
Summary: The relationship of Marco and Dylan as seen through Dylan's eyes.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I wish I did. They're yummy.
A/N: These two have inspired the slash monkies of olden times- of Buffy times. Let me know if you like it.

Dedication: Thank you SO much to luvluv for all your help with sparking my muses and your awesome feedback!!!

THANKS TO: BROOKE & ashley for the feedback!!!!

ALSO TO: Diamond, luvluv, Amy, Venus, annakas, & Psumathgirl!!

31

It was shortly after Christmas that coach called me over during a game to him.

"See that guy?" he asked, pointing out to the crowd to a tall blond-ish looking guy. "He's a scout from Zurich HC. They're looking to diversify their team a little- he's going around to area college games the next couple weeks."

I couldn't believe a scout? An international scout?

"He mentioned your name specifically, Michalchuk."

"Thanks, Coach."

After the game, I carried my stuff out as usual and Marco was sitting on the steps of the arena waiting like always.

"Hey, Olive Branch," I greeted him and he stood up and kissed me softly.

"Congratulations- winner and still champion. You played good."

"Thanks," I smiled and I wanted to tell him about it, but I just… he was only watching me play. It didn't really mean anything. I'd been scouted a few times already with no takers. "So… ready to head home?"

"Yes," he smiled and held up a brown paper pharmacy bag. "During halftime, I went out and bought something."

"Oh my god, Marco, are you one of the troubled teens I hear about? Did your boyfriend knock you up and not call you? What is it?" I laughed and he pulled out a box of hair color. "Oohhh. Okay. We can do that tonight if you want."

"Yes. I want. We'll do it and see if we like it."

"Okay."

"You… okay?" he asked. "You just seem quiet."

"Loud game," I shrugged. "I need some one-on-one Marco time for sure."

"How about one *in* one?" he asked, running a hand over my thigh.

"That too," I smiled softly.

And that was the end of it. We went home and dyed my hair and he showed me just how sexy he thought it was and it was just a fun night and by the end? I'd put Zurich out of my mind.

Until the next game and the game after that and the game after that until I got an email from Julien Gerber one day. He said he'd been watching me play and wanted to meet with me to discuss his team. So we met. I figured it didn't do any harm and he said him and the other coaches had reviewed tapes of mine that I didn't even know had been made, let alone sent somewhere, probably by my coach; I'm still not sure. He said they were prepared to make me an offer.

I was floored and confused all at once. I couldn't believe I was finally maybe getting somewhere with hockey. It had always been a dream of mine to be on an Olympic team or a pro team- something like that. Hockey was my life. Besides Marco, hockey was the only thing I thought about. It was like… wake up in the morning and kiss Marco and think about my next practice. I felt at ease on the ice- in control. I felt so powerful when I was skating so fast, driving the puck down the rink. And someone else thought I was good too? Someone *real*?

But as soon as I started thinking it was my chance, I started getting sick in the pit of my stomach because of Marco. He was my other half- the part of me that had always been missing. The man that I wanted to spend my life with. But he still… he was in school. He had ties to Toronto- to Degrassi. He wanted a life with a job and a house and kids and Switzerland didn't fit into that.

So I didn't tell him. I couldn't tell him. I tried so many times but I just couldn't bring myself to tell him that I might be thinking about maybe going. I knew he'd freak and I'd freak if I said the words out loud. If I said them out loud- that I might leave- it would make them true. And I didn't want them to be true.

And the longer I held out giving them an answer, the better their offer got until he wanted to meet for a drink to really talk the nitty gritty- to give me the final offer that I'd have to take or leave because they were courting two other players- one from the States and one from Iceland but he said I was their top pick.

I went to tell him my concerns. I told him I had a partner- a boyfriend- a serious serious boyfriend, practically a fiancé and asked if that would be a problem- that I was gay. He said no- that two of the players had gay brothers and the team was fine with it. He did say I'd have to decide what was more important- my hockey or my boyfriend.

We talked a little more and he was telling me a little more about the team when I heard, "Hey, Dylan," and I nearly had a heart attack when I saw Marco standing there. How had he KNOWN about this?

"Marco, what- what are you doing here?"

"Whatever. Who is this?" he asked.

"Julien, this is Julien. Julien, Marco."

"Nice to meet you."

"Sorry, I can't say the same, Julien. Did Dylan here even *bother* to tell you that he's in a committed relationship or-"

"Marco, woah-" I said quickly. What was he getting at?

"Shut up, Curly. Because you know- he *is*. Or at least he *was* before he started cheating. A*gain*," he said, glaring at me. He… he thought I would *cheat* on him?

"Marco, *stop*," I said. "Julien is from Zurich HC. A hockey team in Switzerland. He's been scouting me. They want me to *play* for them."

I was 1) mortified he'd come and now… what was Julien thinking and 2) angry as hell that he trusted me so little- that he thought I would give him that ring and make promises and just bail on him. And how did he even *know* about the meeting? He must have been snooping. Had he been snooping all along? Did he even trust me at all?

"I… I am *so* sorry," he said quickly. "Julien… Dylan… I'm… *so* sorry."

"Just *go*," I told him quickly. "I'll see you at home."

"Dylan-" he said softly.

"*Go*," I insisted and he said sorry again and headed out. "I'm… Julien, I'm *so* embarrassed. I… hadn't told him about this because it was happening so fast and there was… a thing… a couple years ago and-"

"It's okay," he laughed a little. "Romance… is a confusing thing. But you call me when you know for sure?"

"I'll call by Monday like I said, okay?"

"Sounds good to me. I hope to say welcome to the team."

"Thanks," I said and then got in the car and raced home. He was waiting for me, of course, on the porch. "I can't believe you, Marco. How dare you embarrass me like that in front of him?!"

"Well maybe if I'd known what it *was*. If you'd *talked* to me this past week instead of a*void*ing me!"

"How dare you go snooping through my stuff, Marco? I can't believe you don't trust me."

"When have you given me reason to?!" he asked, angrily.

"Well if you trust me so little, maybe I *will* go," I snapped and slammed the door in his face as I went inside. I'd left my hockey stuff on the floor earlier and I fell to my knees to pick it all up.

I just sat and stared at it for a few minutes until I heard the door open and he stood in the doorway.

"As far as smells go that's uh… that's just above road kill. But I'm gonna miss it," he said quietly.

"I'm not going anywhere, okay? Not yet. I'm just… I was just thinking about it," I told him. I… I think I was more mad at myself for even contemplating leaving him than I was for him snooping through my stuff. I knew I gave him reason to since I'd been distant. Since things had been amazing since Christmas and then I wasn't there. I didn't blame him for wondering. It looked bad, I had to admit.

"Well as long as *you're* thinking about it, you just let me know when *you've* decided," he said.

"See? This is exactly why I didn't tell you. Because I *knew* you'd freak out," I accused as I stood up.

"How I could not, Dylan? What is it that you want me to say right now?"

"Maybe that you're proud of me!" I yelled at him.

"I am proud of you. You know that," he said, barely able to get the words out.

"No I don't. You never told me," I replied. "To you hockey's my dumb hobby. To me? It's *life*."

I sat back down on the floor because I couldn't stand. I couldn't even *bare* to think about leaving him- what it would mean or what it would feel like. I barely survived the year we were broken up because of me but that was accidental and this would be voluntary. I would be choosing to leave him.

"Dylan… if this is what you wanna do then… you gotta do it," he sighed.

I looked up at him and he was… even more amazing than I thought but- "But I wanna be with you," I told him honestly. I hadn't wanted anything in my life like I'd wanted to be with him.

He came and knelt beside me and took my hand. "This is an opportunity knocking. Forget knocking, huh? It's breaking the door down. You gotta do it, okay?" I looked at him and I knew we both knew I had to, but it felt so… *real* hearing him agree with me. "So then um… how long? 'Til you go?"

"There's work visas and stuff to figure out. Maybe a few weeks?"

"Well then… we better make the most of it, huh?" he said and pulled me close to him and I wrapped my arms around him, terrified.

I'd never been scared of anything in my LIFE except that killer whale and leaving Marco Del Rossi.

32

That night we poured ourselves into bed and just clung to each other. Neither of us wanted to come because then it'd be over and we'd be apart. So we held out at long as we possibly could, clutching to our sweaty selves- kissing as deeply and as passionately as we could and it was the most amazing night of my entire life.

Everything changed that night- it was like… we were trying to hold on and say goodbye all at the same time.

It was so intense each time we made love that, by the third time we found ourselves wrapped up in each other, we were both crying, kissing salty tears as we moved together.

If there's one night I've shared with him that stands out in my mind as the pinnacle or the highlight or the most intense or just… the most memorable- that night is it.

We were trying to memorize each other: the feel of us, the sounds we made, and what we tasted like. We were trying to make it not true- to make it not something we both knew had to be done and should be done.

But in the end… as early sunlight caressed our backs during our fifth and final time that night, we both knew life was permanently altered. We knew it was the end. It was goodbye.

"I… I don't wanna fall asleep," he whispered sleepily. "Like… sleeping is wasted Dylan-time right now. And I've been sleeping so much the past few months. If I'd know…"

"Don't do this, Marco. Don't… make it seem like I'm dying or something."

"No, you're just moving a million miles away."

"Not a million. That would put me in a galaxy far far away or something. I'm not going to Pluto."

"Well you can't since it's not a planet anymore," he laughed quietly, his hand caressing my stomach. "But I know I'm tired as hell but I still don't wanna sleep."

"So set the alarm. It's… shit, it's six now. Set the clock for ten. We'll sleep four hours and then do breakfast and… I gotta tell my parents and call Paige and the team. I have to talk to my coach too. I have to figure out how to withdraw from school."

"So you're not going to finish school?"

"I don't know. Maybe they have English language schools over there? Universities?"

"Or French ones."

"Oh please… I'd hate for anything in my life to depend on my knowledge of the French language, since half the time senior year, I was skipping that class to make out with *you*."

"Yeahhh… but in my defense, I was teaching you French. Kissing that is, but… it was still foreign."

I laughed softly. I was going to miss him so much- his ramblings- his ability to take something like knowing French and turn it into something dirty but still make it sound so intelligent.

"We can… we'll make lists, over breakfast- of things you have to do. Things *we* want to do. I'll keep you organized and on task. It'll be my job until you… leave."

He leaned over and I ran my hands over his smooth back as he set the alarm. "God your skin is just… *so* beautiful," I sighed.

"You have an extreme fetish with my skin color, Dylan. I can't say I'm not worried about this. But luckily, aren't Switzerland people pale?"

"I have no idea. I've never been. But… it's… for someone as pale as me to have someone like you who's always seemingly tanned and gorgeous… all golden and… okay. So maybe it's a mild fetish."

"I like it," he smiled softly as we settled in to sleep for a few hours.

"I'm glad, Olive," I whispered and kissed his forehead.

"Okay, Adonis," he replied softly.

We must have slept because the next thing I knew, the alarm was going off and I reached over to snooze it. I needed more time with him. Suddenly every second counted, every moment…

"I heard you push the button to snooze," he scolded and I just laughed. "But… I'm glad you did. I still need a little more recovery time before I'm ready to get up."

"Well I was thinking of you the whole time, Marco. Honest."

"Riiight," he laughed and swatted my arm.

"Why do you always *hit* me? God, you've been hitting me before we even had our first *date*!"

"Well you were being a jerk. You knew how much I liked you- you *had* to have known how much I liked you and then with *Tom* and… you were being mean."

"But you were so damn *cute*- like a little puppy."

"And now?"

"Now you're like… GQ model or something. Like… freakin' Brad Pitt hot."

"I wouldn't go that far," he laughed.

"No, you're… maybe you don't know it but you're *really* hot, Marco. I mean… I'm cute by most people's standards, but you? You're *hot*. You… if you were to go into a gay bar, you'd have ten numbers easy by the time you left- probably more."

"Well lucky for you, I only want *one* number and it's for Dylan Michalchuk."

"I'm… I've been *damn* lucky," I sighed. "From that very first date to the last breath in my body."

"Well I remember going home and… I was so scared you wouldn't wanna see me again."

"And ever since I'd gone to the beach with you guys, all I could think about was kissing you. And then once I did? I was hooked. My lips of choice are Marco lips."

"Well I happen to have two right here," he grinned and we both kissed for a few minutes- long minutes.

I don't know who pulled away first but… the kiss stopped- sadly.

"I can't believe this," he whispered. "I… feel like I'm gonna throw up when I think about it and it's the only thing I can think about."

"I know," I agreed as we slowly sat up from the bed just as the alarm went off again. "So… what are we-"

"We're going to make breakfast and start making a to do list for you. You need to make sure you get all your stuff packed. Are they… gonna take your stuff? How do yo move like this?"

"I have no clue. I… have to call Julien and tell him yes and then I guess I get a contract and I'm sure my dad will want a lawyer to go over it, so…"

"Then… you should do that," he told me and handed me my cell phone. I just held it and looked at him expectantly. "Call him," he said. "Call him and say yes. If it's what you want."

"I don't *know* what the fuck I want!" I yelled and stood up quickly. "I wanna be with you. I want you *with* me. This isn't… FAIR. Why couldn't this have happen before? When we weren't together- when we weren't as invested? You would have moved on and I'd have been able to and now even if I go- I can't even *think* about being with another guy, Marco. I… you're it for me. I *know* it with every bone in my body. But… you- you're sweet and funny and sexy and *hot*… you'll be swarmed with guys wanting to date you. Fuck- I already *know* some that want you. I… you'll fall in love again and I'll be stuck in SWITZERLAND!"

"Dylannn…" he said and took my hand and pulled me down to sit next to him."Dylan, stop. I… you're a catch yourself and Switzerland is way closer to Italy than Canada. What if you go down there and find some darker Italian stud? Or… someone on the team or something? That likes sports and… Why don't we just… stay together? Just… do the long distance thing."

"Marco, I can't… if I go- it's for two years at least. I can't ask you to just… wait. I'm… what? You've dated me and Tim? You need… you should be able to be out there and look for someone who's local, who wants the same things you do."

"Well unless they want you too, I won't find anyone I have that much in common with," he laughed.

"I… if we're meant to be together, we will be, Marco. But… you should have the option of dating."

"*You* want to date? Want to break up or something? You're awfully insistent on me dating."

"As much as the thought of you with another guy *kills* me beyond all reason, Marco… you should have the option. You never know if you could find companionship with someone else. Or… or casual sex."

"You don't get it," he sighed. "Dylan… when you leave do you *really* think I'll be able to have casual sex with someone? I… you're the only man I've ever been with. The only one I *want* to be with. But… you have to do this. We both know you have to do this. You… you have to know if you could have a pro career and if you don't go… you'll blame me one day."

I still had no idea if we were breaking up or what we were doing but he handed me the phone again and I dialed the number for Julien.

"Hi, it's Dylan," I said when he answered and Marco slid his hands over mine. "I… I'd like to play for you."

In that moment, I had *no* idea of how I'd ever be able to pull myself away from Marco Del Rossi.

33

A few days passed and I began packing- trying to decide what to take and what to store at my parents' house. Surely I didn't need certain things- not enough to ship them across the ocean.

Every second I kept feeling sicker and sicker at the thought of leaving Marco behind. Leaving him behind to meet some guy with a big dick and money and the ability to stay with Marco and touch him and kiss him and have *sex* with him-

I ran to the bathroom and threw up. Again.

Then I headed back to my room.

"Hey," I heard and turned to see him standing there, looking at me. "I… I'm taking a little study break. Thought I'd come up and check on the packing situation."

"It's… coming. I don't know what I should take and leave."

"You… just pack what you need- clothes, books, cds, computer stuff, dvds. I mean… you're going there to live, so… what did you bring here to live?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Some of the old hockey shit doesn't have to go though. I'll store that at the house."

"I was thinking of ordering some food. Maybe Chinese? I feel the need for an excessive amount of MSGs."

"That sounds good. You know what I like. I think I have money somewhere."

"I've got it," he answered and then left and it hadn't… we hadn't even had sex since the night of five times. He was already pulling away from me and it killed me to know he could. To know that he *would*.

Like I knew when we got back together- he *chose* to be with me and soon he'd be a free agent.

I didn't want to push being intimate because I knew it would make it worse if we kept clinging to each other but I was greedy. I needed his body- his strength. I needed to feel his strength and his love for me to give *me* the strength to go through with it.

I had to sign papers the next day- to make it legal. I needed his strength to pick up the pen.

I headed downstairs. "Are we… gonna make the most of it?" I asked sadly, tears coming to my eyes. "Or are we just… gonna start acting like I'm not here anymore?"

"Dylan," he whispered. "I can't… I…" And he closed the distance between us quickly and we were on the floor in the hallway quickly with our clothes off and I was pushing inside him. It was desperate and needy but *we* were desperate and needy and we both whimpered and cried softly the entire time. My tears fell on his cheeks as I moved inside him and it just made him more beautifully sad.

"I… Dylan," he said afterwards, when we were still laying in the hallway. "I want you to know that I- I never meant for you to think I didn't know how important hockey is to you. I… I need you to know how proud I am of you- how you amaze me. I watch you at games and you're… I don't know anything about sports but I know you've gotta be good since they always pick you up off the ice at the end. I need you to know that, Dylan. That you deserve a career in the pros because you're *good*."

"I know," I whispered. "I know all that but… thanks for saying it."

"So… we should probably… figure out what we're going to go as far as us, huh?"

"Yeah," I answered. "We do, but let's move somewhere more comfy. And with some clothes."

"But I don't like wearing clothes with you," he smiled. "But fine. Clothing."

"I know it's selfish," I said as we sat on the couch and faced each other. "But I don't *want* you dating anyone else. I get sick just *think*ing about you having sex with someone else."

"Dylan, then-"

"No. I… as much as I hate it, Marco, I'll be gone for two years, maybe longer. If I go pro- if I get picked… I might end up in the States after that. I don't *know*. But… it's doubtful I'll end up in Degrassi for any length of time. I… I'll maybe be able to get here a weekend every few months? I… I don't know. I don't wanna string you along, Marco, not when I might not be able to follow through on the promises I made you."

"I won't be able to move on like you think I will, Dylan. It took me… a year to even take Tim on a *date*- to date someone else. And that was before everything else we've been through. I… I wanna wait for you, Dylan. I wanna *be* with you. I'll… we'll wait."

"Marco," I sighed softly.

"Can't we just say we're still together? And… if one day one of us meets someone we want to date- we'll call the other and decide then if we're breaking up. Or… and don't call me a hypocrite or anything, but… do we wanna see other people? Do *you*?"

"I don't," I said quickly. "I wanna see *you*."

"So we're together. We're just… apart. We're on sabbatical. We're… together but apart then. And… if you manage to visit, we fuck like bunnies."

"Such a dirty mouth," I laughed, but I felt a little better knowing that I wasn't the only one who wanted to wait- who didn't want to date. I'm glad he felt the same way.

"You know it, Babe. So… now that it isn't the end of Dylan and Marco… we have like… two more weeks to spend together before we really test ourselves mentally and emotionally."

"Well I know I could use your expertise and organization skills to pack," I laughed. "That's for damn sure. And I would like to enjoy more home cooking since once I'm there, I won't get any. And of course hours and hours of sex should be added to the list of things to do as well."

He grabbed a pen and paper from his school books on the coffee table and started writing stuff down. "Okay, number one lots of sex. Part A of number one is kitchen table sex. Part B is shower sex."

"Part C should be bathtub sex," I informed him and he nodded and wrote it down.

"Part D will be in front of the fire sex."

"What about Part E- naughty position sex."

"Like what position?" he asked, looking at me sweetly.

"Like… sixty-nine position."

"Dylan!" he said, surprised. "You're… such a- OH MY GOD!" he squealed and nearly jumped ten feet in the air. "HOW DID IT GET IN HERE?! IT'S THE MIDDLE OF WINTER!" he yelled as he ran into the bathroom and I went to the kitchen to get a fly swatter and the bee spray.

"Probably got confused or something, Sweetie. It's been a little warm lately and with the lack of snow…"

I killed it quickly and threw it out the side window. He didn't want them in the garbage in the house because he was convinced they'd come back to life or something.

"It's gone, Baby. Dead and at the bee gravesite."

"Thank you," he sighed in relief as he came back to sit on the couch beside me. "Once again, my reigning hero and still champ."

"And who is going to kill the bees for you while I'm away?" I wondered.

"Well… Ellie's a vampire- she can eat them or something."

"She hasn't been a vampire for a while though, Marco."

"I know she's all… mainstreaming it. I had always counted on her to be the awkward one- if she was gothed out, then my flaming gayness paled in comparison."

"You're not flaming, I don't think. I'm met flaming gay men- dated them even. You are not one of them. You're just… sensitive."

"Yeah, well… so… what are we doing then tonight?"

"My dad and me are meeting tomorrow morning to go over the contract that got faxed. And then… I don't know. But tonight I'm open. Do you have a suggestion?" I asked.

"I think we should try Part E of the number one thing on the to do list," he smirked as he pulled me toward him.

"Why I say… I never thought in a million years would I have thought you of all people would suggest something so lewd, Marco Del Rossi."

34

The next week and a half went by *so* quickly. Too quickly and sooner than I knew it, I'd gotten the call that everything was set. I'd be leaving in two days.

After I got the call, Marco walked back in from the kitchen with some popcorn and he… must have known- seen the look in my eyes or something because he just fell- right on the floor, popcorn going everywhere.

I just looked at him. How was I going to survive not *seeing* him everyday? I'd miss him getting drunk at his first real college party. I'd miss him picking classes and… I'd just miss him. Two years.

"When?" he asked softly.

"Day after tomorrow."

"Oh god," he whispered. "It's… soon. I… we… wanted to do a party or-"

"No," I said quickly. "I don't *want* a bon voyage party. I… just wanna spend every minute with you. No one else, just… us."

"Fine, but you break the news to Paige. You know how much she loves parties."

"Marco, don't… you make so many jokes… this isn't funny to me."

"You think this is *funny* to me? Making jokes is the only way I'll be able to watch you go and not *die*," he confessed quietly. "I… I think about it- you leaving and I can't breathe, Dylan. I can't… function. My brain shuts off and my heart stops beating, okay? I *have* to make jokes to keep from *dying*."

I knew exactly how he felt.

"Okay. I… wanna pack up the rest of my stuff except for clothes that I'll wear and my shower stuff. You… gather up a bunch of food and bottles of water and I'll meet you in bed in an hour."

"Food for what?"

"Because we are *not* leaving bed except to pee and shower until I have to leave."

"Sounds like a plan to me," he nodded and that's what we did. I called my parents to tell them when my flight was and said I didn't want a party or anything- that I was spending the next two days in bed with Marco and I'd see them at the airport. I also called Paige and told her to pick me up to drive me there.

And then Marco and I stayed in bed. That's all we did. I couldn't stop touching him. It felt like the last times I would touch him. I… wanted to believe that we could make the long distance thing work- that we'd talk on the phone and email and IM and video cam… we could have phone sex and the whole thing would bring us closer together- assure us of our love for each other.

I *needed* to believe that was the case because any time I thought of anything else happening? I wanted to *die*. I couldn't even *think* about being over there yet- or how exciting the whole thing could be. I could only think about Marco and what this would mean for us- for the love of my life.

And that day and a half in bed passed by SOO quickly and the next thing I knew, my alarm was going off and I actually had to get up and say goodbye to him. I had to physically leave the country and leave him behind and hope that somehow he wouldn't meet anyone. Or *I* wouldn't meet anymore. That it wouldn't be the end for us.

It was a struggle to pull myself away from him. He was sleeping soundly. I had worn him out. I was worn out myself but I hoped that it would mean I'd sleep on the plane and not cry the entire time. I didn't want to arrive in Zurich looking like a basket case.

I showered and washed my hair and packed my shampoo and I brushed my teeth and packed that as well, along with my toothpaste.

Then I pulled the box out from under the bed. I'd been getting it ready for two weeks and I finally had to leave it for him. I left it with his school bag, under his coat with a note on top: For Marco, when you're ready.

I carried my travel bag downstairs and then carried my other two bags down as well.

Then I headed upstairs where he was still sleeping. I glanced at the clock. Paige would be there soon.

"Ollliiivve," I whispered as I laid down beside him on the bed. "Olllive, my love," I half-sang. "Wake up, Sweet Marco."

"Hero?" he mumbled. "Time is it?"

"Paige will be here soon."

"Oh god, I slept late!" he said, quickly opening his eyes.

"It's okay. I got… I'm ready. I… left my jersey and a pair of sweats in one of my dresser drawers for you. I… know how much you like wearing my sweats."

"Dylannn," he whimpered and grabbed me and started kissing me furiously. I kissed him back and he started yanking at my clothes and I had to pull away quickly.

"Marco, I can't. If I'm in you again… I won't be able to leave," I explained. "I… I'll never be able to leave."

"So don't," he sobbed softly. "I didn't mean it. I don't want you to go. I… just stay. Stay here with me and we'll just… I'll finish school and we'll move anywhere they want us to go. Please…"

"Baby, please don't *do* this to me," I begged. "Please don't… I… I can't…"

I heard the beeping of the car.

"I have to get dressed!" he said and jumped up.

"Marco, if you're… if you come with me… to the airport… I won't get on that plane, please… understand. I can't… I'm sorry."

I heard more beeping and kissed him again, deeply, passionately, leaving us both breathless and then I raced downstairs, grabbed the bags quickly and cried the whole way to the airport.

Paige and my parents waited with me at the airport and my mom and Paige held me. I finally stopped crying an hour into the wait for the flight.

"Paige, you… have to promise me, Little Sis, you have to promise you'll go back to the house. Stay with him this weekend? Make sure he's okay? That he eats? That he takes care of himself? That he'll be okay? Okay? Promise me. Swear to me."

"I promise," she said. "I will take care of him as if he's my own brother, okay? I promise. But will you promise me something?" I nodded. "Promise me you'll *try*? To have a life? To enjoy this chance you're being given? To play hard and do us proud? Send us footage and pictures? Just… injuries happen all the time and if this is your only chance, play it like it's your life."

"It *is* my life and I promise," I told her and we hugged and then I had to get on the plane.

I had to force my legs to get me on it and I sobbed silently for half the flight but when they turned the TV to a hockey game- to MY team… I started… feeling excited- something I'd never allowed myself to feel because I'd never wanted to leave Marco Del Rossi.

35

The first few weeks there was so hard. I didn't know anything and it turned out I needed either French or German. And I didn't know German and I really wished I'd gone to French class more and not to the closet with Marco.

But it started coming back to me and one of the guys from the team helped me get to practices and stuff. They took me out a couple times a week to welcome me to the team. The gay brothers of two of the guys took me to some of the gay clubs too.

And of course I emailed Marco like CRAZY. I talked to him too and every time I had him on the phone, it just… it sounded like he was dead. His voice was so… it didn't sound like Marco at all.

Whenever we chatted on IM he just seemed… lethargic? Or… he never asked about hockey or how it was going. He… I could sense it- feel it from him- he was drowning.

I wanted to fly back and hold him, drag him back with me and keep him locked in a closet. But I couldn't do that. I didn't know how to help him adjust to things- to this.

"How are classes?" I asked as I sat in my new but small apartment.

"Fine. Lot of work, but I manage," he answered slowly.

"You sound so sad," I whispered.

"I… I can't help it," he said. "I… it's so empty here without you. The bed is cold at night. I… Ellie's gone most of the time and I watch TV alone… it's… half of me is lost," he sobbed quietly. "I'm sorry. I… know you've started this wonderful new life and Paige told me it's going well for you, but… I… I'm stuck here with all the ghosts."

"Oh, Sweet Marco… I'm…" I didn't even have words. I knew we'd be sad and lonely and I was feeling that but he sounded so *devastated*. He really did love with all his heart and soul- completely.

"I'm sorry, Dylan. It's… too hard for me to do this. I know you're all happy and everything, but… I'm not." Then he hung up on me.

Over the next few days I tried to email him but he didn't email me back. I tried chatting with him but he didn't respond. I called his cell and it always went to voicemail.

I didn't know what to do; it was even affecting my playing and the coach told me if I couldn't handle it, I'd be replaced.

I was freaking out. I wasn't putting us through all this for me to get kicked off the team. I couldn't have everyone be disappointed in me that way.

I needed to talk to him so I called and it went to the machine. "Marco, I… really need to talk to you. I… miss you. I love you. I… coach is… I just… need you to be here for me, Marco. I thought we were going to… I… I need you to talk to me."

A few more days went by and I didn't hear from him or get a response back on my emails or IMs- nothing.

Then one afternoon I was at home trying to remember how to make his antipasto when the phone rang. "Hello?" I answered.

"Hey, Hon. It's your favorite little sister."

"PAIGE! Have you talked to Marco lately? He won't return any of my calls- nothing. I…"

"Actually, I was with him all weekend long, Dylan. Ellie called me in for a Marco emergency. Me, Alex *and* Ellie tried some intervention with him, but he's… in a bad way, Dylan. He's *really* depressed. I don't know what he might do. Ellie said he's hardly eating. He's barely going to his classes. I… I don't know."

"Paige, we had this worked out. I thought we did. We… but he won't *talk* to me."

"I don't know what to tell you, Hon."

"What do you think I should do, Paige? Do you… should I… just… maybe he *needs* a clean break? I just… keep thinking maybe I should tell him I met someone."

"I… Dylan? The truth?"

"Yes, please, little sis."

"I think it might be for the best. He… after the whole kissing thing with Eric- he was thrashed, but… he had a goal- a mission. I hate to say it, but…"

"I know," I whispered as my stomach started churning.

"But I don't think he'd believe that you met someone this soon- that'd be worth breaking up over. Maybe… you got drunk and slept with someone?"

"Can I really… *lie* to him like that?"

"I don't know, Hon. I just… I don't think he's gonna survive this, Dylan. He's… it's like he's a zombie. Ellie said all of his grades have dropped; he could flunk out of college if it keeps going like this. And it's only been three weeks."

"Okay. I… have to think," I said and we bid goodbyes and I sat on my couch and pulled out all the pictures of him and me and all the Marco things I brought.

I sat all night long staring, looking, thinking. I… I had chosen this. He didn't push me into it- I chose it. I would have chosen it because I needed to know. I… but he didn't choose it. He hadn't meant the things he'd said. He said them because he knew he had to but he didn't mean them. I chose to leave him and he was sort of right- except when I wasn't home thinking about him, I was having a good time. I LOVED playing and getting to know the guys and…

Around three in the morning, I dialed his number. It went to voicemail and I dialed it again. Voicemail. Dial. Voicemail. Dial. I did that several times until I finally heard him answer. "What, Dylan? I told you I can't…"

"I need to tell you something, Marco," I whispered. I had NO idea how I'd be able to say the words. But… "I've… been sick about this all day."

"What?"

"I… went out the other night- with the guys… and… one of their brothers, who's gay, and had… beer and-"

"What are you saying?" he asked softly but he knew what I was going to say. I felt that in his voice.

"I'm saying I slept with him. I had sex with him."

I didn't hear anything for a while but I sat, pinching my arm so violently I left a huge bruise. I couldn't believe I did that to him- hurt him like that over NOTHING.

"Fuck you, *Hero*," I heard him say and he hung up.

Those were words I never thought I'd hear from the lips of Marco Del Rossi.

36

I ached for *weeks* because of what I did.

Prior to the phone call, I'd had hope of being with him again, of us getting through everything, But I finally knew there was no hope left.

I didn't even hope for a phone call or pissed off email. I heard nothing- no word. Paige wouldn't even give me details. She just said he's doing well. Any time I would talk with her, he'd be doing well. So I stopped asking.

But I ached for him for him for weeks, months… I wasn't sure if I'd ever get over him, not when I'd put so much of myself into him.

I never regretted it though. I never regretted giving him his freedom and I'm not sure if I ever regretted leaving in the first place. My hockey career took off- I was unstoppable. We had an incredible season and then another incredible one and my contract was renewed for another two years. Some papers started calling me the "Iron Man" and others actually started dubbing me "Dylan Hercules Michalchuk" and I wondered where he was- if he ever googled me to see that I *was* a hero- just not his.

The few times I went home for holidays, I would drive by his parents' place or the old house- wondering if he still lived there- wondering if he was sharing our bed with someone else. It killed me to think of his face, lost in pleasure, with someone else on top of him- inside him. But that pain was what I deserved for doing what I did- for lying that way- for hurting him in the worst way possible.

The one thing I did regret was *how* I let him go. I wish I could have found the words to explain that maybe we *did* need to just say it was over and move on. But I knew he wouldn't have done it. I *knew* he wouldn't have done it. But if he was *pissed* at me? He turned anger into brain energy.

And yes, I did date. I tried to- but they were all not Marco-enough for me. He was literally the only man I could ever be with- the only one I could ever love and feel completely safe and comfortable with. I regretted having wrecked the hope of being complete again.

I never thought I'd be having drunken sex with strangers because I didn't want a relationship. I never thought I'd be happy to get off to release the tension and then be sad and regret that I'd had sex at all.

I never thought I would ever be so lonely when I had money and a great apartment and great friends.

I just… I never.

Never thought I'd not have Marco Del Rossi.

37

I never thought I'd not have Marco Del Rossi but as the days wore on- over the course of four years it got easier. It was never perfect because I longed for him.

For the first year, I yearned for him but I gradually few accustomed to not having him. I got used to the dull ache in my stomach. I got used to not calling him Olive or Sweet Marco. I got used to not calling him anything, not calling him at all.

I never got used to not talking to him, which is why I started writing a journal- talking to him every day about things I needed to tell him. I knew he wasn't reading it but it made me feel much better.

As the days went on though, I would find myself not thinking of him all the time like in that first year, but just at really random times. Like when something stupid came in the mail and I'd wonder what stupid joke he would have made about it. Or when I was walking to the couch and would spill soda from my glass- I'd imagine him laughing at my clumsiness and making some kind of comment about a hockey star who can't carry soda.

I'd be out on the ice and see a flash of designer jeans or an Italian guy roughly his build and have to do a double take. Even if we were in some random city in Europe- I'd see flashes of him, glimmers of what I hoped would be him, coming to see me, coming to yell… just coming to me. But it never was.

After a while the roaring and constant agony of leaving him the way I did turned into a dull ache- pain in my chest that I learned to compartmentalize and cope with. I learned to live around it and almost ignore it- until something would spark a random Marco thought- an RMT as I began calling them.

It was around the time that my second contract with Zurich HC ended that I began getting calls from NHL teams in the States. My dad actually found me a sports agent in New York City so off I went. I was a bit tired of Switzerland and I wanted to see what the other teams had to offer. And an agent? I couldn't… it was my dream- part of my dream. The other part of my dream was a 5' 6" Italian with a gorgeous complexion who could make my knees buckle. Oops. RMT.

"Dylan the Invincible! Or should I say Hercules!" someone laughed as he walked up to me in the restaurant I was in. "I'm Damien Winters- your new agent."

"Hey, hi, Damien. I'd tell you my name but you know it."

"Yes, I do and when I dropped the name around this past week, a lot of people were interested in your visit. Is your hotel comfortable?"

"Yeah, it's great- nice to be in a place where everyone speaks English," I laughed, though my French had gotten considerably better and I began with some basic German as well. I even took some Italian classes while in Switzerland- since those are three of the four major languages spoken.

"I'd imagine. How long did your father say you were in town?"

"A week or so maybe. I've got two weeks off before I'm due back for the last stretch of the season but I also wanted to get up to Toronto to visit my family."

"Ah, well… I've set up a couple meetings. The Rangers for one wanted a meeting."

"Wow, they're playing tight this year- could finish top five in their league."

"Yes," he nodded. "But Anaheim is also very interested in the Canadian Hercules. The Red Wings were also very very interested. So you do have options, Son."

"Great. I like options," I smiled and we chatted a little more; he told me he'd arranged for a driver and a limo from the hotel to be ready for me when I needed it. He'd also arranged some tickets to a few games, of course. I was being wooed by National Hockey League teams. Trading season and signing season was fast approaching and all the teams were clamoring for new players- for reshuffling. And I'd be in the mix. I was so excited to actually be seeing the woo.

That sounded like something Marco would have said or made fun of me for saying.

"Huh?" I asked and blinked back to the conversation after the RMT. "Sorry, what?"

"Any other things you'd like to do while you're in town?"

"I thought I'd check out some of the museums. Central Park is a must. I thought I'd skate in Rockefeller Center. I can't stand being off the ice for any length of time."

"Well we can arrange it all for you and-"

"No. I don't want a ton of special treatment, Damien. Just get me the games- I'll work the rest out."

"That's easily done," he laughed and there was actually a game that night: Rangers versus the Devils. My seat was incredible! Right down in front in the thick of it. It was an exciting game too and as I sat there watching? I kept thinking: this could be MY team. *I* could be there the following season- playing hard with national coverage… that could be *me*. I watched their forward and kept thinking- I could do better.

I was intently watching the game and when their coaches looked up; they must have known I'd be there. They invited me down to talk with them or meet some of the players- as a fellow hockey player. It was AWESOME.

While I was down there, I just happened to glance across the ice and I couldn't believe my eyes. I couldn't- I had to do a double take and a triple take. Was it *Marco*?! What could he *possibly* be doing in New York the *one* weekend *I* was there? I… it couldn't have been the case. I *was* seeing through the Plexiglas and movement of people and- but I could have sworn it was him. Just another case of RMT.

I had the disease bad- RMT-itis.

Usually the only thing that would snap me out of an RMT cycle was a night of sex with someone- a stranger. It'd jolt my system enough to make me not think about him for a while because I didn't like thinking of Marco when I was with some other person. I liked to keep my heart and my sexual gratification completely separated.

But the next day? I would have NEVER guessed I'd see him again in New York City while I was there- not Marco Del Rossi.

38

The next day I had a few meetings with the agent and a couple other people- I had no idea who. It was all part of getting into the business- with the agents and what not.

After the meetings, I headed out with my limo in search of adventure, I suppose. I wanted to skate. Correction: I *needed* to skate. Skating and sex were the only things that would keep RMTs to a minimum.

So I headed to Rockefeller Center. I rented some skates for the afternoon because I planned on staying a long time. I didn't really like the figure skates because they weren't my hockey skates, but I'd manage.

So I headed out onto the ice and just got lost- going as fast as I could, testing myself to maneuver in and out of people- some hardly noticed how close I got to them. It was freedom. Pure and simple.

Until I heard a laugh- a familiar laugh.

"What? Stoppp! NO!"

At the sound of the laugh, I didn't watch where I was going and slammed right into the side of the rink and flipped over it. I stood up quickly and looked back onto the rink and it WAS! It… it was *Marco*.

"C'mon, Baby, just a little more," some guy laughed- some guy that was holding a scarf that was looped around MY boyfriend. No. Not mine. Not anymore. "I promise you won't feel a thing."

"But I will! Ricky, please… I swear if you go any faster I'll vomit all over your coat."

"You better not," the other guy- *Ricky*- laughed as he pulled MY Marco close to him and kissed him softly. "I told you that coat was *very* important."

"Because you spent a shit load of money on it, that's why."

"Yes, but I spent equal amounts of money on *some*one's Christmas present."

"Ooo… okay- you can go a little faster," Marco agreed and he grabbed *it* around *it's* waist as *it* skated and Marco followed.

It was all really innocent but I could tell they were very intimate with each other. They were… they were *lovers*. I nearly choked on the thought but I couldn't help but watch as some tall hunky type brute molested *my* betrothed. Or unbetrothed, but still…

And Marco? *Marco* looked… *gorgeous*. I thought he was hot be*fore* I left and that he'd never be any hotter, but I was *very* wrong on that. I don't know what had happened to him, but his hair was still short- much more spiky though and I could see he had red tips in it. And… the sun glinted off an eyebrow ring. He got an EYEbrow ring?!

"I swear to god, Ricky, if you let me go, I will punish you *so* severely!" he yelled as they came quasi close and was that… a tongue ring?

His whole demeanor was different. I couldn't place it but he just… it was Marco but… he wasn't 19 anymore- he was 23. He was older- he'd outgrown some of the boyish good looks and looked much more like a man. A handsome, defined and *gor*geous man.

My heart started aching and pounding and that dull burn I'd managed to create burst out of its container and I felt the need to cry and scream and pour my heart out and kick at the ground and shout at the sky.... what had I done?

I wanted to say something to him but I had no words to say. What *could* I say? What could I say in front of who was clearly his, at the very least, boyfriend of a few weeks? I couldn't say anything. So I just watched them for the hour they were there skating.

"Yo, are you *kidding*? ¿Estás bromeándome, Enrique? Porque yo sé todo."

"No sabes nada," Enrique laughed and since when had Marco known *Spanish*?! I was fairly certain it was.

I watched him skate and laugh and grab at that- at *it* and laugh with *it* and touch *it*.

The more I watched, the sicker and angrier I got until I finally stormed over to the booth and returned my skates. I didn't know what to do. I got back to my hotel and grabbed my phone and called Paige immediately.

"Hey, Dyl-"

"Why in the fuck is he in New York?!" I growled at her. "You didn't tell me he was in New York!"

"Who?" she asked.

"Marco!" I yelled at her. "I just saw him- skating- with some… tall dark and hunky… something. What WAS that?!"

"Dylan… I-"

"I'm so sick of shit you can't tell me, Paige."

"I told you, Dylan- we went through this. When you broke it off, Marco made me *swear* to not inform you of his life- that you chose to be separate so he wanted it separate. And I haven't broken that promise to him and I won't. He's… if you saw him and he's happy, then… isn't that what you wanted?"

"I… I always thought… his eventual happiness would be with *me*," I whispered as I sunk onto my floor and hung up on her. I knew it was all true- I lied about what happened so he could move on and be with someone and if that… *it* was someone then… I was only in New York for a few days and the chances I'd run into him again in such a huge city were slim to none.

I just… never in a million years would I have imagined him on skates with an eyebrow ring and a TONGUE ring. Never. Not Marco Del Rossi.

39

That night I wrote *furiously* in my Marco book. I was so mad and just thinking of them going back to a hotel room after spending such a romantic afternoon together- I knew what they'd be doing. What MY Marco would be doing- with his new TONGUE ring. How come he never mentioned wanting one when *we* were going out? How come he never mentioned wanting red tips in his hair? How come I'd never seen him looking more gorgeous or more sexy?

That night? In that night I very much *did* regret leaving him and lying to him. I should have never thought we could keep a relationship going. We should have broken up for a few years and promised to reunite. We- *I* should have done something. I should have chosen him.

Why did I never seem to choose the things that mattered the most? I had… such conflicting feelings about the whole thing and I prayed I wouldn't run into them again.

I had to get out of the hotel. I needed to not think about him. I needed to chase the RMTs away so I headed out to a gay club I'd heard about. Now in retrospect, mind you, I know that it was incredibly stupid not wanting to see him again and then going to a gay club. Because I knew how much fate liked to fuck me. And fuck with me, it did.

Things went great at first- I got a few drinks in me and I could already feel the RMTs melting away a little. I got out on the dance floor and a couple guys gravitated toward me, which they always do. I mean… I know I'm mildly good-looking and I stand 6' 2" and I work out like crazy, so… I was enjoying the attention very much of a couple pretty attractive guys- one behind me and the other in front. They were a little close but if I wanted to chase the RMTs away completely, I needed them to be closer.

I needed them to be way closer and I needed to be way drunker in order to invite one back to my hotel.

I told them I'd be back- that I needed another drink. Sleeping with not-Marcos always felt wrong. It made me feel dirty sometimes. The first time it happened I was *so* wasted that it just happened; I wasn't able to stop myself. But then after when I went a week without thinking about him at all, I realized the random sex had done that to me.

I ordered a drink and turned around to go back over when I saw *him* in the middle of the dance floor. Him and *it*- dancing closely, pressed against each other, touching, rubbing, *grind*ing even… I *ran* from the place, dropping my drink on the floor in the process.

I ran and didn't stop running- I don't think I ever *had* stopped running from the feelings I had for him. Every second apart just made me love him more. Every RMT made me fall in love with him all over again and it killed me knowing that he had moved on. That it was that easy for him to move on and forget all about me.

I wondered, as I ran down the streets of New York as it started snowing, if they would marry one day. I wondered if *it* was from Canada and how it met MY Marco. I wondered how long they'd been together or if they thought of adopting kids one day. I wondered if it enjoyed Marco's tongue as much as I had. I wonder if Marco ever fucked him- if Marco grabbed his hair and made him admit that he was Marco's- that he belonged to him.

I found myself out of air and vomiting all over the snowy streets of New York.

I wondered if Marco ever wondered about me. Did he ever wonder if *I* enjoyed someone else's tongue? Or did he not care? Had he completely forgotten *every*thing?

I wasn't sure if I ever wanted the answer to that question. I was afraid of that answer. I was *terrified* of that answer.

I had always thought Marco and I- I know I'd said that I had no hope of being together again but I ALWAYS thought we were destined to be together. I always thought we'd never find the companionship and love that we shared with anyone else. I know I said I had no hope, but as I was running, I realized I'd *al*ways hoped. And now all of it was melting away, burning away into a volcano of pain and despair and I wanted it to swallow me whole.

Nothing mattered. As I ran? Nothing mattered. Not Zurich HC. Not NHL offers. Not even hockey. *Nothing* mattered. Nothing except Marco Del Rossi.

40

For the rest of my three days in New York, I went *no*where except meetings and my hotel.

I couldn't risk fate fucking with me more. I didn't even go down to the hotel bar or restaurant because just my luck? Marco and *it* would be staying at MY hotel and I couldn't handle it.

And what if he was LIVING in New York for some reason?! I definitely didn't want to play for the New York Rangers. Maybe Anaheim was the way to go. I couldn't think about it. I just wanted to be home and I couldn't be home because MARCO was my home and he now renting to someone else.

I felt so empty and defeated on the plane up to Toronto. I just wanted the comforts of my family- my mother's cooking and Christmas and Paige and maybe to look up a couple old hockey buddies. I'd talk with the Maple Leafs as well and I swore to myself I would in NO way EVER look up Marco or drive by his house or our old house or ANYTHING. I wouldn't.

"DYLAN!" Paige squealed as I came off the plane and she jumped into my arms.

"Hey, Sis," I smiled and we shared a long embrace. "God, I miss you, Paige."

"I know, Hon. Talking on the phone doesn't give me the full effect of a Dylan-hug, especially now. You're… larger than you were."

"I've been training hard, working out- gaining some muscle. Makes me a better forward."

"Yeah, I like it," she smiled and pulled me with her to baggage claim. We got my bag and then went to her car and it was already feeling nice- familiar. It made the ache and burn for Marco slightly easier to manage. "So… sorry you… ran into him, Dylan. What did he say?"

"I saw him a few times but he didn't see me. I didn't… I didn't say anything. I couldn't. Not with- he's seeing someone?"

"Hon…"

"I know, I know. I don't *want* to know how serious they are or… who it… I saw enough. I *know*."

"So tell me about the hockey stuff," she said, changing the subject quickly so I filled her in on the teams courting me and what the agent had said would happen. Then she filled me in on her life and what she was up to and about this new guy Todd she was sort of seeing in grad school.

I got home and my parents were happy to see me and it was nice having a mother-cooked meal and lounging around with Dad to watch sports. We went to a hockey game too- to see the Maple Leafs. We had a good time. It was familiar and warm and it kept my mind sort of away from RMTs.

After the game, I ran into a few hockey friends from college and went out with them and had some drinks and food- more stuff to keep away the RMTs that plagued my heart and weighed down my soul.

I stayed out really late so I was able to get home and just pass out in my old room; which was probably good, because when I woke up in the morning, I started thinking about all the things we'd done in my room. And four years later? He *still* had me weak.

A couple days passed and I kept busy seeing friends, talking to my agent, and skating with my buddies. I spent some time Christmas shopping with Paige and then with my mom. Christmas was only three days away and whenever I would start thinking of my *last* Christmas at Degrassi and how special it was, I'd go for a run or I'd grab my skates and go to the rink or get in the car and just *drive* as fast I could with the music blaring.

On my way back from one of said drives, I decided to stop for some coffee at the Dot. It was still as good as I remembered and it was fairly quiet. I walked back out to the car and was practically plowed over by a HUGE St. Bernard running loose in the streets? I turned quickly and kinda threw myself onto it and tackled it to the ground so I could grab its leash. I don't know why I did. I just… would hate to see a pretty dog like that killed or something. But where was its owner?

"GRETZKY!"

I froze.

I froze because I knew that voice- that tone. I knew the owner of it too.

And if I fate didn't hate me then the dog I was holding a leash to would be named Spot or Beethoven. But fate did hate me and I knew his name was Gretzky.

"GRETZKY!" I heard yelled again and I turned slowly to see Marco *running* down the street with another dog as well- a beautiful German Shepherd. "Gret-" He froze too for a minute.

"Gretzky I presume?" I asked, holding up the leash.

"Yeah, he… got… away from me when I- I… Dylan," he finally said.

"Hi, Marco," I replied and he looked *soo* much better up close. He… the eyebrow ring and the hair and… EVERYthing.

"I… can't believe this," he said and the next thing I knew, the STRANGEST thing happened. He *hugged* me. "You're in town?"

I hugged him back and god he smelled *incredible*.

"Yeah, I… came for Christmas. Paige didn't mention it?"

"No, not really," he answered and took the leash. "Thanks… for catching him. He just… got away from me when I was dealing with *this* one," he laughed and pointed to the other dog.

"These… are yours?" I asked a bit stupidly. I'd never pictured him owning *dogs* and looking so incredible and smelling so amazing and not being mine.

"Yeah, these are the babies. Running Daddy ragged, huh, Gretzky?"

"I… I like the name," I told him. "And the other?"

"The other is named Hero." My heart just MELTED. He'd named his dogs for *me*? Did that… did it mean anything? "But I have to get going. These guys need to be back home because I'm meeting someone. But… it was great seeing you, Dylan."

"Yeah, I- it was," I said as he turned and just… walked away.

He just walked away.

Did he just walk away? I kept asking myself that over and over again. Like… he hugged me and walked away like he *hadn't* just run in to the love of his life on the street years after it ended badly.

I stood there on the street dumbfounded until he turned out of view and I just stood there still.

I couldn't move. He just… he had truly moved on. HAD he? Had he really just… moved on?

I couldn't believe it.

I could never have believed that he could just walk away, not from me. Not Marco Del Rossi.