TWO UPDATES NOT DATED MONTHS APART? IS THIS REAL? (Yes, it is). Enjoy the chapter! :) 

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Vincent and I stayed at the diner for another hour and a half after Jane and Trevor had left just talking. It was strangely nice and almost therapeutic to talk to him when he wasn't being a complete asshole. It was the side of him that I had only caught glimpses of before, and I was unsure what exactly triggered him to suddenly be so thoughtful and caring.

Before we left, I excused myself to the restroom, mostly because my heart was beating too fast by the way he had been looking at me for an hour. I didn't understand why and I didn't want to find out, so I decided to get a breath of air and splash some cold water on my cheeks to keep them from warming up inexplicably. 

When I came back out, I still had a stupid half smile on my face, regardless of how much I tried to get rid of it. As I walked back toward the table, I saw the flirtatious waitress at our table, bending down as she spoke to Vincent with a coy smile on her lips and a hand on his shoulder. He said something to make her laugh, and I slowed my pace as I watched her pull out a piece of paper from her pocket and set it on the table in front of him.

The smile was long gone by the time I reached the table and my eyes flashed to her number written with a heart on the piece of paper, and then to her as she laughed at something else he must've said. When she saw me approach, she stood up straighter and gave me a once-over, almost to check out the competition. 

Vincent turned to catch my eye and smiled brightly at me, but I couldn't muster the same type of reaction. For some reason, the pit of my stomach ached, and I suddenly just wanted to be home. "You ready?" 

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear almost shyly and nod, watching as the waitress moves over to let Vincent get out of the booth. She smiles brightly at him as we leave, and I notice the piece of paper sitting in his hands, but don't comment on it. When we get outside, he chuckles under his breath, crumbles the piece of paper, and tosses it into the trash can by the door. 

I wasn't able to help myself from asking, "What, you weren't into her?" 

I want to cringe when I hear how nosey I sounded, but Vincent didn't seem to either notice or mind. He just shrugs. "She was trying too hard." 

The simple excuse made me nod, and for some reason, my nerves began to fade away. As the gravel crunches under my feet, I scan the parking lot and suddenly realize that Jane, my ride, had left. 

"Come on," Vincent nudges my shoulder and nods his head. "My car is this way." 

Because there was no way in hell I was going to pass up a free ride, I follow him obediently to his car, noticing immediately the immaculate black finish on his Jeep. It was a newer Wrangler, one that I could only dream about one day driving, and it had Vincent's name all over it. He unlocks the car and I slide into the passenger seat, surprised by how clean it was on the inside. 

"What?" He asks upon observing my impressed expression. "Did you expect me to be a slob just 'cause I play football?" 

I glance at him with a half smirk and say innocently, "No, I expected you to be a slob because you're a guy." 

Vincent rolls his eyes at me as the car turns over and The Beatles float through the speakers. Again, I'm impressed, and can't help but ask him, "You listen to the Beatles?" 

He checks his mirrors and starts to reverse out of his parking spot, but has enough time to spare me a false chastising look. "You've got to stop assuming things about me, Webb. You've got me pegged all wrong." 

Apparently, I do, I immediately think. But I'd never admit that to him. 

"So be honest with me here," Vincent says gruffly as he pulls onto the street. "Do you think Trevor has a chance with your friend?"

When I think of how sweet they were being with each other at the diner, a smile subconsciously stretches the corners of my lips. It had surprised me that Jane was so receptive to Trevor's personality, seeing as he isn't usually the type of guys she hooks up with. In short, Jane's type is: asshole. 

"Wouldn't I be betraying the girl code or something if I told his friend?" I tease, glancing over at his features.

Vincent's jawline was somehow sharper from the side, and only intensified when he had that crooked smile on his lips, like he was preparing himself to joke with you. His eyes were focused on the road, but they flashed over to me as I asked the question, and lingered on my face for a moment before he focused on the road again. 

"I think you'll be betraying our code if you don't tell me," He answers simply, confidently, slowly. He glances over once more to see my brow knit together and explains, "You know, our code. You like me, I like you, we're all friends here. We spend a lot of time together, you know. People are starting to talk." 

The turn that the conversation takes jars me for a moment as I blink dumbly and repeat, "People are starting to talk?" 

"Of course they are," He continues confidently, as if what he were saying had no effect on me at all. "And all the time we spend together, all the outside speculation, it bonds us. Therefore, we have a sort of code." 

I couldn't tell if he was just simply spouting bullshit so that I would tell him that Jane likes Trevor, or if he was trying to explain the way our 'relationship' was working. Either way, like most things, I decide to ignore it, and just call him crazy. 

"Your weird tactics aren't going to work to make me tell you about Jane," I tease, but my mind is still reeling over everything he had said. 

Before he can try to explain himself again and send me into another mental spiral trying to figure out what he means, my phone begins ringing in my pocket, and I pull it out eagerly for a type of distraction. When I see my mom's name splayed across the screen, I'm hesitant to answer it in front of Vincent, and ultimately send her to voicemail.

When the obnoxious ringtone ends, it begins once more a second later, and I realize I'm going to have to answer. I glance at Vincent, who was already looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and ask, "Do you mind if I take this?" 

He gestures with his hand for me to answer, and I raise the phone to my ear. "Hi, mom." 

"I'm sorry if you're busy," She begins rambling immediately. "But I'm at the hospital with Danny, and--" 

"Why are you there? His chemo appointment isn't until tomorrow," I interrupt against my better judgement, knowing I was prolonging her explanation, but my heart immediately dropped into the depths of my stomach when I hear her frantic voice. 

"He passed out," She explains. "I was putting the groceries away and he started to get bad pain and lightheaded, and all the sudden he just passed out. I brought him to the hospital right away--" 

"What's the doctor saying?" I interrupt once more. 

"They don't know what's wrong yet," My mom answers in exasperation. "Do you think you can come home for break a few days early? I really need someone to stay with him, and if I miss any more shifts I'm going to be fired. We both know I can't afford to lose my job." 

I press the heel of my hand into my eyes as the waves of concern and stress drown my body, and it's only when I feel dampness on my hands that I realize I had been crying. 

"I'll see what I can do, mom," I tell her. "Please keep me updated when the doctor comes to talk to you, okay? I'll call you again in a few hours if I don't hear from you." 

As I hear her sniffle, I realize she was crying, too. "I love you sweetheart. Stay safe." 

"I love you too," I mumble before taking the phone away from my ear. 

When my hand drops with my phone in it, I feel Vincent's gentle fingers prying it out of my hand and then replacing the phone with his hand. I look over at him in surprise, noticing that he had pulled over in front of my building sometime when I was on the phone. His eyes seemed to drown in concern as he looked at me, his expression mirroring the tenderness of his touch as his hand comforted mine. 

I didn't have the time or brainpower to wonder why he was being so gentle and kind with me, or why his hand was in mine, or why I didn't feel wildly embarrassed that he heard the entire conversation between my mom and I. I didn't even care that he was watching the tears pool in my eyes and spill over onto my cheeks. I just liked the fact that he was there. 

"Hey," Vincent murmurs, his eyes searching mine, his body frozen for a moment before he reaches up his other hand to wipe my cheeks dry. "It's going to be okay." 

Even though he only knew the side of the story that he could hear me say over the phone, even though I had the worst feeling in the pit of my stomach saying it wasn't going to be okay, for some reason, I listened. His words comforted me more than I ever expected, and a wave of calmness passed through my body that made my erratic breathing lessen at once. 

I can't find the words to respond, so I simply nod, and feel tears continue to trickle down my cheeks as we sat silently together. My entire body felt comforted by his touch and the way his thumb traced back and forth against my hand and knowing that Vincent was in the car beside me. And eventually, the tears stopped, and we continued to sit there silently. 

"You should get inside," Vincent says abruptly, not unkindly, but his words still shock me as if he had been rude. 

I turn to him in surprise as he takes his hand out of mine, but the discomfort churning in my stomach quickly ceased when he unbuckled his seatbelt and turned off his engine to get out of the car with me. He even managed to open my door for me so I could climb out slowly, something I never expected he would do. 

"Do I, uh," I motion to my eyes, trying to ask if it looks like I had been crying, but feel to embarrassed to let the words come out of my mouth.

Vincent's eyes sweep over mine and he smiles a small, gentle smile that I had never seen before today. "No, you look beautiful."

His words caught me off guard and I think he caught himself by surprise too, because the small smile disappears a moment later and he looks away from me. I feel my cheeks warm at the compliment but feel unable to respond, considering the circumstances. I mean, this was Vincent we were talking about. If he called me beautiful, did it really mean anything, anyway? 

"Thanks for the ride," I say awkwardly, hoping to bridge the gap between the newfound tension between us and the previous tenderness. 

I expected him to accept my thank you and then get back in the car, but he instead nods wordlessly and begins walking to the door of my building. I blindly follow him, confused as to why he was coming inside, but unable to find the words to ask. 

By the time we get up to my bedroom, I'm sure that he's going to say goodbye, but Vincent further surprises me by coming in the room with me. I scan it to find Jane, but she was nowhere to be found, and I suddenly feel intimidated at the prospect of being alone with Vincent again. 

"Lily," Vincent starts, his voice much softer than I ever remember hearing, and then the click of the door shutting. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

No, I would've answered automatically under normal circumstances. Absolutely not, not with you. And yet, when I opened my mouth, I told him what had happened. I moved to my bed and sat on the edge while he stood a few feet away from me, his eyes watching mine and occasionally dipping down to observe my lips as the words escaped. 

And when I was done explaining, I had realized my next plan of action. "I have to go home," I tell him with a sigh. "There isn't a question about it." 

He observes me for a moment and asks, "How far of a drive is it?" 

"A couple hours," I answer offhandedly, looking out the window as another breath escapes my lips. "I don't know how I'm not going to go crazy on that drive alone." 

"I'll come with you." 

My head whips back around and I start objecting before registering his authentic offer. "No way. I was just being dramatic, I'll be fine."

He starts shaking his head with me and takes a few steps closer. Vincent doesn't stop walking toward me until his hands are on either sides of my legs, his chest practically up against them, his face way closer to mine than I had expected. I froze completely when his forearms brushed against my outer thigh, but he hardly seemed fazed. 

"Lily, you're not driving for hours, alone and worried about your brother. You shouldn't be alone when you're in that kind of headspace." Vincent tells me calmly, his voice low. "I'll come with you. We can take my car, I'll drive." 

Somehow, I manage to squeak out, "But what about your classes? And football?" 

He shrugs. "Break is starting soon anyway. We're just getting a jump on the traveling," Vincent insists. "We can leave tomorrow."

 The only reasonable explanation for why I said what I said next is that Vincent was much too close and I was in no position to think rationally. So, for whatever reason, I just nod and say quietly, "Okay."

A handsome half smile breaks out on his face. "Good," He says, and then he does the millionth amazing thing tonight: he reaches up and tucks a piece of stray hair behind my ear, letting his hand linger on the side of my neck, and says gently, "It's going to be okay, Lily." 

I don't have any sort of willpower to speak or even acknowledge the way my stomach was flipping over itself at his touch or tenderness, but luckily, I don't have to. Vincent takes a few steps back and starts toward the door.

"I'll pick you up around noon," Vincent promises as he opens the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Webb."

Before he can close the door, I hear Jane's voice greet him, but I'm too dazed to pay attention at what they're talking about in the doorway. A moment later, the door shuts, and Jane walks in to find me sitting dreamily on the edge of my bed, and a smirk breaks out on her face.

"Well hello lady," Jane chirps. "I was ready to tell you all about my time with Trevor, but it looks like you have some explaining to do first." 

Her words remind me of the serious matter at hand, why I was leaving in the first place, and I snap out of my daze and instead feel discomfort settle back in the pit of my stomach. However, not wanting to kill the mood before she told me about where she was, I shake my head.

"There's nothing to explain," I tell her noncommittally. "What happened to your cramps, huh?" 

At this, Jane grins brightly. "He brought me to the convenience store to get Midol, ginger ale, and chocolate. Can you believe that? I took some Midol and felt better, so we ended up laying on the grass eating loads of chocolate." 

Despite the internal wheels hurling my mind around, I still smile genuinely and remind her, "I told you that Trevor is a great guy." 

Even though I tried my best to sound chipper, my best friend is all too aware when something is wrong. Her giddy smile soon fades and her brow creases together in worry as she asks, "Is everything okay, Lil?" 

And, just like I had told Vincent, I tell Jane what had happened. This time, it felt easier to explain-- not because I was more comfortable with Jane, but this time, the end of the explanation was that Vincent was coming home with me tomorrow. 

And for some unknown reason, this comforted me more than anything else in the world.