Oh MY, ANOTHER chapter? I'M ON A ROLL

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I had to admit, driving in Vincent's practically brand new car was much better than any alternative way of getting home. But that was about the only positive thing about the fact that he was coming home with me.

I spent the beginning of the day in shock by myself for letting Vincent come home with me. I even tried calling him to tell him not to come, but every time I thought we were making progress, he would say, "Okay, I'll see you later to pick you up."

And now, after a lot of denial and pep talks to myself, I was finally in the passenger seat of his car, letting my stare zone out on the immaculate dashboard. The sound of his door popping open finally tore my gaze away and toward his door, where Vincent appeared balancing two coffees while he opened the door.

"Here you go," He hands me one of the coffees with a slight smile.

I grab it with a silent smile as a thank you, letting my hands curl around the warmth of the cup. For some reason, it reminded me of the warmth of Vincent's hand last night, when it was intwined in my own.

"Sorry about the wait," Vincent excuses as he shuts his door. "The woman in front of me was ordering for the entire PSU student body."

"I hope they have a cup carrier large enough for that," I quip back.

Vincent's smile stretches as he gives me a sideways glance. "I think I saw one in the back."

I lift my coffee to my lips and glance out the window as Vincent starts pulling out of the parking lot and, once again, get lost in the idea that he was coming home with me. Thanksgiving break wasn't for another two weeks, but we had decided to miss a few days of class so I can go home to be with my mom and brother for even a little bit of time.

I had no idea what to expect when I got there. So far this semester, things hadn't been horrible for Danny. He had his ups and downs, of course, but for the most part, he seemed better than last year, when the cancer had gotten the best of him. Last year was the hardest year; he was constantly in pain, weak, pale, and upset. He finally had life back in him.

"So did I really see your PT bag in the trunk, or was I imagining things?" Vincent questions from the drivers seat.

I glance at him and conjure up a small smile. "You weren't seeing things. We need to keep your routine on track," I explain. "I think you should be okay by the Thanksgiving football game."

And just like that, I see his eyes light up. "Really?"

When I see his eyes light up, my smile widens, but it shortly after becomes forced. What if all this time, Vincent had just shown interest in me because his real passion was on hold? What if everything changes when he starts playing football again?

I gulp to try to push down the newfound lump in my throat and mumble, "Really."

The inexplicable feeling hit me all at once when the thought entered my mind. Somehow, in the last few weeks, I had gotten closer to Vincent than I ever thought possible; somehow, I no longer hated him, but instead wished for his company. He had weaseled his way into my life and made all my perceptions about him completely change, and I had no idea when it happened.

But now that it had, the mere thought that he had only been kind to me as a mere pastime before he was able to get back on the field crushed me.

I had let him in quicker than I had ever let anyone in before. There was a constant wall between me and everyone else, one that I had built up after years of suffering and sadness. It was my very own defense mechanism, one to keep people at bay so I didn't have to be so heartbroken if they left my life the way my father had years ago, or feel so deeply hurt if something had happened to them.

And somehow, Vincent changed my perception of him so quickly that I had actually confided in him, told him things. He was driving me to my house to see my family at this very moment. Could that all really be just thrown away when he's cleared for football again?

"You okay over there?"

I don't take my gaze off the window when I nod. I want to look at him, to feel some sort of instant relief and think, I'm being crazy, but I couldn't bring myself to stare into his eyes.

"All good," I force out as my stare remains focused on the passing road.

And that was the last thing I could bring myself to say for the next hour and a half. It was crazy how fast your thoughts can turn on you; one moment, you're joking about cup carriers, and the next, you're worried about someone leaving you for a sport.

But I couldn't blame him, could I? Football is Vincent's life. Well before I had any ounce of respect for him, I could see the way he acted on the field. It was a different kind of confidence than what he usually oozes. He was a good player and a good team mate.

And then there was me: the person responsible for his recovery. I was practically nothing to him, just a mere bump in the road on his way to stardom. As the thought crosses my mind, I feel my heart squeeze, and I finally realize why his touch sent tingles up my arm and the tender look in his eyes makes butterflies erupt in my stomach.

I liked Vincent. Not as a football player, not as a classmate, but as a person. He had so much more depth than I had ever realized; he cares so deeply about people after what he's been through. He wasn't just an asshole athlete on the football team, but he was a person with genuine intentions.

Which means he couldn't have been playing me this whole time, right?

"Hey," The man himself speaks up, his voice so soft that I feel my breath catch in my throat for a moment. Finally, I look over at him, and see concern deep in his eyes, which he was trying to veil with a casual smile. "So you are awake."

At first, I didn't know what to say. After all the thoughts reeling in my head for the last hour and a half, it was like he was a completely different person to me now.

"Yeah," I answer shortly, unable to form a real sentence.

"Do you mind if we stop at a gas station?" Vincent inquires. "I'm starving and I don't want your mom to witness me scarf down hospital food."

It wasn't until he mentioned it that I felt my empty stomach begging to be fed, so I nodded and glanced out the window once more to realize I knew where we were. "There will be a rest stop a few miles up on your right," I tell him. "They have the best snacks."

When we pulled into the rest stop, I had to practically detain myself from jumping out of the car and sprinting to the snack stand. There was a candy shop in this rest stop, the one that I would always beg my mom to stop at a half hour into our road trips. It constantly smelled of chocolate and candy berries-- the scent of the happy parts of my childhood.

Vincent waited me to round the car before we walked in together, reveling in the chance to stretch our legs even though it had been a short drive. There were a lot of commuters out today, with people filing in and out of the three sets of doors in the front of the building. Vincent held the door open for me while I shuffled in with my mind on one thing: candy.

I practically made a beeline to the candy shop, losing Vincent along the way to some fast food chain. When I walked in, the sheer familiarity made me smile and take a deep breath, finally letting myself relax after all those taxing thoughts had been racing through my mind. I walk around a bit before finally stopping in front of my favorite display: the chocolate.

"Milk chocolate or dark chocolate?"

I glance beside me to see a guy around my age standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and a serious expression on his face. He glanced back at me and cracked a smile.

"Dark," I answer hesitantly, sure that I would hear the same spiel from him that everyone else gives me.

His nose crunches up as he says, "That was supposed to be a trick question. The answer is always milk chocolate."

"Except when it's not," I point out with a small smile. "I've never been a milk chocolate girl."

His eyes adorn my face from behind his black rimmed glasses that looked great against his tanned skin. The chocolate man was wearing a black t shirt and joggers but still managed to look put together somehow.

He nods his head toward the display and asks, "So if I were to try to convert, which of these would you have me taste test?"

My eyes scan the display for my favorite bag, and I grab it to hand to him. "These."

His hand grabs the bag as he lets his fingers intentionally brush against mine and asks incredulously, "Dove chocolate?"

"It's a classic," I defend immediately. "Don't fix something if it's not broken."

He nods slowly as his smile widens and he accepts the bag. "Okay, fine. You sold me." He shifts the bag into his other hand and says casually, "So is there any way I can get your number? You know, solely for review purposes."

I'm kind of surprised by how forward he is, especially considering my current state: sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and my hair in a ponytail. I knew for a fact I did not look cute right now.

"I have a boyfriend," I tell him for some reason, yet immediately regret the lie the second it leaves my lips, because I can see Vincent walking up to us.

The chocolate man looks disheartened but still nods. "I should've figured that someone would have already made you theirs," He says, and the compliment tinges my cheeks the slightest shade of pink. As he says this, Vincent slides next to me and sizes him up with a guarded look on his face and slightly narrowed eyes. "Oh, you must be the boyfriend. You got a good one, dude."

Without skipping a beat, Vincent nods and gruffly says, "I know."

The chocolate man takes this as his cue to leave, and I turn away from Vincent so he can't see the dark shade my cheeks had been painted. After I hear the guy walk away, I pretend to be surveying the chocolate display, but I'm all too focused on the feeling of Vincent's presence behind me.

"So we're dating now?" He teases from behind me. "I feel like you should have told me that. You know, so I can plan Valentine's Day."

I force myself to calm down and turn to glare at him. "Shut up," I mutter. "I just didn't want to give him my number."

Something flashes in his eyes before the easygoing smile is back and he drapes his arm around my shoulders. "Well, I'm happy to be your fake boyfriend any day."

The words mixed with the feeling of his skin against mine made my stomach go crazy, so I grabbed another bag of dark chocolate and started walking toward the cashier to put some distance between us. But before I can hand over the few dollars it costs, Vincent hands him a few bills and pays for me.

"I can pay for myself," I remind him as we walk away from the candy store.

"I know," He grins and looks at the bag of chocolate in my hand. "But if I paid, then maybe you wouldn't be so angry when I stole a few pieces. Dark chocolate is my favorite."

An involuntary check was placed into some box stored on a checklist in the back of my brain for the standards for my perfect man when he admits dark chocolate is better than milk chocolate, but I try to focus on walking in a straight line and not letting Vincent know how much he was affecting me.

"I guess you can have a few," I reluctantly agree. "But only because you're one of the first people I've met who actually prefers dark over milk."

He grins cheekily and opens the bag to pop a piece of chocolate in his mouth, only secondarily offering me one. "Here you go."

As we walk back to the car, I revel in the fresh air on my arms, although it was getting to the point in the season that it was becoming colder outside.

"So," Vincent says, and I can tell by his voice that he was attempting to approach a topic casually. I brace myself immediately, aware it will be about Danny, but instead he says, "Why didn't you want to give your number to that guy?"

My brow furrows in confusion by his inquiry, but I can't meet his gaze when I shrug and use the excuse, "I don't know, why?"

"Just wondering," He brushes it off casually as he opens the car door.

I do the same and climb in, weirdly feeling like I had to explain myself, but didn't want my newfound feelings to be obvious. "I don't just give my number to people I just met."

Vincent smirks a little as he starts the car, but doesn't explain, and I can't help myself from asking why.

"What are you smirking about?" I ask somewhat defensively.

Before he puts the car in reverse, he looks at me, suddenly with a new intensity that I had only seen a few times before. "Because you're not like the girl at the diner, or like any other girl I know. You're... special. I can't explain it."

By the look in his eyes alone, my heart was tripping over itself. But matched with everything else that had come out of his mouth, I felt like I couldn't form a coherent sentence.

But, as if it had been nothing at all, Vincent just lets his eyes linger on me a little longer with that heart stopping soft smile of his before he puts the car in reverse and backs out of the rest stop.

I thought about everything he said over and over again, my mind reeling continuously for the entire drive to the hospital. Luckily, by the time our road trip was officially over and we pulled into the hospital parking lot, I didn't have any more room for thoughts about Vincent.

My mind was stuck on my little brother. The second I laid eyes on the hospital, all of the dumb problems circling my mind completely vanished, and I felt my sisterly instincts arise as I narrowly held myself back from running into the doors.

Before we stepped inside, Vincent looks at me calmly and asks, "You ready?"

I nod, and before I can understand what my body is doing, my hand reaches out and grabs his. I look forward and don't meet his gaze but notice the way I start to calm down a bit just from his touch as we walk inside. The reception desk was only a few feet away, and a familiar face looked back at me from behind the computer.

"Lily, honey," Marcia greets with a sad smile. "You're home early. I thought Thanksgiving break wasn't for another week."

I force a tight smile back at the receptionist who had been here for years, watching Danny, my mother and I filter in and out of those front doors for chemotherapy sessions, check ups, and emergencies. "My mom called and told me what happened. I had to come home for a few days to see Danny."

She nods slowly, her eyes flickering to Vincent and then back to me. "And who is this?"

Vincent, without missing a beat, extends his hand to her. "I'm Vincent, ma'am. Lily's friend."

Marcia shakes his hand with an impressed smile and gives me a sideways glance before saying, "It's nice to meet you, Vincent. It's awfully kind of you to come all this way back with Lily."

I could tell she was wary about the idea of us being just friends, but I was too.

"I'm glad to be able to help," Vincent says with a bright smile, as if he didn't know that smiles so brilliant seemed so out of place in a hospital.

Marcia smirks a little to herself before looking back at me, and it fades from her face. "Well, Danny is in room 209A," She tells me. "Your mom is in there, too."

"Thanks Marcia," I sigh lightly, preparing myself for the worst. "It was good seeing you."

Vincent follows me to the elevator, our hands disconnecting along the way, and I press the second floor button. Before the doors close, Vincent situates himself next to me and grabs my hand again. I look down at our hands as our fingers intertwine and then up at him to see him already smiling down at me.

"It's going to be okay," He assures me before I can even tell him that I'm worried. He squeezes my hand. "I'll be right here."

"Thank you, Vincent," I murmur. "I really appreciate it."

His eyes search mine for a moment and his expression changes until he looks completely raw and vulnerable. His body feels like its coming closer to mine, or maybe I'm moving closer to him, some type of weird magnetic energy pulling us closer together until his other hand brushes along my arm.

Finally, with a tenderness in his voice and a determination in his clouded eyes, Vincent says, "Lily..." and I wait for him to finish his thought.

I don't realize how close we had gotten until the elevator doors slide open on the second floor and I'm aware of all of the people that can see us. I take a step back, deeper into the elevator, just looking at him with confusion swirling in my eyes before I look down and walk out altogether.

I walk ahead of him to the hospital room, trying to rid all of my thoughts of whatever just almost happened back there. No matter how much I wanted to find out what the hell just happened, I shook it off and reminded myself that I was here for Danny, not here to explore my feelings for Vincent.

No matter how badly I wanted to kiss him in that elevator.