Chapter Text
New Years Eve 2022
The beat is thumping, lights pulsing as Allie throws back another shot and grimaces. She’s at the stage of being drunk where numbers are fuzzy—no way she could determine how many drinks she’s had—but the tequila still burns down her throat and she’s aware of the company around her. Miraculously, their entire group of friends were in the same place at the same time, the first time since they graduated college.
The Bruins had played a matinee game against the Rangers, so Garrett, Logan, Hannah, and Grace were in town. Tuck’s mom agreed to watch Jamie so he and Sabrina could have an adults-only weekend getaway, and they took up Dean’s offer to join him on the family private jet from Boston to New York. Allie nearly bailed on the game, but Garrett had gone to the trouble of getting them a suite and she was loath to turn down an opportunity to see Hannah in person.
Other than the questioning look she gave when Allie showed up to the game just before puck drop and without Sean, Hannah hadn’t mentioned her boyfriend or probed further. Within 90 seconds, Allie was hugged by no fewer than five people and had a heavy pour of chardonnay in her hand. For most of the game, the guys stood up at the bar while the girls gathered down in the suite’s seats. The conversation bounced between Hannah’s work in the studio with an up-and-coming indie artist, stories about Jamie from Sabrina, and the banalities of their daily lives.
Allie stayed quiet, sipping on her wine while her other hand was clutched between both of Hannah’s. She politely redirected conversation away from herself with dismissive waves of her glass, responding with questions to get them going again. Hannah’s eyes were on her, a furrow in her brow, but she never dug deeper. For that, Allie was grateful.
When the Bruins won the game, a jubilant cheer erupted from the boys, followed by ill-advised chugging of beers and slaps on the back. Hannah and Grace gave a squeal that elicited a giggle from Sabrina. Allie smiled as she took another sip.
“We’re goin’ out tonight!” Beau crowed from behind them, his arms slung around Dean’s shoulder. That prompted another cheer and Allie watched as Dean smacked an over-exaggerated kiss onto Beau’s cheek.
Hours later, Allie was in the club Beau chose, wearing too little clothing with too much alcohol in her system. Still, she looked good—Hannah encouraged her into a little silver dress with a high neck and no back, complete with strappy black shoes and her curly hair brushed into an artfully messy ponytail that brushed her spine. In college, or really on any other night, that would be enough to have Allie in the mood to take over the dance floor.
But the conversation with Sean that morning had haunted her all day. The consolation she expected from him when she shared yet another rejection never came. Instead, he gave her a look she couldn’t quite place, tinged with sympathy and disappointment. Come on Allie, when are you going to be realistic about this? You have to grow up some day babe, live in the real world. So she told him she needed space. He acquiesced with a shrug that felt vaguely patronizing.
His words had echoed in her head ever since, sapping any will to celebrate. It doesn’t help that she’s sitting on a leather couch in the VIP section of a Manhattan nightclub, more than buzzed, alone in a sea of friends and strangers. Over the railing, Allie watches the crowd on the dance floor pulse in sync with the bass.
She turns to look around their booth, tables littered with glasses and couches with bodies. Hannah is draped over Garrett’s lap in a short red dress, her eyes glassy as she whispers in his ear. One of Garrett’s hands is on her waist, the other on her thigh flirting with the scarlet hemline. He turns to whisper something to her and Allie sees his grip tighten on her.
Get it girl. If she has to guess, they won’t make it to midnight with the rest of their friends. And if she’s honest with herself, Allie’s grateful that Hannah isn’t in any state to ask questions or cast conciliatory glances as the clock ticks down.
At the other end of their section, Logan has his hands full with Grace—just in a different way. Allie can’t tell if Grace is tired or wasted, but she’s leaning heavily on Logan as he runs a hand through hair. It’s almost more intimate than whatever Hannah and Garrett are doing, which she can now hear because Garrett has started kissing down her neck and Allie’s best friend cannot be quiet for anything.
She can’t even imagine where Tucker and Sabrina disappeared to either. Matter of fact, Allie hasn’t seen them in over an hour, when the girls came back up from their dance break for refreshments and never went back down to the floor. If she had a toddler at home though, she’d take any alone time she could get.
There’s something so gutting about being lonely in a group of such great friends. Allie is so happy for them. Period, end of sentence. She felt like a proud mother hen watching Hannah fall in love with Garrett and receive the devotion she deserves. Once Logan got his head out of his ass and made things right with Grace, Allie gained another great friend. Sabrina completed the group, and she’s grateful that the girls have been so welcoming as she tagged along with Hannah.
Even though they’re all in Boston and she’s here in New York, they make an effort. If she didn’t have them, Allie doesn’t know what she would do. It’s just her and Sean in New York, and her dad of course. Not that Sean isn’t enough for her—that’s crazy, of course he would be. He might not look at her the way Tucker, Logan, and Garrett look at their girlfriends, but no two relationships are the same. Sean’s never been the outgoing jock, Allie knows her boyfriend’s personality and loves him for it.
Never give up on love. Sean’s voice is replaced with Allie’s mom, and that’s when she knows she’s had too much to drink to stay sitting on the couch wallowing.
Allie stands up, tugging the hem of her dress down so it's less indecent. Grabbing her phone and her purse, she surveys the area for some sort of direction. The couples are in their same spots, Logan now murmuring something to Grace as she nods clumsily, Hannah clearly trying to investigate Garrett’s tonsils with her tongue. Beau leans against the railing, one hand holding a glass and the other stroking the back of a petite redhead Allie doesn’t recognize. Dean is, predictably, nowhere to be found. Allie takes a deep breath, partly to help the slight fog of her vision and partly to gather herself to—
“Oh my god, I’m here!” A stunning blonde girl in a gorgeous green dress barrels up the stairs towards them. The girl is clearly familiar, but Allie’s hazy brain can’t quite place her until she launches into Beau’s arms with a loud laugh. Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis.
Much to the dismay of his redhead, Beau picks Summer up and spins her theatrically as she throws her head back. When he sets her down, Summer pinches his cheek and turns to introduce herself to Beau’s… friend. Over Summer’s shoulder, Beau catches Allie’s eye. She musters a sarcastic eye roll and Beau laughs, drawing Summer’s attention.
“Allie!” Summer squeaks and bolts over to Allie, pulling her into a tight hug. Allie can smell the alcohol on her breath, and knows she isn’t much better, but Summer doesn’t even wobble on her sky-high heels. She pulls Allie over to Beau and the girl—Vanessa, she’ll later learn—babbling a mile a minute. “I’m so glad you texted, Beau, I was dying at dinner with the girls. Like, we’re still in our twenties, why do we need to spend New Year's Eve eating overpriced entrees that are way too small just to say we’re mature? Tonight is about having fun, getting drunk, dancing…” Summer fades off with a wistful look over the railing to the dance floor.
“Go get a drink and get dancing then, we’ll join you in a minute,” Beau encourages her, turning back to the redhead with a glint in his eye that makes her smirk.
Summer’s full attention turns back to Allie. “Come on, we’re having fun.” It’s not a request.
“I–,” Allie starts, but Summer’s perfectly manicured finger comes up to her lips to stop her.
“No. You’re not here with anyone and I know that look. We’re going to get a drink—my treat—and have fun down there because we’re young and hot and it's New Year’s Eve.” Allie can’t even find a flaw in that logic, not that her reasoning is operating at full capacity.
“Okay.” Summer smiles and grabs Allie’s wrist. She reaches over to Beau, who has the girl pressed up against the railing with their lips fused together, and taps him on the shoulder.
“Where’s Dicky?” Beau pulls away with a grunt and squints at her.
“Dunno,” he shrugs and turns his attention back to the girl.
Summer makes a sound that’s a mix of exasperation and laughter, then turns on her heel and starts leading them down the stairs to the heart of the club.
“I’ll give you one guess where Dicky is,” she says with a roll of her eyes as she pulls Allie behind her. Allie knows Dicky—Dean—and doesn’t doubt that he’s giving some girl a very nice night in the ladies room as they speak. Maybe more than one girl, if she’s being realistic. Summer is saying something else that Allie can’t quite hear over the music, but she’s making a beeline for the bar and that’s all that matters.
***
Allie hasn’t felt this free in so long. Summer bought them each two shots of something, she didn’t bother to ask, and now they’re in the middle of a sea of people dancing to a throwback Kesha song. Hands laced together over their heads, she and Summer jump up and down screaming the lyrics. It’s euphoric.
Sean would hate this. Her brain hates her too, clearly, but the alcohol does its job in kicking that thought away. Fuck that. Allie swings her hips back and forth, pulling her hair off her sweaty neck and savoring the moment. Summer giggles as they keep dancing, occasionally pulling out an embarrassing dance move that is outdated but hilarious, and Allie feels the weight of expectation slip away. She doesn’t feel like she’s being perceived or judged, she’s in the middle of a crowd of people but she feels weightless.
Summer starts to dance with a cute guy and, at some point, Allie loses sight of her. It doesn’t matter. There’s something liberating about existing alone and loving it without any self-consciousness. At some point, she looks above the people around her—on her tiptoes, precarious as that is in her state—to see the large clock displaying the countdown to midnight.
11:33. Allie hasn’t missed a New Year’s Kiss from Sean since they started dating in college, more than six years ago.
She pauses.
Allie’s known Sean, loved Sean, for six years. And importantly, he’s known her. He’s gone to every show she’s been in, spent hours reading lines with her, stood behind the camera for so many takes of her self-taped auditions. Isn’t that long enough to see if someone really has talent? If they can really make it? Maybe bringing up Vermont, nudging her away from another casting call, was his way of gently telling her what he’s known for a while. That she can’t cut it. She’s wasting her time, and the casting director’s time, and his time. He’s supported her for six years. It’s selfish for Allie to ask for more, to ask for him to put his dreams of a white picket fence and a family on hold for longer so she can chase hers.
But the idea of living that life makes her a little sick. Or that could be the tequila. She’s standing completely still now as drunken revelers move and grind around her, oblivious to the war in her head. Instead of the devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, Drunk Allie and Sad Allie are warring for her attention.
Sad Allie laments the fact that Sean isn’t here. Even if she left right now, Allie wouldn’t make it back to their apartment in time for a New Year’s kiss.
Drunk Allie says fuck it and fuck him.
It feels like they’re playing tug of war with her brain. Or is that just her swaying from the tequila? She shakes her arms out, as if brushing those apparitions away from her ears to pull herself back into the moment. Allie should probably leave. She can call an Uber and text her friends from the backseat. She can call Sean. Apologize. Yell at him. She’s not even sure.
But this is a good song! Allie doesn’t actually know it, but the beat is cool and it feels good to shake her hips and throw her hands in the air.
11:46. She’s got plenty of time. She promises herself one more song and then it’s back to reality. The last notes of this one fadeaway and then—
“Oh my god!” she squeals to no one in particular. The accordion opening to her favorite JLO song plays through the speakers and Allie knows it’s a sign. One last song and the DJ is giving her a good one. When “On The Floor” came out, little Allie drove her parents crazy playing the CD over and over. She’s always been a performer.
Who is Sean to tell her to give up on that? Drunk Allie has made a reappearance and she’s feisty. Fuck him.
The beat drops and Allie throws her hands back in the air. A bead of sweat rolls down the back of her neck. She’s hypnotized by the song and the flashing club lights. Time almost seems to stop as she closes her eyes and loses herself in the song. She could live in this moment forever—
Allie’s body bumps into one behind her and she thinks nothing of it. Dance floors are close quarters, she’s never been the girl to freak out when people are in her space.
But the person doesn’t leave. No he—she knows it’s a man from the slight scent of his cologne and the firmness of his mass—just moves closer. Large hands find her waist, planted firmly but not gripping. Not unwelcome. He gently pulls her back against his torso and she tilts her head to the side. Her ponytail swings to the side over her shoulder, baring her neck.
She continues to dance, pushing her hips into his hands and her ass back into him. Even with her heels on, he’s much taller than her. Stocky but muscular. He can move, his motions fluid with hers and matching her rhythm. Her hand snakes up into his soft hair, pulling him an inch closer.
This feels good. Sean hadn’t been there to tell her, but when Allie left her apartment she knew she looked good. The man behind her is telling her many things with his body, but his desire is evident. It’s in his movements and… physically. She can’t help but push back against him more intentionally this time once she feels him. It’s a nice compliment to the patterns he traces on her hips, and his breath on her exposed neck—
“Hey Allie-cat.” His voice is husky and partially drowned out by the music, but distinctive nonetheless. She’s heard that same nickname thrown at her in teasing and biting tones for years, baiting her into something undefined that she never even humored.
Her eyes blink open and she can’t see for a moment through the darkness and flashing lights. She turns to look up at him, blinking again, and takes him in. Cocky smirk. Blue eyes dark, the combination of alcohol and lust. His golden hair lightly tousled but somehow still breathtaking. It’s hard to tell in the lighting, but his cheeks look slightly flushed. That could still be the alcohol, though.
She’s been grinding on Dean Di Laurentis. For nearly an entire JLO song.
That makes it through the foam that seems to encase her brain right now and Allie starts to pull away. Or she tries. Because four inch heels, upwards of seven drinks, emotions, and the ambience of a club do many things to a girl, one of them being to rob her of her balance.
Allie stumbles, nearly toppling backwards, when Dean’s arm wraps around her waist and pulls her back into him. One of her hands lands on his shoulder, the other above his heart. This hold is much more utilitarian than before, but she can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he steadies her.
“Walk much?” His mouth is close—too close—to her ear. Allie’s more focused on the feeling, the whisper of air over her skin, than what he’s saying but it annoys her nonetheless. She plants her hands on his chest to push away. Unsuccessfully, though, because Dean seems to have anticipated her move and tightened his arms around her slightly.
Her forehead bounces off him and she tries again, but one foot gets tangled in the other. He’s still got her. Dean dips his head and she’s looking into his eyes now. Blue and dominated by large pupils, framed by his eyebrows that are pulled up in concern.
“Hey, hey, hey. I’ve got you.” His voice is softer now, earnest. He holds her arms now, helping her steady herself. Waiting to fully let go until he’s satisfied that she’s regained a semblance of structural integrity.
Shake out of it. Allie takes a breath and blinks a few times. Pull yourself together. She looks up at Dean and pastes on a thin smile.
“I’m leaving. Goodnight.” She turns on her heel and marches away, off the dance floor. The club is several stories up, and there’s a part of her that wants to speed towards the balcony then just keep going.
She has a boyfriend. Not a good one. No, she has a boyfriend that she loves. And she just danced with Dean Di Laurentis. Mr. Quick’n’Easy, self proclaimed. A shiver runs down her spine and she simultaneously feels the most sober she’s been all night but swimming in her drunken state.
“Hey. Hey! Allie!” Dean’s voice is muffled behind her and she turns to see him pushing through the crowd in pursuit of her. In a moment, he’s stood right in front of her with a look of concern on his face. Which concerns her. Because this is Dean Di Laurentis. What the fuck. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
He’s sincere, it seems. Allie doesn’t know if she’s ever experienced that. There’s no catch, no barb, no snide comment or tone to undercut what he’s said.
She looks behind him to the countdown clock. 11:51. By now, she’s also been quiet for what’s obviously an odd amount of time. Shaking her head again, Allie scans his face and fails to find any hidden meaning. His expression is more open than she thinks she’s ever seen it.
“I need to go home.” Dean nods slowly. She’s not wobbling so much anymore. If anything, she’s exhausted. Her shoulders droop a bit and she cocks her head to the side. “You have a problem with that?”
Dean laughs in exasperation. “No. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She snorts and turns around again.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He grabs her forearm and turns her around again. Now she’s getting annoyed. She raises her eyebrows and fixes him with a glare that’s known to scare off pushy customers.
It works. Kind of. He puts his hands up, almost in surrender. “Sorry. I just want to make sure you get home alright. Let’s get you some water.” Dean starts leading her over to the bar with a gentle hand on her elbow.
“I’m an adult woman Dean. I don’t need a babysitter.” Allie knows her tone is rude, but she can’t make herself care. And he doesn’t seem to take it to heart.
“Never said you did. Except you kinda couldn’t stand up on your own a minute ago, so forgive me for not wanting to be a witness to some sort of accident report.” She snorts again, and he keeps threading them through the crowd. There’s a cluster of people around the bar, but Dean flashes his smile and murmurs apologies until he gets up to the bartender. Leaning over the bar toward her in a way that would be pervy for any other man, but is unfairly attractive when he does it, he bats his eyes and the bartender returns with a water bottle and flushed cheeks.
Dean pops the top of the water bottle, takes a swig, and gives it to Allie. She makes a face, but the bottle feels nice and cool in her hand. She sips it as Dean scans the club.
“I’m just going to get an Uber home. So. I’ll see you around or whatever.” She says it louder than she was talking earlier and his attention snaps back to her. In the background, the patrons of the club seem infected with a buzz as it gets closer to midnight.
He leans down, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to wait out there for a bit, it’s New Year’s Eve. I’m not going to leave you out there.” He jerks his head in the direction of the stairs and she follows, protests fresh on her tongue.
“Dude you don’t have to hover. I know I’m Hannah’s friend but Garrett won’t kill you if I Uber home alone.” The noise of the club is muffled in the stairwell, so her response startles her with how loud she’s talking. As they descend, Dean turns his head back to her with an odd look on his face.
“I know I’m a dick but I don’t want you to get kidnapped.” Allie rolls her eyes. “It would make my life a lot more complicated.” His tone is light, sarcastic.
Allie doesn’t consider herself friends with Dean. Maybe an acquaintance. Definitely friend of a friend. At this point, she considers Garrett a friend. It’s an extension of his relationship with Hannah, for sure, but he’s also a nice, chill guy. Although she feels left out sometimes, with them all living in Boston together and her back in New York, she considers herself friends with the rest of the group, even Tucker and Logan. But there’s always been something about Dean. As the only girl in their circle not dating one of his friends, she’s received a tone on the wrong side of sleazy several times. She saw the parade of women during college, can’t remember him leaving Malone’s alone. Allie does remember him leaving the ladies room on several occasions, also not alone then. Something about him never clicked with her, a card-carrying member of team boyfriend—or at least team Sean. But if she was kidnapped, she can admit that the people she did consider to be her friends would probably give him shit for it.
That makes her giggle. And the giggle makes her lose her balance. Or maybe it’s the heels. Or the alcohol. She’s got one hand on the bannister and the other holds her water bottle, but clearly that’s not enough to keep her upright in this state. Allie stumbles and Dean halts, swiftly taking the water bottle from her and replacing it with his hand.
“I’m not even that drunk!” She hangs her head in mock exasperation. “These heels just suck!” Allie starts stomping down again, her heavy footfalls echoing in the stairwell and amplified with Dean’s laugh.
“Torture devices,” he concedes. “Why you all wear them is beyond me.” She scowls at him and smacks a hand on his arm.
“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to blame it on us when they’re for you gross hormone monsters.” This really sets him off laughing. And in the moment that he bends over in an unexpected wheeze, Allie’s foot lands totally wrong.
“Fuck.” She whimpers a little, then hisses. His eyes dart up, gauging if she’s pulling his leg.
“Come on drama queen.” He starts back down the stairs. She doesn’t, instead plopping right down on the concrete and massaging her ankle. Her finger catches the wrong spot and she grimaces in pain.
“I’m being serious Dean. Fuck.”
He stops now, and kneels on the stair below her, taking her foot into his hand. When his thumb gently brushes over the right spot, she huffs in discomfort. Allie is a lot of things, drama queen among them, but she’s not weak. And this fucking hurts.
She tries to stand and hobble down a step, but the pain is evident. It’s slow going. All that they can hear in the stairwell is her sharp breathing, which she can’t quite fully mask. Dean seems to think for a moment—she didn’t know he did that—and then he starts to unbuckle her shoe.
Allie is honestly too tired to protest as he removes one, then the other. The throbbing pain is continuing the work of the water in sobering her up, and now she’s frankly beat. Dean finishes removing both shoes and stops to examine her ankles. The one she twisted is already starting to swell.
He turns around and looks at her over his shoulder. “Hop on.” If she wasn’t so tired, so done, she might protest, but Allie just wants to get the fuck out of here. To go home and be in her own bed. Where Sean is. Hopefully. Does she hope that? She doesn’t know.
Dean hands her the shoes, then guides her legs around his torso. Allie reluctantly wraps her arms around his neck, shoes dangling from her fingertips against his chest. He takes them from her, hands her back the water bottle, and leans forward.
“Hold on. And keep drinking.” Gripping her thighs firmly, Dean pushes from where he’s sat in front of her into a standing position. She jolts forward slightly until she’s flush to his back, her chin over one shoulder. Allie’s a pilates girl, so she knows that took some solid core and leg strength. Which she apparently said out loud, making Dean snort. “I squat more than you in my sleep.” And there’s the cockiness back.
They remain silent down the rest of the stairs, the only noise Dean’s breathing and footfalls. When they make it to the bottom, he pushes out the door onto the street. They’re hit with a blast of chilled air and the hum of the city’s nighttime noises. The street isn’t deserted, but it’s not nearly as busy as when Allie arrived at the club. A few people wander on the sidewalk and the occasional car drives by.
“Gonna call your Uber?” Dean stops at the curb and looks back at her. Flustered, she tries to maneuver her purse from her shoulder to grab her phone while holding onto him. It doesn’t work.
In a move she doesn’t catch and could never recreate, he pulls her around to his front so that he’s carrying her bridal style with her arms still wrapped around his neck. Their faces are close together, sharing the same pocket of air, and his eyes flick down to her lips for just a second. Then she shivers.
“Can you put me down?” He jerks and quickly lowers her so she’s sitting on the curb. It’s freezing, but Allie’s just thankful there’s no snow. Shaking slightly and with goosebumps on her arms, she fishes for her phone in her purse. As Dean drops down next to her, now a respectful distance, she pulls up the Uber app and orders a car.
“Ugh.” It’s thirteen minutes away. She rolls her eyes and flashes the screen to Dean, who just nods his head. Then he looks up at her and points to the screen. To the time on the screen.
11:59. Something cold settles in her stomach and she shivers again. This time, Dean shrugs off his blazers and pulls it around her shoulders. He says nothing, and neither does she.
Allie takes a few deep breaths and looks over to Dean, who is hunched over in his tailored jeans and white button down, arms crossed and resting on his knees. “Thanks,” she murmurs. He turns to look at her and flashes his cocky smile. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
In the distance, the city’s background noise starts to swell. The sounds of the New Year’s countdown filters out from a bar across the street.
10…9…8…7…6…5…
Allie’s throat tightens. She wishes Sean was here. For a New Year’s kiss. For her.
4…3…2…
Dean starts to rifle through his pockets, perking up when he finds something. He pulls out a joint and a lighter just as the countdown hits 1. Muffled cheers erupt and Allie laughs darkly.
“Happy New Year, Allie-cat.” Dean’s voice is muffled by the joint held between his lips. He lights it and takes a deep hit, blowing it out before returning for another.
“Happy New Year.” Allie’s voice is flatter. Dean nudges her arm and offers her the joint. She pauses for a moment, rolls her eyes, and grabs it. Inhaling deeply, she holds it for a few beats and then exhales slowly. Checks her phone. “Ten minutes.” Dean nods.
They lapse into silence, not necessarily awkward but heavy still.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” There it is. He cocks his head and his eyes bore into her. Allie takes another hit and passes the joint back.
“At home.” She’s curt. Doesn’t add the I think that accompanies the statement. Dean nods and waits for her to continue. “He wants to move to Vermont. Back to Vermont. It’s where he’s from. Take over his family’s insurance business, have 2.5 kids and a dog, the whole nine yards.” Allie heaves a breath and continues. “And I want to be an actress. I am an actress. Those aren’t very… compatible, you know?” She looked at him, more fire in her demeanor now.
Dean just nodded and took another drag.
“But I love him. We’ve been together for years. He’s it for me, and I can’t help but think that I’m keeping him from what he wants just for the chance that maybe I’ll make it.” She clamps her mouth shut. This is too much of an admission already. She hasn’t said this out loud to herself yet, much less anyone else.
His brow furrows and he seems to think for a moment. Passes her the joint. As she inhales, she thinks about the rest of it. Her dad likes Sean. She likes Sean—she loves Sean. And if they haven’t had sex in three weeks, haven’t had really good sex in much longer, that’s okay because everyone falls into a rut sometimes. Even soulmates. This has happened before and they’ve weathered it. They’ve broken up and gotten back together at least three times, always less than a week, and they’ve always come back.
“What do you want, Allie?” Dean’s voice, soft and careful, snaps her out of her thoughts. He glances over to her and then looks away, fixated on the joint that’s nearly gone out between his fingertips.
“I guess… I want to be in love.” She sighs. “But I don’t want that to make it impossible for me to, like, move to LA, or take a show to Edinburgh, work my ass off on Broadway, you know? I wanna be able to do it all.” Allie runs her hands through her hair, exasperated. “And I know it’s more likely I’ll succeed at none of it.” She shakes her head. “It’s dumb.”
“Hell no.” Dean’s voice is firm, he’s sat up straighter and turned to her. “That’s not dumb. If that’s what you want, go after it. People who care about you will understand. And if they don’t, they’re not your people.”
Wow. Allie’s never seen this side of Dean. She’s never really seen any other side of Dean before tonight, but this is something else. She narrows her eyes at him.
“Which one of your exes taught you to be this insightful?” He barks out a laugh.
“I don’t have any exes. It’s the weed.” His fingers flex where they grip his knee and he stares at the ground. Allie giggles. She’s clearly feeling it too, which makes him smile and shake his head.
“Dean Di Laurentis has never had a girlfriend?!” She plants a palm on her chest and takes a mocking tone, jaw dropped but a smile in her eyes.
“Stop clutching your pearls,” he quips. “I like being the casual sex guy, it’s easy.” Allie giggles again.
“I have heard you’re easy.” She smiles widely at him and burrows further into the blazer around her shoulders as he rolls his eyes. After a moment, though, he really looks at her.
“I’m Six Flags baby.” A wiggle of his eyebrows for effect and she snorts. “Everybody wants a ride, they come for a good time, not a long time, and that’s fine by me.” Well. She stares for a moment.
“Is it?” Her gaze is piercing, Dean’s smirk long gone. He holds eye contact for a beat, then two.
Bzzz. She looks back down to her phone.
“Him?” Allie catches slight tension under his tone. Doubts he even knows it’s there. She shakes her head.
“No. Uber.” He nods. “Three minutes.” Another nod. He watches as she exits the app and goes back to her messages with Sean. Their last text was from before the fight, if she can call it that.
Dean holds his hand out, a stern look on his face that looks entirely out of place. She looks at him in disbelief but plants the phone in his palm anyway. “When you break up with this guy,” he starts, typing his number into a new contact, “which you will, you’re gonna want a fun ride to distract you.”
He finishes entering his information and she snatches the phone back. “Oh really?” It’s not a question. He shrugs, the happy-go-lucky mask slipping back down over his features as he gives her the grin that has dropped many a panty before her.
Allie scoffs. A car pulls up and she cross references the app and license plate before pushing herself to stand. As soon as she puts weight on her bad ankle she crumbles back down in pain. Dean leaps up to steady her.
“Nope, come on.” He doesn’t even ask, just picks her up bridal style again and carries her to the back door of the sedan. She’s deposited in the car and scooches in while giving the driver her safety code. Except Dean is getting in the car too.
Allie puts a hand on his chest, stopping him. “What are you doing?” She looks at him incredulously and he just stares back.
“I’m not dumping you in an Uber when you can’t even walk and just hoping you get home okay,” he said, seemingly affronted by the implication that he would do just that. Allie rolled her eyes, then realized she was still wearing his blazer.
“I’m fine dude. Sean will be there to help me up when I get home. I’ll give him a call.” She shoves the blazer at his chest, nudging him further out of the back seat. Dean stands up, one hand on the roof of the car, and studies her for a moment.
“Is he actually gonna be there?” His tone has an edge Allie hasn’t heard before. She looks away, to the driver who seems to be losing his patience, and pastes on a patronizing smile.
“Of course my boyfriend is going to be at the apartment we share when I get home.” Dean sighs, putting his hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around his crumpled blazer. “Good night Dean. Happy New Year.”
He nods and waits a moment. Nods again, then shoots her a smile that’s indistinguishable from a grimace and shuts the door.
When the driver pulls away, Allie sags back into her seat and closes her eyes. Takes a moment. The driver has jazz playing low on the radio and it nearly lulls her to sleep, but she snaps herself out of it.
Maybe Dean isn’t such a total douche. That was not the turn she expected her night to take.
Does Dean Di Laurentis have some redeeming qualities? Possibly. But that doesn’t matter, because Allie is going home to her boyfriend. The apartment that they share, the life they are building.
Allie opens her phone and finds the new contact Dean created. She deletes his name, replacing it with Do Not Call. Satisfied, she navigates to her messages with Sean.
Hey babe. Sends it.
I’m heading home, be there in about 15.
I love you.
When the car pulls up in front of her building, Allie calls Sean. He doesn’t answer the call, or the three she makes after. The driver is getting impatient, tapping the steering wheel clearly hoping she’ll take a hint. So she does.
Allie thanks him and limps out of the car, pain searing through her ankle. Twenty minutes later, she’s hobbled up the four flights of stairs to their apartment, which she finds empty. Sean isn’t there.
She’s too tired, definitely crossed too, and sinks down into their bed. Enveloped by blankets, the last thought she has before drifting off to sleep is of kind blue eyes.
January 1, 2023
Sean shows up the next morning, claiming that he fell asleep at a friend’s house after the bar and before it even hit midnight. Allie nods and asks him to take her to the hospital, showing him her ankle which is now significantly swollen with a purple tinge. In the waiting room, they talk. He apologizes for rushing her and pushing Vermont so hard. They’re only 24, he concedes, and there’s plenty of time to figure everything out. She smiles and responds with a kiss, then her name is called by the nurse.
Sometime in July 2023
Allie doesn’t see Dean again until the summer, when Hannah and Garrett come to visit. She knows that he graduated from Harvard Law that spring and moved back to New York for work. Probably living in that monstrosity of a penthouse that Hannah told her about. Garrett and Dean spend the day together doing whatever men do—Hannah said there would probably be a gym and protein shakes and copious amounts of ground beef involved, like all healthy male friendships—while she parades around the city with her best friend. They get brunch and walk in Central Park before going to see Chicago in the afternoon.
Back at Allie and Sean’s apartment, they eat snacks and gossip and do terrible renditions of their favorite songs from the show into Allie’s hairbrush. Then Allie helps Hannah get dolled up for dinner—Garrett’s picking her up and they’re going somewhere ridiculously expensive with Dean, because they can afford it now. Allie gets ready for her shift at the diner a few blocks away, where she’s worked for the past month in between auditions. Not that she’d go if she was available, because she didn’t have caviar money at the moment, or the patience for Dean Di Laurentis.
Garrett knocks on the door right as Hannah and Allie are purposefully butchering “Cell Block Tango,” with a raunchy dance on the kitchen chairs. Hannah loses herself in a fit of laughter as Allie yells that the door is open, then resumes her dancing to set Hannah off again.
“What—” Garrett stands in the doorway perplexed, a look of adoration on his face as he watches Hannah, wearing a black sheath dress and the diamond necklace he bought her, and Allie, in short shorts and a v-neck t-shirt that brings in more tips—straddle the kitchen furniture with over-the-top sensuality.
“Hey baby,” Hannah coos, looking up at Garrett through her eyelashes and making him gulp. Allie starts cackling and Hannah nearly keels over as well. Then Garrett fully steps inside the apartment, clearly still flustered, but followed by Dean Di Laurentis. He looks expensive, sporting a pair of well-fitting dark green slacks and a crisp white button down with the sleeves rolled up, hair askew in that way that Allie thinks must take serious effort.
“Hate to break this up,” Dean says, gesturing to the pair, “but we’ve gotta get going.” He jerks his head to the door and smiles at Hannah’s eyeroll. Hannah sighs contentedly and gets up, gathering her belongings from the floor with Garrett’s help while Allie just stands there. “Care to join, Allie-cat?” There’s a glint in his eye.
“No.” Her reply is terse. Garrett glances over while trying to juggle three of Hannah’s shopping bags. Allie coughs. “I have work, but thanks.” Dean nods and says nothing.
Hannah finally pulls herself together and wraps her arms around Allie. “I love you,” she whispers. Allie squeezes her tighter. Garrett gives her a quick hug and tells her to say hi to Sean for him. Allie knows he probably doesn’t care if she actually does, and she probably won’t. She smiles anyway and wishes them a nice dinner, following them to the door. Dean is the first one out, waiting in the hall as Hannah gives her another hug and Garrett jokingly leads her away. The pair make their way towards the stairs and Dean watches for a moment, then turns to look at Allie. Her head is peeking out of the door that’s nearly shut, and he throws her a cocky, meaningless smile before shoving his hands in his pockets and sauntering away.
***
After that, Allie doesn’t see Dean. Their entire group of friends is never together at one time in the ensuing year, a product of busy schedules and distance. She hears from Hannah that he’s been working long hours at the firm, but still made it in to surprise Garrett for his birthday. January 1. One year later. With Garrett’s schedule during the season, his visits to the city—and Dean—never seem to line up with Hannah’s. The one time they do, Dean’s in London for a work trip, and that’s fine by her.
Allie keeps busy, gets callbacks for several plays and an understudy role for a small production in Brooklyn. She holds down two jobs, because even if Sean can pay more than half the rent, she’s not okay with that. He starts to needle her more, which correlates with them having sex less. The nitpicking feels less cruel now that she’s facing the actual lack of a career that she has, the opportunities that haven’t panned out. How can she be mad at Sean for being realistic?
November, 2024
Allie didn’t know that New Year’s weekend would be the last time their group of friends was together ever, she gets a call from Hannah. It’s early in the morning, the Friday after Thanksgiving, and Allie slept over at her dad’s after cooking dinner. Her sleep was fitful, waking Sean up with tossing and turning that was the product of worry for her father’s worsening condition. Her dad made a pointed comment to Sean about marriage over dinner, which made her heart sink too. The buzzing from her phone wakes Sean up first, and when he hands it to her, Allie knows something is wrong.
Beau died. Her ears ring for a while and Sean rubs her back as she cries. Hannah fills her in on the details as best she can, breaking for sobs of her own, and Allie can hear Garrett’s murmurs of support in the background.
She can’t help but think of Dean in that moment, and the many that follow. He’s the only one who doesn’t post about Beau on his social media—not that a networking platform is any barometer of a person’s grief, but Dean constantly spams his private Instagram account and she just thought he might. Sean doesn’t come to Boston with her for the funeral, citing a work obligation, and that’s the thread pull to untangle them. Allie just doesn’t know it yet. She reaches out to Summer Di Laurentis after hearing the news, knowing how close their families were and the torch Summer always seemed to carry for Beau. Allie and Summer have kept in touch through Instagram comments and mutual friends, and Summer invites Allie on their plane to the funeral. Despite lingering hesitancy, Allie agrees. If Sean won’t go, at least she won’t be alone.
It turns out that Allie doesn’t even need to worry about seeing Dean or being annoyed by him because he doesn’t show up. The plane waits on the tarmac for two extra hours while his mom and dad try to get in touch. Allie, Summer, and Nick sit in silence. Finally, it seems that Dean texted someone and they realize he really isn’t coming.
The funeral is excruciatingly beautiful. Beau’s sister Joanna performs a heartbreaking tribute. Allie and Hannah hold hands as tears stream down their cheeks. Garrett digs tissues out of his pocket, first for the girls, then himself. And Allie can’t help but think that he should be there.
February, 2025
When Allie gets back, Sean only gets more distant. They fight more. She gets a promising lead, a new agent, and he looks at her like she’s committed the ultimate betrayal. He brings up Vermont again. He’s less patient this time. Allie is too.
She moves out of their apartment. The lease is up and Sean says he’s heading home. Allie can barely afford half the rent anymore, so there’s no way she can swing it on her own. Her dad offers her old room until she can get back on her feet and she really has no other choice.
Then, though, she’s truly alone in the city. When her dad falls and fractures his hip in their living room, the hospital admits him for longer than the average patient due to his MS. Which is getting worse. The fear and loneliness swirling in Allie as she leaves the hospital after visiting hours is nearly debilitating. She’s terrified of returning home without her Dad again, for another night, alone with her thoughts.
March 2025
The fear leads her to make a desperate call, and she’s sat in a speakeasy with Summer Di Laurentis, 5 cocktails deep listening to her gripe about her brother. Allie can’t make heads or tails of what Summer is saying, but Dean’s name keeps bouncing around her head. It’s one of the rare Friday nights where she isn’t scheduled to work, and she’s off Saturday too.
Once Summer starts talking about Beau, Allie orders another margarita for each of them. She loads Summer in a taxi home and goes to call another one for herself, but pauses. Meanders down the block. Sits on a bench. Opens her phone. Her thumb hovers over it for a moment, Do Not Call displayed across the screen. Allie holds her breath as she calls, watching as it rings several times. She almost doesn’t realize that he picks up until she hears muffled mumbling and raises the phone to her ear.
“‘llo?” She can’t tell if its him, the connection, or her margarita laden brain that makes it so hard to hear. When she doesn’t speak, he repeats himself.
“Hey,” she says. A pause. “It’s, uh, it’s me. I know I said I wouldn’t call.” Her voice goes up at the end like a question. Something is crumpling in the background and she holds her breath.
“Allie-cat?” Dean sounds like he’s slurring a bit, but then, so is she. Maybe it’s just the filter her brain is hearing him through. She nods, then realizes he can’t see her through the phone.
“Uh, yeah. It’s Allie. Hayes.” Why is this so awkward? He snorts, and she feels something hot in her gut. Probably shame. Hopefully.
“I know who you are, baby,” he croons. She winces when he laughs and then sniffles. “Finally did it, huh?” Allie’s never fully been on the receiving end of this Dean, and it’s odd. Her face is warm. Against her will, Drunk Allie brings back the memory of him pressed against her under the flashing lights of the club those years ago.
“Yeah,” she says, gripping the phone tighter. Apparently all of her communication skills have gone out the window. She clears her throat. “Uh, yeah.” More confident this time. “I broke up with Sean.” In spite of everything, it feels good to say that out loud.
“Hmmm.” Dean’s voice is low, stirring something in her gut that is decidedly not shame. “I’m… sorry.” She hears the mirth in his voice.
“No you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.” He exhales and it’s like she can feel him behind her, whispering in her ear.
“I really wanna call him.” She hasn’t admitted that to anyone. That she’s been tempted so many times during these lonely nights to call Sean, to try and figure it out.
“But you called me instead.” She can hear his smirk.
“I did.” Allie sinks further into the bench.
“You lied!” There’s something akin to glee in Dean’s voice. She hasn’t talked to him in so long, doesn’t feel like she knows him well enough to diagnose the edge in his voice but she knows it’s there.
“About what?” Her body feels like lead but her mind is more awake than it’s been in a long time.
“You like roller coasters.” Allie can picture him talking into the phone, shoulders pushed back, hair messy, eyes lazily scanning a room as he talks to her. Nonchalant. Probably a few drinks in too, his other hand wrapped around a beer bottle, dwarfing it. She rubs her thighs together.
“No. I fucking love roller coasters.” She says it with confidence she doesn’t feel and lust she does, an exhale punched out of her chest on the last beat. Dean chuckles through the phone, the verbal equivalent of a nod to keep going. “If I send you my address…” she trails off.
“I’m there, baby.” It’s smugness. That’s what Allie hears. It’s annoying, so she rolls her eyes, but it’s not out of character for Dean Di Laurentis. She quickly pulls her phone from her ear and shoots off the text. His phone buzzes as he receives it. He chuckles again. “See you in an hour, Allie-cat.” It’s lower, more of a murmur than anything, but it goes right to her core. With a laugh, she hangs up.
***
Allie sits for two and a half hours waiting for him, wearing a matching red set that’s more mesh than anything else under a silk robe. She knows how she looks—ready to kill. Black rimmed eyes, her curls fluffed, hotter than she’s felt in years. Hotter than Sean ever made her feel, probably.
He doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. Neither does she. She ends up falling asleep on top of her covers and wakes up freezing at 4 am. Her phone isn’t dead yet, so she can see that there’s no missed calls or texts. The text to Do Not Call with her address is marked as read, as of the time she made the call.
When the furnace kicks on, she jumps. Then, she cries. Cries for her dad, who is alone in a hospital room across the city and who should be home, with her. Cries for her mom, who she betrayed by breaking up with Sean. Never give up on love. Well, hasn’t Allie just spat on that?
She sobs for herself, because she misses Hannah and college and feeling like she belongs. Like she has a direction. There’s something powerful in being wanted—as a friend, a lover, a family member, a performer—and Allie hasn’t felt that in so long. She hasn’t been held. Her eyes catch the phone screen. Do Not Call. Why the fuck did she do that? What the fuck is wrong with her?
A heavy weight settles in her chest. This isn’t something she can deal with tonight. She needs to go to sleep, so she can get up tomorrow and visit her dad. Go grocery shopping. Try to pull some semblance of her life together. Maybe she’ll call Hannah and open up about what she’s really going through, let her peek behind the veil of carefully crafted chipper texts and strategically-timed phone calls. If nothing else works, she’ll go visit her mom. To the world, Eva Hayes might not be much any more, but she’s a damned good listener when Allie needs her.
The only thing Allie does know is that calling Dean was a mistake. It won’t happen again.
May 2025
She only hears about him a few times after that. Hannah tells her that Garrett, Logan, and Tucker drove down to the city to stage an intervention. Apparently Dean has been taking Beau’s death harder than even she thought, making reckless decisions and drinking to excess. Which for Dean, meant a lot.
One week ago, the girls’ group chat is abuzz with something to do with Dean, but Allie barely catches any of it. Her life is a cycle of work, work, taking care of her dad, chores to keep the house running, and repeat. There are several physical therapy sessions per week, which insurance won’t cover all of, and she tries to pick up extra shifts while they can.
From what she gathers in skimming the 200+ messages in the chat when she gets off work, Dean had some issue with a girl that ended up on a few socialite gossip sites. Allie doesn’t doubt there’s a salacious photo of whatever this is, but it’s not something she can devote much brainpower to. The girls know why she isn’t very active in their group chat, and Hannah knows she has to call to get Allie’s undivided attention these days. Within an hour, she completely forgets about it. Dean’s bad decisions don’t matter much when she’s helping her dad to the bathroom at a painstakingly slow pace despite his protests.
Now, though, that resurfaces in her memory. What were they talking about? Allie isn’t going to take the time to scroll back through their texts to find out. Because it’s 10:30 on a Wednesday night, she was cut early at the restaurant and she’s standing in her bathrobe while the shower fills with steam, and her phone is vibrating on the counter.
Do Not Call.
Allie takes a deep breath, then another. Then a third for good measures. She picks up her phone, waits a second, then answers.
“Hello?”