Unseen

Chapter 37

About a week after that conversation with my dad, Flynn's college fund was released into his account. He never told us what he did or how he accomplished it, simply confirmed that that it was done and brushed off our questions with a smile.

Since then, things have quieted down significantly. Flynn is no longer stressing about money and working his ass off to earn back my trust. He's agreed to follow the rule of brutal honesty, regardless of how big or small the situation is. It has led to a few arguments when his honesty has been a bit too brutal, but they were always small and easy to snuff out, thankfully.

"Dalton, there's a letter for you!" Pop calls from downstairs just as I hit save on my Word document.

I finally did it.

I wrote a book.

I feel lighter than I ever have with this glowing sense of accomplishment washing over me. It's been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember, and I can't believe that I've actually made it a reality. Even if nobody other than the judges read it, I really don't care, because I know what I've accomplished and that's all the validation I need.

"Coming!" I call back as I make my way out of my room and downstairs. Flynn left about an hour ago to get some shopping done, and surprisingly invited Maddie to go with him. I'm not entirely sure why, but I'm happy that they get along and there isn't any lingering awkwardness between them given their history.

Dad and Pop are standing at the bottom of the stairs, Dad's arm wrapped around Pop's waist as they wait for me with matching bright smiles on their faces and my steps slow down as I get closer.

"Why are you being weird?" I ask hesitantly with an eyebrow raised and Pop giggles quietly as he holds out an envelope for me.

"Open it!"

Taking it from him curiously, my hands start to shake as soon as I notice the stamp on the front stating Young Writers of America. My eyes dart up to my parents who nod encouragingly at me, so I take a deep breath and slowly rip the envelope open.

As the first few words process in my brain, my knees go weak and I stumble back a few steps until I can collapse on one of the steps. Tears blur my vision, not allowing me to take in the rest of the letter, but the few I was able to read were more than enough to envision what the rest of the letter says, more or less.

"Dalton?" Dad asks gently as he sits down beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Kiddo, just remember that it doesn't matter what the results are. Think of what you've accomplished this year. You wrote a damn book, and me and your pop are so proud of you." I let out a half-laugh-half-sob and nod as Pop crouches in front of me, resting his hands on my knees.

"What does it say?" he whispers, and I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand as I refocus on the piece of paper in my shaky hands.

"Dear Mr. Irwin," I begin with a shaky voice, resting my head on Dad's shoulder as he tightens his hold on me. His soft gasp tells me he's read the next couple lines, but I continue for Pop's sake. "Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that after receiving your final entry and after much deliberation, you have been awarded the first place prize in the Young Writers of America competition."

"Holy shit, you won!" Pop screams, jumping to his feet. He pulls me with him and wraps his arms around me in a suffocating hug, soon joined by Dad. "I'm so proud of you!"

"We need to celebrate! I'm going to go make reservations for dinner," Dad states as he pulls away from the hug and pulls his phone out of his back pocket before disappearing out the back door.

"How do you feel?" Pop asks as he guides me into the living room and sits us both down on the couch.

"I... don't know," I admit with a choked laugh. "I think I'm in shock."