Cath clasps my hand, and her eyes are shining with tears when she looks at me. “You’re breaking through those walls he has around his heart, and I love that. I see the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. But it isn’t my place to put a label on your relationship, and I shouldn’t have said what I said. I just want him to be happy.” She bats tears away.
“I want that for him too. He’s an amazing guy, and he deserves every happiness.”
“I’m so glad you came into his life, Vivien. Sometimes, the right people have a way of showing up when we least expect them.” She places her hand on my arm. “Just don’t give up on him. I know he struggles to accept love and it’s hard for him to reciprocate, but it seems to come so naturally when he’s with you.”
I don’t know that Dillon’s in love with me because that’s another thorny topic I refuse to discuss—even with myself—but we are damn good together, and the connection we share is more than the initial intense attraction we both felt.
I am perplexed why he finds it so hard to receive love and be worthy of it.
Love practically seeps from the walls of this house, and I doubt you could find a more loving, supportive family anywhere in the world. “I’m trying to understand it but coming up empty,” I admit. “You have the most loving family. You only have to look to see it. It’s a joy to behold. And I know you and Eugene are amazing parents. I don’t need your children to tell me that, so why does Dillon feel like this?”
“Dillon has been fighting different demons his entire life,” she explains, scooping crumble into the last bowl. I add a dollop of cream as she continues. “We have tried to support him to the best of our abilities, to let him know how loved and cherished he is, that he’s no different—”
“Ma!” Dillon snaps, appearing in the doorway. “Stop.” Some silent communication passes between them, and the shroud of sadness etched on Cath’s face hurts my heart. I don’t know what has gone on in the past, but whatever it is still pains Dillon’s mother.
“Are we eating dessert or what?” he asks, striding toward us and snatching two bowls up, like nothing is wrong.
Cath collects herself, pressing a kiss to her son’s cheek. “Of course. Let’s go.”
“Come with me,” Dillon demands, an hour later, looming over me and extending his arm.
“You need to chill out, Dil,” Ash says, blowing smoky puffs into the air.
“Gimme that.” I snatch the joint from between Ash’s fingers, taking one last drag before I clasp Dillon’s hand. If I wasn’t mildly stoned, I might be concerned about the look of thunder on my boyfriend’s face.
“You need to butt out.” Dillon tells his sister, hauling me to my feet. His hand wraps around mine as he steers us away from the orchard, toward the front of the farm.
“Where are we going?” I ask, jogging to keep up with his long-legged strides.
“To deliver your punishment,” he says, stopping abruptly and slamming his lips down hard on mine. He swats my ass. “You’ve been a naughty girl, Hollywood.”
He continues walking toward a structure in the near distance.
“I didn’t mean to be nosy,” I protest, understanding exactly why he feels the need to punish me.
“Doesn’t change the fact you were.”
“Your mom worries about you, and I care about you. Neither of us were speaking out of turn behind your back.”
“If you want to know something about me, Viv, you ask me.” He swivels his head, piercing me with a pointed look. “Me. Not my ma. Not Ash or Ro or Jamie. Me.”
“You don’t tell me anything,” I grumble, almost tripping as we approach what looks like a barn.
“Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you,” he challenges, unlocking the steel doors to the barn. He opens them fully before stepping aside to let me enter.
“What happened when you were seventeen?” I blurt, letting my eyes roam our surroundings. I was expecting to find cows, a milking shed, or a room stacked with supplies, not a recreation area of sorts. There’s a large pool table on the left and a bunch of beanbags and couches on the right. Three freestanding heaters are dotted around the space. A long, scratched pale wooden table is propped against one wall, housing a TV and stereo system. Some beers and a half-empty bottle of vodka are tucked into the corner.
“You know what happened.” Dillon leads me to one of the couches, pushing me over one of the arms, on my belly. “I failed my sister. She tried to kill herself, and it almost killed me.” He yanks my dress up. “Any more questions?” he asks in a clipped voice, and I’m instantly chastised. I don’t know why I think there’s more to it than what happened with Ash. Maybe it’s a sixth sense, but I’ve got to let it go. It’s clearly painful for him and everyone in the family.