“Have you spoken to your brother?” I ask Ash on Friday morning. It’s been four days since we returned from Brittas Bay, and Dillon is officially ghosting me.
“Nope. Jay said he’s been locked away in his bedroom all week writing and pining.”
“I don’t get it.” I curl into a ball on the couch, grabbing a cushion and clutching it to my chest. “I might as well have left already. I thought he’d want to spend every last second with me.” Tears fill my eyes, and I angrily swipe them away. I swore I wouldn’t cry over any guy ever again, and look at me now. I’ve been a pathetic mess this past week. I have four days left in Ireland, and I did not plan to spend them crying into my pillow with a new broken heart.
“Aw, Viv. Don’t cry.” Ash bundles me into a hug. “It’s like I said on Monday. Dillon telling you he loves you is huge. H.U.G.E.”
“Don’t make excuses for him. What he’s doing is unacceptable after everything we’ve shared.”
“You’re right. He’s hurting you, and he’s a coward. It isn’t okay, and I’m going to give him a piece of my mind when I next see him. I just want to explain why I think he’s withdrawn. Dillon loves you, likereallyloves you, and you don’t realize how big of a deal it is he said that. The only time he’s ever told me he loves me is when I tried to kill myself. He was holding me in his arms, crying and telling me he loved me. As far as I know, that’s the only time he’s told anyone he’s loved them since he was a little kid.”
“He doesn’t even tell your mom?”
“Nope.”
“That is really fucking sad.” His family is big on the “I love yous.” I have noticed Dillon never says it back, but I assumed he was just more private about it with his mom.
“I know.” She rubs my back while I stare at the ceiling. “He’s terrified.” She snorts out a laugh, and I look at her, wondering how she finds any humor in this. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. I was just thinking how apt that song he wrote you is. He is literally running scared.”
“He doesn’t even remember he said it.”
“Trust me, he remembers.”
“What do I do?”
“You get your sexy Yankee arse into the shower, dress to impress, and then we’re going to Whelans. You’re going to get your man back.”
* * *
I don’t see Dillon before their set, but he sings every song for me, staring at my face as he belts out the lyrics. The crowd goes nuts when they debut “Terrify Me,” and I’m glad he didn’t mention me by name when he dedicated it to “his mot.” I don’t think my heart could take another direct hit. As soon as they finish, Dillon hands off his guitar, jumps off the stage, and stalks toward me. Without warning, he pulls me into his arms, hugging me tight. A sob escapes my mouth before I can stop it. “I’m sorry, Viv. I didn’t mean to abandon you all week. It just hurts.”
“How do you think I feel?”
“I can’t bear the thought of you leaving. It’s killing me inside.”
“So, you thought you’d ghost me all week and start the breaking early?”
He moves us off to the side where it’s quieter. “I don’t know how to process this. It wasn’t intentional. I was just all up in my feels, and I shut myself away, pouring my emotions onto the page.” He sweeps his fingers across my face. “I thought it might be easier to go cold turkey, but I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’m no good at this stuff.”
I cup his face, relieved to be back in his arms, even if it’s only delaying the inevitable. “No one is, Dillon. There is no rule book for this kind of thing.”
“I want to rewind time and do things differently,” he blurts.
I jerk back. “Why would you say that? I wouldn’t change a single thing about our time together except it’d be nice if you didn’t give me emotional whiplash so much. But I know that’s part of your charm. Part of who you are.” Honestly? I’d even take his mood swings if it meant I was with him.
“I’m going to make it up to you. We’re going to have the best few days. We still have time.”
Dillon and I are inseparable over the following days, even more so than usual. We cling to one another, always finding ways to touch, and we largely stay confined to my apartment, spending hours tangled together in bed. Dillon’s anger and frustration are most obvious when he’s fucking me, venting his emotion through hard thrusts and rough touches that speak to my very soul. We are hangry for one another, punishing our bodies for the sins of our hearts and minds.
“Come with me,” Dillon says on Sunday evening, dragging my lazy, melancholy butt off the couch and pulling me into the bathroom.
“What is this?” I stare at the tub with a physical pain in my chest. Scented steam rises from the water, tickling my nostrils. Rose petals float across the water, and soft music is playing in the background.
“I have plans for us tonight. I kicked Ash out. I’m commandeering the kitchen, and you’re to get your beautiful self in the bath and relax.”
“Jesus, Dillon. Are you truly trying to destroy me?”
He brushes a tear off my cheek. “Time is running out, Hollywood,” he whispers. “I want our last night together to be memorable.”