“Is Ronan my daddy’s brother too?” Easton asks, looking confused, and this is exactly what I hoped to avoid. Reeve had explained who Dillon is to Easton, telling him he grew up in Ireland with his adopted family, but I’m not sure he fully understands the implications.
Dillon shoots me an apologetic look that seems sincere. “No. Ronan is my adopted brother, and he’s an awesome drummer. I bet he’d let you play his drum kit some time.”
Easton drops the yo-yo in his excitement, bouncing in his booster seat. “Can I Mom? Puh-lease.”
Wow, Dillon is pretty much a master of distraction techniques. Not that it should surprise me. This is what he does best. My lingering guilt poofs into thin air. “Sure thing, buddy. We can arrange something later in the summer, when camp is finished.” That seems to appease him. I pull out my cell as I reach for the yo-yo, handing it back to Easton.
“I can show you how to roll it,” Dillon says, watching Easton struggle with the toy. “It’s all in the wrist action.” I tap out a message to Audrey so she knows we are on the way and that Dillon needs medical attention.
“Cool.” Easton eyes Dillon curiously as the yo-yo lands on the floor again. “What songs do you sing?” he asks, seemingly more interested in the band than the yo-yo.
“Mainly rock songs. You want to hear one?”
Acid crawls up my gut, and I draw a deep breath in preparation.
“Yes! Yes!”
Dillon’s smile is so wide it threatens to split his face in two, and I hate how endearingly sweet it is. Then I feel like a bitch because I should be pleased they are bonding so naturally. Dillon hooks his cell up to Easton’s iPad on the back of the seat, and a few seconds later, the opening notes of a familiar song start up. My eyes meet Dillon’s green gaze as my heart dances wildly in my chest.
Of course, he’d pick this song—the very first one he wrote for me.
I suppose “Terrify Me” is a better choice than “Hollywood Ho” or “Fuck Love.” I should probably be grateful for small mercies, but it’s hard when it’s resurrecting so many perfect moments. Moments I’ve refused to remember since Dillon reappeared in our lives because they all seemed so tarnished.
As we stare at one another, I’m transported back in time to Shane and Fiona’s wedding, where Dillon serenaded me from the stage with so much love and longing on his face there was no mistaking the genuine emotion.
I’m so confused. So conflicted. I don’t want to feel the things I’m feeling right now. I prefer to hold on to my hate and my anger because it’s far easier than admitting the truth.
Dillon brushes an errant tear from my eye as his soulful voice floods the car. “It’s still my favorite song to sing,” he whispers in my ear, sending delicious shivers racing up and down my spine. “Every time I sing it, no matter what part of the world I’m in, I’m always singing it for you. I’m always remembering how you looked at the wedding when I sang it for the first time.”
Tears clog the back of my throat as his husky voice wraps around me, offering comfort if I want to reach for it. Thankfully, my son comes to the rescue before I’m tempted.
“I know this song!” He jumps around in his seat. “My mommy has this song on her phone!”
My eyes swivel to my son’s. How on earth does he know that? I was always careful to hide my semi-obsession with Collateral Damage from my husband and my son.
“She does, huh?” Dillon asks, and I hear the smile in his tone.
“I should check your wound!” I blurt, desperately needing to divert this conversation. “Audrey says she can tend to it provided it’s not too deep.”
“It’s a flesh wound at most,” he says, smirking that annoying smirk I’ve always loved to hate. Of course, he knows I’m deflecting.
“It seems to be bleeding a lot,” I murmur, not wanting to alarm E.
“A knife in the back tends to do that.”
“Don’t make light of it. It freaked me out seeing it.”
His humorous expression alters in a heartbeat. “I know.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, brushing my cheekbone in the process, and I hate how my body yearns to lean into him. I can’t forget all the ways Dillon has hurt me and Reeve. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him for it. “Are you okay?”
“I should be asking you that.” My eyes latch on to his familiar green gaze. I wonder why he’s reverted to his previous look. Is it to divert attention from his resemblance to Reeve, or is there some part of him that hopes I might remember what we once shared if he looks the same? Or is he merely returning to what’s more comfortable? The look his fans fell in love with?
“I’m fine. Nothing some stitches and a few painkillers won’t cure, I’m sure.”
“Thank you,” I say as Easton sings along with the song, guessing the words. “Thank you for saving me back there.”
“I would jump in front of a crazy bitch every day to save you if you’d give me the chance.”
“Do I want to know why you were there?”