22
VIVIEN
Dillon carries me to my SUV, ignoring his pain, to get me away from the vultures. We arrive at my car as Bobby is strapping a sobbing Easton into his seat. “No!” I protest when Dillon places me in the back seat. “I need to drive.”
“You are in no condition to drive, Mrs. Lancaster,” Bobby says, sliding behind the wheel. “Climb in the back with Mr. O’Donoghue. You need to check his injury to see how bad it is. I can drop you and Easton at home before taking him to the hospital.”
“I don’t need a hospital,” Dillon says, helping me into the car beside E. He climbs in after me and shuts the door, gritting his teeth as a glimmer of pain races across his face. “She stabbed me, but I don’t think it’s deep,” he adds in a lower voice so Easton doesn’t hear.
I want to run back and gut the bitch.
“Are you sure?” I ask, swallowing painfully.
He nods. “It’s not serious.” His eyes skate past me, to Easton, and his features soften as he drinks him in.
Bobby reverses the car out of the space and heads out of the parking lot.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” I ask my son, examining his face and his body to reassure myself he is unharmed.
He nods. “Are you?” His brow scrunches up as his worried eyes meet mine.
“I’m totally fine.” Thanks to Dillon’s quick thinking. Gratitude wraps around me, even if I would like to know what the hell he was doing here.
“Can I go back to camp?” he asks after giving me a quick once-over.
“Not today.” My heart could not take that. “But if everything is okay, you can return tomorrow.” I want reassurances from our security team and the camp officials before I’m letting Easton step anywhere near that place.
“But what about my hike?!” His lower lip wobbles as he pouts. He thrusts his leg out. “I want to try my new hiking boots.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” I rub my throbbing temples. “I know you’re disappointed, but I’m sure there will be more hikes.”
“It’s not fair,” he wails, balling his hands into fists. “I want to go back!” Tears well in his eyes, and I hate upsetting him, but this is nonnegotiable.
“It’s not safe, and I’m not arguing with you about this. I’m the grown-up, and it’s my decision.”
Easton opens his mouth to protest some more, but Dillon cuts in, stopping whatever he was about to say. “Hey, Easton.” Dillon leans forward, smiling at his son. “Do you like yo-yos?”
Easton’s tears dry as Dillon produces a red, black, and gold yo-yo from his pocket. It has the Collateral Damage logo on the side, so it must be official band merch. Dillon’s hopeful expression does something to me, and guilt mixes with panic, swooping down and pummeling me from all sides. After cleaning my hands with a tissue, I smooth the front of my summer dress as a familiar fluttery feeling invades my chest. E’s brow puckers as he looks between me and Dillon, and I try to focus on my son and not the blossoming panic attack I’m fighting to keep under control. Easton gets real upset when I have an anxiety attack, and I try to avoid him seeing me like this.
“This is your Uncle Dillon,” I say, almost choking on the words. “Remember you met him once before?”
“You look different,” Easton says, still frowning.
“I like to change up my look.” Dillon’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he stares in amazement at his son. Tiny pinpricks stab me all over my chest. It’s a bittersweet moment—watching Dillon engage with his son and feeling immense pain for all Reeve has lost.
Easton looks deep in thought as he reaches out, taking the yo-yo from Dillon’s hand, effectively distracted. He traces the logo on the side with his finger. “What does this say?” he asks, the words too difficult for him to read.
“It says Collateral Damage,” I explain.
“It’s the name of my band,” Dillon adds, leaning against the side of the door, while maintaining eye contact with E.
Bile swirls in my stomach as I spot the growing bloodstain on the upper left-hand side of his gray hoodie.
“You’re in a band?! That’s so cool.” Easton’s eyes are the size of saucers as he attempts to roll the yo-yo while staring at Dillon with newfound respect. “Do you play guitar or the drums?”
“Guitar,” Dillon says, beaming at his son. “My brother Ronan is in the band too. He plays the drums.”
I shoot daggers at Dillon. Opening this line of questioning will only lead to trouble. He needs to tread carefully.
“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.