We don’t talk for several minutes, but it’s a comfortable silence. I can tell Dillon is deep in thought. In a lot of ways, I completely relate to Dillon’s situation. I have never wanted to be famous. I’ve always been happier staying in the shadows, but Reeve’s fame forced me into the spotlight. I thought I was prepared for it. That I’d prepared my whole life for it, but I wasn’t. I don’t know if it’s ever possible to fully prepare yourself for that kind of intrusive invasion.
“Wow,” I exclaim when we reach the top of the hill. A large stone obelisk occupies center stage on the grassy incline. Blue-green ocean extends as far as the eye can see on one side with the vast expanse of the Irish landscape on surrounding sides. “What is this place?”
“This is Killiney Hill. It’s one of the highest vantage points in County Dublin. Killiney is only a half hour’s drive from Kilcoole, and we spent many Sunday afternoons here as kids. Now, I come here when I need to clear the cobwebs from my head.” He continues talking as we walk around the obelisk. Pointing at a worn bench tucked under an alcove on the other side of the structure, he smiles. “I’ve written plenty of songs from that very spot. Sometimes Conor and me grab a couple of sleeping bags, a few bottles of beer, and come up here to write and jam.”
“It’s a wonder you don’t freeze to death,” I mumble, shivering as imaginary chills ghost over my spine.
He chuckles. “Us Irish must have thicker skin than ye thin-skinned Yanks.”
“Ha! I might have started out like that, but I’ve definitely developed thicker skin over the past couple of years.”
In a surprisingly sweet gesture, he presses a kiss to my temple. “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through.”
“You mean that.” I look up at him, and his eyes have that hypnotic green-blue sheen I’ve noticed in certain light.
“I do.” He squeezes my hand, kissing my brow again. “Come on. I know a secluded spot where we can eat lunch.”
My eyes are on stalks as we wander around the top of the hill, going up and down various steps and exploring other smaller stone structures that are dotted around Killiney Hill. I make Dillon take a ton of pictures of me to send to my parents and Audrey, and he jumps into a photo, taking a selfie of us in front of the obelisk.
I look at the pic with a warm smile on my face as he holds my hand, bringing us over to a rocky area that faces the Irish Sea. In the photo, our hair is windswept, our cheeks are rosy red, and we’re both sporting massive smiles. I’m shocked to see how happy I look. I swallow over the lump in my throat at the thought I might finally be moving on, wondering why I feel joint elation and sadness.
Dillon veers off onto a narrow, bumpy grassy path, guiding me down closer and closer to the edge.
“Is this safe?” I inquire, noticing how there is no one else around.
He chuckles. “You really are a scaredy-pants, aren’t you?”
I flip him the bird, and he tips back his head, laughing heartily. The sound warms my bones. “It’s fair to say I’ve led a more sheltered, less reckless existence than you.”
His laughter instantly dies, his smile fades, and for a moment, he looks almost…angry. As if I’ve insulted him. “Did I say something wrong?” I inquire, frowning as he slams to a halt at a small rocky ledge right on the edge of the hill.
He offers me a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t mind me. I’m a moody fucker.”
“I’ve noticed,” I deadpan, even though I know he’s deflecting. “At least you’re self-aware. There’s a lot to be said for that.”
“Trust me, I’m well aware of all my failings,” he cryptically replies. My brow puckers as I watch him unpack a red-and-black-plaid blanket and some food and drink from his bag. Muscles flex and roll in his shoulders and back as he lays the blanket out flat on the rock, and I get the sense he’s silently berating himself for something. “Come sit.” He pats the blanket. “I promise it’s safe.” He sits down first, his long legs dangling off the edge.
Cautiously, I sit down beside him, ignoring the rapid pounding of my heart.
“I’ve got chicken, tuna, or ham,” he says, opening a Tupperware box.
They all look delicious, made with a variety of different breads, filled with various lettuce and dressings.
“This is delicious,” I say, after I’ve devoured a chicken sandwich and a tuna one. “What deli did you get it from?”
He smirks, and I’m glad to see the previous strained look is gone from his face. “Deli O’Donoghue.”
My eyes pop wide. “You made these?”
“Don’t look so shocked. I have many talents.” He waves his hands in front of my face. “These hands are very skilled.” His tone and expression are suggestive in the extreme, and a lick of arousal flows through my veins.
“They’ve had enough practice, I’m sure,” I murmur.
He brushes a few stray strands of hair off my brow. “Does my history with women turn you off?”
Do I like thinking of him with other girls? No. And I really don’t like the whole Aoife situation. However, everyone has a past, and I don’t want to hold that against him and ruin things between us before they’ve even started. “A little, if I’m being honest. But you can’t change your past any more than I can change mine.”
“Would you want to?” He seems genuinely interested in my response.
“That’s the million-dollar question.” I stare out at the Irish Sea, wondering if I would change things even if I could. Tilting my head to the side, I stare at him. “If I could erase the last couple of years, I would, but before that, everything was perfect. In a lot of ways, it’s easier to cling to the hurtful stuff, to let my anger override my other emotions. It’s easier to forget about the good times, but there were lots of good times,” I quietly admit, absently rubbing crumbs off my thighs as I stare at my lap.
“What’s he like?” he asks, and I jerk my head up. “I’m guessing everything reported isn’t true.”
“It’s not. Reeve isn’t a bad person, and I know he loved me. I guess he just lost his way.”
“That sounds like polite bullshit.” He hands me a bottle of water.
“I need to believe he was manipulated and tricked into following the path he did, because the other reality is too hurtful.” I release a shaky breath. “If he knew what he was doing, it means he didn’t care that he hurt me, and that thought is unbearable.” Tears sting my eyes, and I wish I could rewind to ten minutes ago and not start this conversation.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.” Dillon circles his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in closer, and I rest my head against him. “I’m just trying to understand.”
“How much of a basket case I am?” I ask, half-laughing, half-crying.
“How badly he damaged your heart and whether there’s any hope for an impatient asshole like me.”
I lift my head and turn into him, draping my arms around his shoulders. “He hurt me, but I’m not some fragile broken doll you need to walk on eggshells around.”
He clasps my face in his hands. “I already know that, Viv. I just don’t want to rush you when you’re not ready. You’ll need to set the pace because the very last thing I want to do is hurt you too.”
“I think you’re a liar, Dillon O’Donoghue.”
All the blood drains from his face, and his Adam’s apple jumps in his throat.