Page 122 of Back to Willow

I do when he’s acting out. It normally just lasts a few minutes. Usually, it’s enough to make him feel guilty and stop.

“You do,” he exclaims. “I always have to whine to Nana for you to talk back to me.”

“Kiddo, you’re too smart for your own good,” I say, placing him down on the seat by the counter.

It’s only then that I remember Liam is right next to us, listening to the whole ordeal. As the red from my embarrassment tries to settle on my cheeks, I turn around to avoid letting him see it.

“Where’s Nana?” I ask.

“I’m here,” she calls out, coming in from the back door.

We start cooking dinner right away, and Liam stays silent most of the time, watching over Dylan. He’s not usually quiet, but I guess that after two weeks of trying to get me to talk to him, he’s finally given up.

Remorse gnaws at my chest at the thought. While he was ridiculous and cruel, I know it came from a place of pain. He didn’t mean most of it—at least, I hope.

That argument feels so insignificant in comparison now. It’s the thought of telling him everything that has been keeping me distant. I don’t know how to do this, how to make it right without doing it the wrong way.

It’s visibly taking a toll on both of us: there are bags under our eyes, and while I’ve been feeling exhausted, he seems deflated.

After an awkward dinner, we settle on the couch to watch a movie—Dylan’s demand. There, he forces us to sit side by side, just so he can snuggle in the middle. His head digs into my chest a couple of times until he finds a comfortable position with his bum between both of us.

Nana says goodnight before going back to her bedroom, a smug smirk on her face. It’s so annoying how easily she can read into everything.Ugh.

I fight a gasp when I feel something grazing my ribs. It’s one of Liam’s hands, being tightly held by Dylan’s small ones, against his chest.

Oh my god. My heart somersaults inside while the guilt eats away at my brain cells. I feel like going crazy.

Dylan sighs in contentment, probably very comfortable and warm in the middle of us. So much so that not even ten minutes into the movie, he starts to softly snore.

A light nudge to my shoulder makes me look at Liam.

“Lo, can we talk?”

I nod. “Let me just take him to bed.”

“I’ll help.”

Liam effortlessly picks Dylan up and climbs the stairs, with me following close behind. He no longer needs directions towards his room, walking with assured steps. There, he helps me put his PJs on before tucking him in.

“Thank you,” I whisper when we’re back downstairs again. “For helping out with him.”

“No need to thank me. He’s as much my responsibility as he is yours.”

His words make me look away, and with that, he stops talking.

We don’t know that yet.And this heavy feeling in my chest keeps telling me that something’s about to blow up. I can’t deny my biggest fear is that Dylan isn’t his, especially since they’ve gotten so attached.

“Lo,” he calls me, grabbing my chin with his index finger and thumb. “I regret what I said so much. I know you like the back of my hand. I should’ve known better. I truly am sorry.”

He’s sorry.I know he is.The looks he’s been giving me for the past few weeks show it, and I want to forgive him so much. But something’s holding me back.

Maybe it’s the fear that if we get on good terms again, something will happen to take that away from us once more. Or it’s the fear of his reaction when learning who else could be Dylan’s father.

“I know,” I breathe.

He rests his forehead on mine, and we both automatically close our eyes. There’s warm and soft energy flowing between our skin, the comfort of having him close beating any other negative feeling away. “Then why don’t you forgive me?”

“I—there’s so much you don’t know yet. And you need to know it all, but I—” A breath stops me for a moment. “Every time I get the courage to speak, it vanishes. I get physically ill just from thinking about it.”

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