Until Ashlyn
Page 15

“Dillon’s there with you?” Mom whispers, and I let my head fall back as my eyes squeeze tight.
“He’s here,” I confirm with a sigh, since I obviously can’t say he’s not.
“Is there anything you want to tell me?” she questions softly. “I mean, you two were just in Vegas together, and now he’s at your house?”
“Um.” I feel my stomach twist. I don’t want to lie about this to her, but I know the truth will have her and my dad on a plane back to Tennessee within hours.
“Ash and I are seeing each other,” Dillon cuts in rudely, and I swear if I had the ability to get out of bed, I would kick his ass. Instead, I open my eyes back up and glare at him.
“Did… did he just say you two are seeing each other?” Mom whispers, apparently losing the ability to speak above that decibel.
“Sorry, Mom, hold on a second.” I hit mute and glare at Dillon, holding up my hand. “Do not say anything else.”
“I’m not hiding us from them, or from anyone,” he replies, not even looking up from his bag as he digs through it.
“I’m not hiding us,” I lie, and his head lifts. His eyes meet mine, narrowing, making me fight the urge to squirm. “I don’t want to tell them about us over the phone.”
“Fine.” He shrugs, but he doesn’t look fine. In fact, he looks pissed.
“Fine,” I mutter back.
Shaking his head, he lifts his hands over his shoulders, pulls off his shirt, and then kicks off his sneakers and shorts before he heads for the bathroom naked, without another glance to where I’m seated.
“You’re really flipping annoying!” I yell, hearing the shower turn on. Gaining no reply in return, I take my phone off mute. “Sorry about that, Mom.”
“So…”
My bottom lip goes between my teeth, and I grumble, “Yes, we’re dating.”
“Honey—” I look at the phone to make sure I didn’t lose the call when she doesn’t say more.
“Mom?”
“You know I adore Dillon, but this is not okay. He’s engaged to another woman,” she murmurs, and I roll my eyes toward the ceiling, letting out a long, frustrated breath.
“He’s not with her. He hasn’t been for a while.”
“Are you sure?”
God, I hope so. Otherwise, Dillon is going to die a very tragic death, I think, running my fingers over Leo’s head when he presses against my side.
“I’ll explain everything when you’re home,” I mutter, leaving out the fact I plan on getting her drunk before I tell her, in hopes she doesn’t remember anything the next day.
“Okay, honey, I trust you.”
Shit.
“Mom.” I fake yawn. “My pain pill is starting to kick in. I’m going to take a nap. I love you, and tell Dad I love him.”
“I will,” she agrees softly. “Love you.”
Hitting end on the call, I stare at the bathroom and listen to the shower while I wait for Dillon to reappear. I feel like he’s made it perfectly clear that he wants everyone to know about us, but what about his family? I’ve never even heard him mention them. Hearing the water turn off, I watch him step out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist a minute later. I lose my train of thought for a moment as I watch him put on a pair of gray boxers and walk across the room to my closet, sliding open the mirrored doors, where he stored some of his clothes last night.
“Why did you cut your hair?”
His eyes come to me over his shoulder, and the look on his face makes my stomach twist with unease. “Is that really what you want to ask me right now?”
Actually, it isn’t. But I’m not sure I want to know the answer to my real question, since that would make this thing between us even more real.
“I’ve been wondering.” I shrug, and he mutters something I don’t catch then pulls a pair of his dark slacks off a hanger and steps into them, grabbing a dark gray button-down shirt and shrugging it on.
“Are you mad?”
“Nope.”
“You seem mad,” I mutter as he buttons up his shirt, then grabs his belt that is hanging over the back of the chair in the corner of my room before he loops it through his waistband, tucks in his shirt, and buckles his belt. Taking a seat, I watch him put on his shoes without sparing me a glance then watch him stand and grab his wallet off the dresser near the door, I’m at a loss. This would be the moment in any of my previous relationships where I would say, ‘Fuck you,’ and never talk to the guy again. But Dillon was right. I can’t do that with him now, not without a crap-ton of paperwork and maybe even a broken heart.
“I’ll be at the office. Your pills are there; take one and try to get some rest.” He nods to the bedside table, where he left me a bottle of water and pills, then heads for the door. My stomach twists uncomfortably as I watch him turn to leave.
“When are we going to tell your parents about us?” I blurt without thinking, and he turns to face me, the pain in his eyes catching me off guard.
“Both my parents are dead,” he states evenly, and before my brain catches up and his words register, he’s gone.
Feeling the bed shift, I blink my eyes open and find Dillon sitting in the crook of my lap, softly gazing at me. I called him multiple times after he left, but he didn’t answer his cell. And when I called the office, Matt, our new receptionist, told me he was with patients, but always made sure to ask if I was okay or if it was an emergency. I knew that was Dillon, not Matt. I knew if I played the ‘it’s an emergency’ card, Dillon would have rushed back to the house.