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Warm arms wrap around me as I blink rapidly, trying to hide the tears born out of anger and hurt. I’m not sad, I’m just…frustrated.
“You know, I let you get that hit in because I probably deserved it for hiding this from you, but I draw the line at you making Dahlia cry,” Dylan grits out, tucking me close to him. I lean into his warmth, soaking up his comforting strength. “You know I care about you, Harry. You’re my best friend, but if you’re going to stand there and hurt her like this, I will kick your ass back to LA.”
I can’t help the watery laugh that leaves me at that—the image of Dylan throwing Harry across the sea springs to mind. It’s ridiculous, but I’m feeling more than a little unbalanced right now.
“No more violence,” I groan, wiping my cheeks with my palms, trying to stop the stupid tears.
“I’m well aware of how old she is, but you’re wrong, Harry. Dahlia is an adult and a very capable one. Stop treating her like a kid.”
“You expect me to just…be okay with this?” Harry fumbles out, shaking his head.
“I expect you to have some goddamn faith in your sister. She deserves your trust, Harry, and your support. And…dammit so do I. I would never,everhurt her. I’d sooner throw myself into the fucking sea than see her cry because of me. Fuck, man. I love her so just stop being a dick for a damn minute and listen to what we’re saying.”
I think Harry says something back but I’m not listening because all I can hear on repeat is Dylan saying,I love her.
Holy shit, he loves me.
Does he mean it? Or did it just slip out in the heat of the argument? God, I hope he means it. Butterflies are having a party in my stomach, and I turn to look up at the man holding me close, vowing to protect me.
I barely notice when Harry turns to leave, closing the door behind him. Only when I hear the lock click shut and Dylan turns back to me do I manage to focus on reality again.
“He’s going to take some time to cool off and meet us for dinner tonight…” Dylan starts to explain, then pauses, frowning at my stunned expression. “Petal? You alright? Look, I know that wasn’t ideal but—”
“You love me?” I blurt out, breathing shallowly in anticipation.
Dylan’s mouth drops open and his eyes widen, mimicking my own expression. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that for the first time, I…”
“Did you mean it?” I have to know.
Dylan moves quickly, gathering me in his arms and closing all the distance between us. “Of course I bloody meant it,” he says in a rush. “I just wish I’d told you in a better way the first time. I just…I needed Harry to know how serious I was, how much you meant to me. I love you, Dahlia. God, I don’t even think I knew what love was before you. You…you wreck me.”
The tears return but this time they’re from relief and joy.
I surge up, kissing him deeply, before pulling away to whisper against his lips, “I love you too.”
Whatever happens with Harry, we’ll handle it together, and that knowledge alone gives me more strength than I’ve ever felt alone.
12
DYLAN
“That will never not be weird,” Harry mutters under his breath as Dahlia stretches up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on my mouth.
“Get used to it,” I grumble back to him, rolling my eyes as he shudders exaggeratedly.
It’s been nearly a month since his surprise visit, and after the initial shit show when he found out about Dahlia and me, Harry conceded that he was happy as long as she was happy. He also made me promise him that I’d take care of her and that if I ever broke my vow not to hurt her, he’d murder me.
As much as it grated on me to be spoken to like that by my best friend, I respected him for it. I would also murder someone if they so much as made Dahlia sad. I was glad that he and I could agree on that, and that our friendship wasn’t beyond repair.
Harry had decided to stay to help out with the house, wanting to know that his sister had a nice, comfortable place to live before he returned home. He’d also used the time to see more of the country, and I know it made Dahlia happy to have him spend time here.
And all his help paid off because we finished the cottage yesterday.
It still needs to be furnished, but Dahlia has already bought and assembled—or rather I assembled—the sofas and dining table. And we finally have an actual bed frame.
“Stop bickering like children,” Dahlia calls out as spins away from me into the kitchen, returning seconds later carrying bowls of snacks to set out on the table. “People will be here in five minutes.”
The doorbell rings, and just like that, the last precious moments of peace are gone. I try to hide the dread that washes through me as Dahlia happily skips away to answer the door to the first few housewarming party guests, but of course, Harry notices and bursts into laughter.
