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His gaze hardens on mine, and I immediately regret my harsh words. I've never said anything as rude or as hurtful to anyone before, and Dylan probably doesn't deserve it. Still, I can't bring myself to take it back. I don't want to hear his excuses for breaking our arrangement. Nor do I want to hear him apologise or express regret for sleeping with me. I dared to hope that he'd gotten over seeing me as Austin's little sister last night. But I was wrong. And it hurts a hell of a lot more than it should.
“If that's how you feel,” he says stiffly.
“Don't worry about how I feel, Dylan. Just forget it,” I demand. “Just forget the whole damn thing.”
It's the perfect exit line and there's nothing I want more than to escape right now, but Mum walks back into the dining room holding a tray with three mugs of steaming hot coffee, as well as dessert: homemade apple and rhubarb pie.
“What did I miss?” she asks, her gaze flicking between Dylan and me.
“I'm not feeling so great,” I tell her. “I'm thinking I might head home.”
“You can't leave yet. I made this pie especially for you.”
“I'm sorry, Mum. I'm really not hungry.”
“Then I'll make you a cup of peppermint tea. That always makes you feel better.”
“Thanks, but I don't need a cup of peppermint tea. I should go home and get some sleep. Stupidly, I had a very late night last night.”
I hope the real meaning behind my words isn't lost on Dylan.
“I don't want you driving home when you're unwell. Come into the kitchen and talk to me while I make you something elseto drink,” Mum insists, turning around before I can argue with her.
Knowing she's about to grill me about the sudden tension between Dylan and me, I reluctantly follow my mother into the kitchen. I could have put up more of a fight, but right now, getting away from Dylan is a priority.
“What happened between you and Dylan a moment ago?” Mum asks as soon as I enter the kitchen.
“Nothing.” I sigh and cross my arms over my chest. “Dylan is just pulling his usual big brother act.”
It isn't really that far from the truth. And after Dylan acted all regretful, I acted like an outright cow. And now I'm probably going to spend the next three months doing my best to avoid him. A fantastic Sunday night, all in all.
“He cares about you, Claire.”
I don't doubt Dylan cares about me, but he doesn't care about me the way I want him to, and he never will. To him, I'm Austin's little sister and I always will be. There is still nothing to guarantee that he didn't sleep with me to ‘protect’ me from other big, bad, dangerous men.
If that's all last night was to him, I will never forgive him.
“I'm tired,” I say. “It's been a big week and I really don't understand why he had to be here tonight.”
“I asked him to stay so he could talk to you about his trip.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you well enough to realise that his leaving is going to be hard on you.”
I scoff. “Hard? With Dylan gone, I only have to worry about one over-protective brother.”
“Claire.” Mum's voice is gentle yet chiding. “You think I don't see the way you look at him when you think I'm not looking? You think I'm oblivious to how you feel about him?”
There is no way I'm going to ask Mum to elaborate. Kara's assessment of my feelings for Dylan is still ringing in my head, and I don't need to hear my mother chime in with similar ideas. They are both wrong. Just like Kara, Mum is seeing things that aren't there.
And yet, the fact that Kara and my mother both believe I have feelings for the man sitting in the living room right now means that I've never successfully convinced anyone other than myself that I hate Dylan James. If the subject were anything other than Dylan, my propensity for self-deception would be concerning, but a little self-deception when it comes to the man in question is necessary.
Realising that Mum is watching me carefully, I shake my head. “You're wrong about how I feel, Mum.”
Her eyes never leave mine. “I have no desire to argue with you, baby girl. But you said you don't know why he had to be here and I'm telling you, I wanted you to hear it now so that you can get used to the idea of him being gone. There's no telling when he'll be back and—”
“Yep, I got it. Don't know when he'll be back. Maybe he'll never come back.”
