Faking It with My Bossy Ex (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

19. Amy

Chapter 19

Amy

He’s following me. Of course he is.

I don’t slow down. I don't want him to see the tears in my eyes or how vulnerable I am right now.

Oh, good grief, Dylan. He just had to get under my skin and worm his way back into my heart.

Clara coming back is like a fire iron, ripping open old wounds, reminding me how much it hurt the first time, but it’s not all bad. Remembering why it ended helps me keep in mind why it can’t happen again.

I stomp through the snow, at least as much as a person can stomp through the snow. With every step, my leg sinks halfway to my knees, and then I have to pull it out again and put as much effort into my next step. When I get to the cabin, I’m far enough ahead that I can get inside and slam the door.

That felt good.

The door opens and Dylan steps inside.

Well, it felt good for a moment, anyway. I head to the bed and start pulling off my sweater and gathering my things for a shower.

There’s a reason I’ve been avoiding Dylan all day long. I don’t want to talk about what happened. I don't want to talk about the past, or about what I have been feeling these past few days.

Like that kiss.

Not a nice thing to do, bringing up the kiss that took me back eight years. My subconscious hates me, apparently.

“Amy,” he approaches me from across the room. I spin, determined to ignore him.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Just leave me alone. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”

“Wait.” He reaches out and grabs my arm. He’s been doing a lot of touching lately, especially when he can because other people are around. Why does my heart flip flop and I wish that there were more excuses for him to hold me, to touch me? I shake away the thought.

Clara Hays is here! That is reason enough.

“Please don’t shut me out because of her. Let me explain.” His eyes plead with me. He looks like a puppy that was slapped.

“Explain? How can you possibly explain that, Dylan? You broke my heart. You told me you didn’t love me anymore. Then you just moved on with Clara right after, like I was nothing.”

“I found out about your scholarship to Europe and that you were planning on turning it down.”

“What?” The air rushes out of me. He couldn't have known about that. I never told him, never showed him anything about it. I knew that he would want me to go and would say something ridiculous about it being my dream. Yes, it was my dream, but he was my happiness. I didn’t want to risk us falling apart, so I wanted to stay.

“Your … brother, Jake, came to my room that day. He told me about the scholarship program and how you intended to turn it down and stay in the city with me. I knew how much your art meant to you and what that sort of opportunity would be. It would be the difference between a future in art or not having one at all.”

“No.” I back away from him. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?”

He starts to pace, anguish filling his features, so much pain and regret. My first instinct is to comfort him, to hug him, but then rage surges through me. He found out, and rather than speaking to me, he pretended he didn’t care. He pretended to move on.

“So, you find out I’m about to do something incredibly selfless and romantic and decide to dump me? How is this helping your case?”

He sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. I’ve backed up against the wall, watching him with every bit of distrust I can muster.

Wait, he said my brother told him? Jake was the only one who knew … We had a conversation about it the day before Dylan and I broke up. I’m going to kill him.

“You know how my parents were, how much they fought over the years. It was always my mom accusing my dad of making her let go of her dreams. It destroyed them. When your brother told me that you’d be giving up your dream because of me … I panicked. I know it doesn’t make up for what I did, but I knew that you’d never risk us over a scholarship.”

Of course I wouldn't have. He knows that relationships, connection, and loyalty are the things important to me. My parents needed space and time apart. They were going to get back together, some day. Instead, my dad died. My mom wilted away from the guilt of letting him walk out, and my world crumbled, one piece at a time.

I would never put a trip, a scholarship, or even a dream over those I loved, especially not Dylan.

“I was right there, Dylan. You could have told me and given me a choice. But you didn’t, did you? You made that decision all by yourself.”

“I should have. Goodness, I can see that now.” He runs a hand over his face. “Looking back, it’s obvious. But I thought if I staged it, made you think I’d moved on, it would hurt less than watching me hold you back. I asked Clara out because I knew you’d see us together, and I thought it was the only way to push you to follow your dream.” He swallows hard. “I thought it’d be better if you could remember us at our best, instead of watching things fade away slowly.”

My heart twists, emotions crashing over me like waves. Jake meddling in my life, Dylan ripping us apart without a word, and me, totally unaware of any of it.

“Does that make it any better?” Fury laces through me. “You let me believe you didn’t love me and had moved on for eight years, Dylan! How could you do that?”

He looks miserable, sick to his stomach.

“I should have had a say. We were in a relationship. It’s a two-way street. If I wanted to give up the opportunity in Europe for my own happiness, I should have been able to do that.” My voice breaks and I swallow hard as he shoots up from the bed, closing the space between us.

His arm rests against the wall behind me, framing me in.

“I’m sorry, Amy. You don’t know how much I’ve regretted that day. You were everything to me. All I wanted was for you to have everything you dreamed of, and I was terrified of holding you back from that. I know I hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

I raise my gaze to meet his. It’s burning with desire, with pain, with remorse.

“I don’t know if sorry is enough for this, Dylan. I need time and space.”

He did it for me so I could pursue my dreams. But at what cost? Even if I forgive him wholeheartedly, what’s to say that he’s learned his lesson? The next time that we have to face something difficult, will he be there to stand by me? Or will he go off and orchestrate the next painful breakup and keep me in the dark?

Dylan’s gaze falls. “All right.” He takes a step back, and I miss his nearness.

Deep breaths. One kiss and a few sweet words don’t mean I should be doodling his name in my notebook.

As we retreat to our respective sides of the bed, I rebuild the pillow wall. I need every bit of protection it can offer, at least for now.

With my wall complete, I grab my things and head for the bathroom.

Despite everything in my body saying it doesn’t matter, the fact he didn’t ever touch Clara makes me smile.

She never had him. She was never anything to him. We were everything to one another. Just not anymore. Can I forgive him? Has he changed at all? Or has being forced into the same room together made me weak?

***

My head hurts in the morning, and I turn over with a groan. We’ve got to be at the library for the fundraiser activities. Dylan is in charge of finances, and from what I can tell, it’s going well.

That’s what I need to focus on. I need to remember why we’re here. I throw my feet over the bed and my eyes land on a patch of red hanging over the chair by the bathroom.

It’s the red sweater that I pointed out when I was walking by one of the shops on Main Street before Clara showed up. I said it was cute. Dylan laughed and said that it was a granny sweater but that maybe I could pull it off.

It’s a simple red knit with white flowers across the collar. A sticky note is pinned to the front.

I’m not ready to give you up.

- D

My heart races, thundering against my rib cage. He gave me up easily enough eight years ago. He let a misunderstanding tear my heart to shreds. Do I trust him now? I take the sweater in my hands, running my fingers across the soft fabric.

I look back at the bed reluctantly. I can’t see over the pillow wall since I’ve restructured it. Is he on the other side, or did he leave early? He must have gotten up early to put the note there.

Best not to be fooled by these fluttery feelings. We’re pretending to be a couple. That’s all that this is. He doesn’t want things to be awkward and tense between us for the last few days. It’s not like he’s officially asked me for a second chance.

I frown. I’m overthinking it. A sweater and a note means nothing. There’s too much between us … and yet, I tuck the sweater into my suitcase, folding it gently. I need to distract myself from Dylan, and a great way to do that is to find my brother and give him a proper talk about what he did to me eight years ago. This should be fun.