I jerked my head up in surprise. "Me?"
"Of course you. We'd always considered you one of ours. I hope you don't mind me saying that. It's just … you and Richard were so close … and we'd always wanted a daughter. After Richard was born, we weren't able to … well … " She shook her head. "We were meant to have what we were meant to have."
"You got a pretty good one. Don't tell him I said that."
She beamed. "I like to think so too. Lord knows he has his moments, and he's stubborn as a bull. But then I think you know that too. It's why you're so magnetic together."
I let out a laugh. "Magnetic? Me and Dawson?"
"You were attached at the hip for so many years. And even when you've been … well, whatever it is you've been, you're always circling each other, but never getting too close. It's always reminded me of the way magnets work. Try to push you together when you're out of sync, and, well, it only makes you rebel. But when you're together, almost nothing could pry you apart. Probably makes no sense to you, but that's my logic, and I'm stickin' to it."
"No," I said, chewing on my lip. "No, it makes perfect sense."
"You know … I don't think he's ever quite gotten over losing you." When my head shot up, she reached over to squeeze my hand. "You were his constant for so long. That can't be surprising."
I couldn't seem to find my breath, because it was one thing to feel the same way, but it was another to hear the words come out of his mom's mouth. I finally managed to swallow. "But he's … been fine. We've been fine. You move on, and I'm sure you've met some of the people he's moved on with-"
"Never."
"What?"
"He's never brought anyone home."
I found that hard to believe, but then again, considering we'd both been playing the field of one-night-stands for years, that didn't exactly make for relationships long enough to bring the person home to Mom and Dad. I sure as hell wouldn't have brought anyone home, even if I had been on good terms with my parents.
Gail moved the box of lights separating us and scooted closer to me on the couch, and then her hands stilled mine. "Paige, I want you to know we love you. And no matter what happens between you two, you're a member of this family whether you like it or not. Though I'm hoping you like it, because like Charles said, I'd hate to have to drag you here. You got it?"
"Got it." I gave her a small smile, my insides feeling warm, the way I supposed most people felt around their families.
Gail pulled me in toward her then, her arms going around me in a big bear hug that I hadn't realized I'd needed. As she held me, I thought over our conversation, about the way she'd described mine and Dawson's relationship, how he'd never "gotten over losing me." Had I ever really gotten over losing him? My eyes stung as we hugged each other, and that was the moment Dawson decided to round the corner, a big storage container in his arms and his mouth open, as if he was about to spout off something sarcastic. Our gazes met briefly before I let mine drop. I knew he could see exactly what was in mine, but I didn't want to answer the questions I saw in his.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Confessions of a Twat
"I'VE MISSED YOUR parents," I said later that night, after we'd gotten back to my house and had taken to the living room. It felt like a reflective sort of night after spending the day with him and his family like old times, and it didn't feel right to head off to separate bedrooms like strangers. Instead, Dawson had built a fire, and I watched him stoke the flames as I curled up on one end of the couch with an oversized sherpa blanket and a cup of hot cocoa.
He put the poker away and joined me on the couch, sitting on the far end from where I sat. He stretched his arm out along the back and said, "They've missed you too. You should come by more."
"I will. If that's okay with you."
"Of course it's okay with me. But even if it wasn't, they're just as much yours as they are mine."
I took a sip of my cocoa and then laid my head on the back of the couch where I faced him. "Where did this sweetness come from, huh?"
"I am my parents' son."
"That you are." And just like that, the words I'd had floating around in my brain all day came spilling out. I hadn't meant them to, but if it wasn't said now, it never would be. "Dawson … I'm sorry."
"For implying I'm anything other than sugar in raw form? No need."
Setting my mug on the coffee table, I said, "No. I'm sorry for … " Pretending to hate you? Pushing you away? "For not being your friend."
Dawson's mouth parted at my confession; he seemed stunned that I'd finally acknowledged what had taken years to talk about. He ran his fingers through his hair and then leaned his head against his hand. "Wow. I wasn't expecting that."
"I like to keep you on your toes."
"You definitely do that. Always." Then he shook his head. "One day at the Dawson homestead and she's apologizing. I should've had you over a long time ago."
"Takes a while to swallow your pride."
"In that case … I'm sorry too."
"For?"
"It takes two to play our game, Paige. I'm not innocent either."
His eyes were steady on mine, but they were too intense, the mood too heavy, and I shifted uncomfortably. "You're right. Innocent is not a word that would ever describe you."
"Thank fuck for that," he said, not skipping a beat at the change in mood. "So. You're sorry. I'm sorry. Where do we go from here?"
"Well, I don't actually hate you, so there's that important fact."
"No?" His lips curved up. "So you like me? Is that it?"
"That's not what I said."
"You like me. I see right through you, Pita."
"Shut up. That's not what I was implying."
"I know you know you like me."
"You're full of shit."
"You know," he said, pointing at me to drive the point home while he smiled that stupid, simpering smile I'd always hated. Really, I had. "That I know that you know you like me."
I threw a pillow at his head. "What are we, fifteen? I tolerate you."
"Is that what we're calling it? Like the way you tolerated me last night?"
"See? You're a master antagonizer. That's your game."
Dawson let out a full belly laugh. "But it works like a charm."
Before I could respond to that, Dawson's cell went off. He dug it out of his pocket, glanced at it briefly, and hit ignore.
"So, where were we?" he said, and the sentence had barely come out of his mouth before his phone went off again.
"You can get that. I won't be offended," I said.
He silenced it again. "If I wanted to, I would."
"Fair enough."
But the third time it went off, I was ready to answer it for him.
"You can go, you know," I said.
His brow furrowed. "Go? Go where?"
"Out. Dancing. Wherever."
"I build you a fire and you kick me out? I see how it is."
"No, I mean, this isn't a part of my father's mandate. We're not required to spend time together, and I know you've got at least ten invitations sitting on your phone right now-"
"As do you, but I haven't seen you out partying it up every night, per usual. Why?"
I didn't have the answer to that. Other than the night at Jumbo's, my desire to put on my dancing shoes and flirt with every guy I saw had been the last thing on my mind.
Ignoring his question, I said, "Why are you here?"
"Silly Paige. It must've slipped your mind, but … I live here, remember?"
No, I hadn't forgotten, because he'd been in my face, in my head, hell, in my body, and there'd been no getting away, and the worst part about that was I hadn't really wanted to. Not even a little bit. Dawson was breaking down my walls, and I wasn't sure how to process that. It'd been so long since I'd let a guy in … since I'd let him in, and I just didn't know if I was capable of opening myself up for another round of heartache. Because that was where it would inevitably lead.
As my gaze landed on the fire, the flames blurred. Oh sweet hell, who was I and what was the wet stuff leaking out of my eyes?
Dawson had to be thinking the same thing, but he didn't say a word as he pulled a tissue from the decorative box on the coffee table and then leaned over the blankets to dab at the wetness on my cheeks.
"God, Dawson," I said, closing my eyes. "Why are you here?"
"Because I live for these moments when I can make you cry," he said.
His teasing couldn't crack a smile from me, though, and when I opened my eyes, I grabbed his wrist, stopping him mid-blot. "I'm serious." I searched his face, trying to find his true intentions, but when his gaze dropped to my lips, I released the hold I had on him. With a sigh, he fell back against his side of the couch, crumpling the tissue in his hand before tossing it on the table.
"I don't know, Paige. Maybe it's just that I want to spend time with you."
Getting to his feet, he went back over to the fireplace, picked up the poker, and stabbed a few of the logs. He didn't say anything else, and he didn't look back at me either, so I took the opportunity to wipe all evidence of my outburst off my face.