Page 235 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

Dylan rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “You want coffee or something?”

“No.”

“You still drinking it like engine oil?”

“Yes.”

Dylan gestures toward the control room chairs. “Sit down before you pace a hole through the floor.”

“I’m not pacing.”

“You’re literally pacing.”

I glare at him.

He shrugs. “Some things don’t change.”

I sit, mostly because I’m exhausted enough not to argue.

Dylan drops into the chair opposite me, leaning forward with his forearms against his knees.

Finally, he says, “I didn’t think you’d ever come.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“That tracks.”

I stare at him. Underneath all the resentment and history, he still looks enough like me to feel unsettling. Same eyes. Same jaw. Same restless energy sitting under the skin, permanently braced for impact.

The Harlow curse.

“You scared the shit out of me showing up at the compound,” I admit.

Dylan blinks, probably surprised by the honesty. “I know.”

“I wanted to hit you.”

“I know that, too.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Dylan exhales hard and rubs both hands over his face. “Look, I’m not good at this.”

“At what?”

His laugh is humorless. “Any of it.”

I lean back in the chair. “Try anyway.”

He nods once, and the walls come down a little.

“When Josiah died,” he says, “I lost you, too.”

The words hit like a punch straight to the ribs.

I look away. Even now, hearing Josiah’s name out loud feels dangerous.

Dylan keeps going anyway. “You shut everybody out. Me. Claire. The band. Hell, probably yourself, too.”