Harper
His eyes look red and swollen as he opens the door and stands to the side to allow me entry. f**k he looks like s**t. It takes a lot to make Dylan cry. Usually only over distressed animals and sometimes when we used to watch a sad movie together.
“Hi,” I say as I pass him. He looks dishevelled in torn Levi jeans and a black T-shirt. I notice how his muscles are more defined these days, but then he has been putting in a lot of extra time in the gym and on the football ground.
“Hi,” he says back and closes the door behind me. I loiter in the entrance. “Go through to the kitchen. I put coffee on, or do you want a cold drink? I’ve got some beers in. Nobody will mind; dad’s not here in any case.”
“I’ll stick with coffee; I have Taylor at home and don’t fancy a beer.” I know he has
