Marlowe still doesn’t look at me. Not right away. She just stands there, shoulders stiff, hands braced against the sink like she’s holding herself back.
Fucking hell. Is she counting to ten?
Then, slowly, so slowly it makes my teeth grind, she turns. And when she finally looks at me, her eyes aren’t full of guilt. They’re full of fire. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” she says, voice steady. She steps closer, closing the space between us, chin tipped up like she’s daring me to keep pushing. “I work my ass off, Damian,” she says softly, but I feel every word like a slap. “Every single day. For that bakery. By myself. For myself.” Her hands ball into fists at her sides. “I busted my ass to get where I am. And I earned every single thing I have. I didn’t steal it. And I sure as shit never got a dime from Vick.” Her voice rises, not in a scream, not in some hysterical outburst, but in somethingsolid, somethingunshakable. “And even though he’s messed up, my father wouldn’t send me all the way out here just to get me killed.” Her chest rises and falls too fast, her breathsharp, but her eyes stay locked onto mine, certain. Unwavering. “I know that much.”
The conviction in her voice twists something deep in my gut. She’s not second-guessing. She’s not floundering for excuses. She believes it, down to her bones. And the worst part? I can’t tell if that makes her delusional or just brutally honest.
“And I don’t need you standing there acting like you know a damn thing about me just because it’s easier for you to believe I’m a liar than to admit you might be wrong.” The words hit harder than I expect, splintering through the armor I didn’t even realize I’d been holding on to so damn tight. She exhales sharply, like she’s done—like she’s finally washing her hands of this whole conversation.
Shaking her head, she steps back, putting distance between us. It should feel like a win. It doesn’t.
“And for the record?” she adds, voice like ice. “I didn’t help your mother to prove something toyou.I did it because it was the right thing to do. And if that makes your head explode, then that’s your problem. Not mine.”
I open my mouth, but before I can get a single word out?—
“Oh, you two are always fighting.” The soft, warm voice gut-punches me before I even turn to face her. My mother is watching us from her seat at the table, shaking her head like we’re two stubborn kids bickering over nonsense.
My chest tightens.Fuck.
She turns to Cody with an expectant look. “Play their song. Let them dance it all away, just like me and Clay used to.”
Cody looks at me like he’s been sentenced to death. His face screams “I’m sorry,” but his hand is already moving, already reaching for his phone.
Panic digs its claws into my ribs. He wouldn’t dare. My heart jackhammers against my sternum. My skin feels too tight. What the fuck is happening right now? I can’t do this. I can’t standhere and dance with her. Not after everything we just said. Not after everything I still believe.
Even if my mother…
Even if she’ssmiling at us like this is the happiest she’s been in months.
“Go ahead, sweethearts.” She clasps her hands together, her face lighting up with something I haven’t seen in so long it physically hurts. “You both make me so happy.”
My throat closes. I should shut this down. Right now. But then Cody slides his phone across the table, and taps the screen.
And the goddamn song starts to play.
Chapter Eighteen
MARLOWE
The phone explodes with sound, full-on, hardcore, screaming metal.
I jolt, my body seizing from the sudden assault, as the room is suddenly filled with the unholy wail of a lead singer who sounds like he’s actively being murdered.
Cody shrugs, looking way too pleased with himself, but before he can say a word, Delilah smacks him on the hand, hard enough to make him flinch.
“No!” she scolds, shaking her head. “A slow song. Alovesong.”
Cody grimaces, rubbing his hand. “Jesus, Mom, okay,” he mutters, then glances between me and Damian. His grimace deepens, full of regret, before he sighs. “I tried.”
Then, with the most exaggerated sigh I’ve ever heard in my life, he taps the screen. The violent screeching cuts off mid-growl, replaced by something softer and slower, something that wraps around the room, horrifyingly intimate. The first low notes hum through the air, deep and sultry, vibrating in my chest before my mind even registers them.
Damian stiffens. I feel it before I even turn to look at him.
Delilah’s eyes are wide, expectant, her hands folded together in her lap waiting for something beautiful to happen. I should stop this from happening. But when I look up at Damian, he’s already looking at me. His jaw tightens, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His throat works around words that never come. He doesn’t want this. Neither do I.
But his mother’s eyes shine with a joy that feels too fragile to break. It isn’t real, not in the way it should be, but it’shers. And I can’t take it from her.
Neither can he.
