“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
“It’s ancient history.” She finally looks up, and her eyes are bright with something—fear? Shame? I can’t tell. “We were friends, a long time ago.Before I left the second time. I said some things I shouldn’t have. Things I didn’t mean.”
“What things?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t—not right now. I need to go.”
“Delilah—”
“I’m sorry. I just—I need to think.”
She grabs her bag from where she dropped it and practically runs for the exit.
I stand in the empty hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, and wonder what on earth just happened.
My phone buzzes.
Dean:You coming or what?
I stare at the message for a long moment.
Then I walk out to the parking lot, where my brother is waiting and Delilah’s car is already pulling away.
My phone buzzes. Diane again.
Diane:Brittany’s mom just tagged you in a gym selfie. 47 comments and counting. Call me.
I look at the message. I look at the empty space where Delilah’s car was. Two worlds closing in at once—the one I came here to escape and the one I’m not sure I’m allowed to want.
I pocket my phone and get in the truck.
ELEVEN
DELILAH
Idrive home on autopilot, Penelope’s words echoing in my head like a bad song stuck on repeat.
Ask her why she really left. Both times.
Ask her what she told me the night before she disappeared.
The worst part is, I know exactly what she’s talking about. I remember that night—the wine, the tears, the way I’d spilled my guts to someone I thought was my friend. I’d told her everything. About Levi. About why I was leaving. About the overheard conversation that had broken something inside me.
And now she’s holding it like a weapon, ready to use it whenever it suits her.
Ruffy greets me at the door with his usual enthusiasm, completely oblivious to my emotional crisis. He’s been fed—I can tell by the crumbs around his bowl—which means someone stopped by while I was at the gym.
Mom has a key. So does Jo.
A terrible suspicion begins to form.
I walk into the kitchen.
My mother is sitting at the table, drinking tea from my favorite mug, looking like she’s been waiting for this exact moment for approximately twenty years.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she says. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“You’re supposed to be in Florida.” My voice comes out strangled. “You said April. It’s March.”
