Harrison scoffs at this.
“It’s true,” I press. “She’s so … sweet. And smart. And strong, and talented. And …” I shake my head. “I wanted to make sure she knew that. That she was with someone who would take care of her and make her feel special and …” I trail off, my gazing moving past the truck, past Logan and Theo, to the view of the mountains beyond. “I miss talking to her every day, but I know it’s for the best. For you and her. For everyone. It’s why I told herto stay away from me. So she could find someone better, so she could …” I realize I’m rambling now, that I’m not really saying anything in particular, and I clear my throat. I’m about to launch into another round of apologies, when Harrison speaks.
“You’re in love with her.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement.
I turn to him, and he’s studying me with an expression I’ve never seen on him before. All traces of anger are gone, and instead he looks … perplexed, almost. Surprised. Like he’s slowly putting together the pieces of a puzzle in his head.
“You’re in love with Delilah,” he says again, and while the first statement didn’t really register, this one does. It’s as if someone has a fist around my heart and is clenching it tighter and tighter and tighter. Because, holy shit, I think he’s …
“I’m sorry, Harrison,” I say quickly, because this has suddenly gotten so much worse. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat, as the gravity of what he’s said crushes down on me.
“No,” Harrison says, and I brace myself for whatever beating is to come—whether physical or verbal. “She’s not just another notch on your bedpost or some shit?” It’s a question this time, one he expects an answer to.
And while I never would have put it in those terms, technically thatwaswhat she was supposed to be. What I was supposed to be for her. But now … “No,” I answer truthfully.
Harrison stares at me, hard enough that I almost flinch. “I didn’t know it was like that,” he says eventually, looking away.
I didn’t either.
But I suppose I should have. I want her more than anything. I want her to be mine. And that means … I have to beherstoo.
“Does she love you too?” Harrison asks.
“I, uh … don’t know.”
“Does she know you love her?”
“I don’t know.”
Harrison nods, pursing his lips.
“It doesn’t change the fact that she deserves someone better than me—”
“Tell her.”
I blink. Harrison turns to face me again. “What?” I ask.
“Delilah deserves to know how you feel about her,” he says simply.
I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my tongue.
“I forgive you,” Harrison says, and the words send a jolt of electricity through me. He stands, looks down at me. “As long as you tell her you love her.”
And with that, he walks off.
Chapter twenty-one
Delilah
The email stares up at me, proud and assertive, affirming everything I’ve accomplished—everything I’ve gone through—over the past month and a half.
The book has been accepted.
The email from my agent, Jessica, is complimentary as she lays out the structure for acceptance and the steps from here. Just like all my others, this book will go through developmental editing, approval by the author, and sent back to me for revisions. So I’m not completely done, but we’re signing off on a first draft.
Myfirst draft. That I seriously worried I’d never be able to finish.
I lean back in my chair, hands clasped to my chest, beaming from ear to ear. I close my eyes, lean my head back, and whisper, “Yes!”
