“That's—I don't need you keeping tabs on me, Hawkins.”
“I'm not keeping tabs. I'm paying attention.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration finally breaking through his calm facade. “There's a difference.”
My phone lights up again. This time it's actually ringing. I glance down reflexively.
Mom's smiling photo fills the screen, the one where she looks happy and put-together, the one I took three Christmases ago during the twelve-hour window when everything seemed normal.
Troy sees it too. He glances at the phone, then back at me.
“You gonna get that?” he asks.
“No.”
The vibration stops. Then immediately starts again.
“Seems important,” he says evenly.
Something inside me snaps. “She just wants money, okay? She always wants money. Or attention. Or to be saved from whatever mess she's in this week.” My voice breaks. “She doesn't care about me or school or—anything. She didn't evenask.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to claw them back in. I never talk about my mom. Not to anyone. It'slike I've handed Troy a loaded gun and shown him exactly where to aim.
His expression shifts, understanding dawning in his eyes.
“Delilah—”
“Don't,” I cut him off. “Just... don't.”
He watches me for a second longer. His voice drops lower. “Did something happen?”
“I don't want to talk about it.”
His gaze sharpens. “Delilah?—”
“Idon'tneed you, Troy.”
It erupts out of me—sharp, defensive, desperate. Like if I don't say it fast, it'll strangle me on the way out.
Troy stills and watches me and then, gently, he says, “Yeah. You do. And I need you too.”
The words hit me like a punch to the ribs.
I laugh, but there's no humor in it. “You don't know anything about what I need.”
“I know enough,” he says simply. “Delilah, you can talk to me. I’m here for you.”
I look away. My hands are shaking.
“I know,” he adds, more quietly, “that you act like letting anyone close is some kind of failure. Like if someone sees you struggling, they'll leave. Or worse, stay and use it against you.”
My throat burns. “Stop.”
But he doesn't. “I know something happened before you walked in here. I can see it all over you. And I'm not trying topry, Greer. I'm trying to be here. If you'd let me.”
The silence that falls is deafening. I can't meet his eyes. I can't speak.
So I do what I always do. I stand up.
Troy doesn't try to stop me. He just leans back in his chair, sighs, and lets me go.
