Mr. Forbes clears his throat, giving me the evil eye, and then his gaze passes through me, landing on the far side of the room where their son Taylor stands by the bar, schmoozing a few of the players. I watch him hand over his card.
Taylor fucking Forbes.
Not only is he a notorious douche bag and the brother of my criminally insane stalker, he also once tried to swipe Mirabelle out from under me, telling her she deserved better than filthy scum like me. He’ll be forever on my shit list because of that.
The sad thing is, had she run off with Taylor, she wouldn’t be spending the rest of her life in isolation in some assisted care facility.
Life’s a fucking bitch sometimes.
The day I saw him leaving Rue’s, I shoulder-checked him on the sidewalk and told him Delilah was mine despite the fact that she very much wasn’t. Maybe I was skating by on arrogance and charm at that point, but deep down, a baser part of me knew something else was brewing.
“Come on, baby,” Carissa coos into my ear. “Let’s refill our drinks. Be a gent and order me a lemon drop martini, will you?”
I’m distracted, scanning the room for some kind of clock so I can see how many more hours I have left in literal hell, and when I turn around, Carissa’s standing before me, rising on her toes and bringing her mouth to mine for a lingering, closed-lip kiss.
By the time I realize what just happened, the first thing I do is glance around the room to make sure nobody saw. There’s a handful of photographers here with press passes, and the last thing I need is the immortalization of this unwanted kiss with a single photo.
“Zane?” A woman’s voice calls me from behind.
I turn on my heel, instantly recognizing Daphne Rosewood. Weston stands behind her, giving me the kind of concerned look you never want to see on the face of your best friend.
“I’m confused . . .” Daphne cocks her head, her gaze pointing at Carissa, who’s busy talking to someone yet still takes the time to slip her arms around my waist from behind.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I say under my breath. “I can explain.”
“Save it.” Daphne’s normally sweet demeanor darkens and her brows meet. “And stay the hell away from my sister.”
“Daphne,” I call out as she walks off. “Weston, wait.”
They’re long gone, and I’m stuck here with this raven-haired paperweight in a dress ironically better suited for an angel.
I can’t breathe.
Gripping Carissa’s hands, I shove them off and move away from her hold.
“Hey.” She pouts. I storm off. “Where are you going?”
“Give me one goddamned minute to myself.” I yell at her, voice booming so loud it hurts my own ears and silences the conversations around us. My jaw is iron-tight, clenched. I see nothing but a sea of red. “God, I can’t breathe with you clinging onto me like this. Just leave me alone, Carissa. This entire charade of yours is goddamned pathetic. Grow the fuck up.”
Carissa’s bottom lip trembles, her eyes growing glassy as her father comes to her side. I see him nod across the room where two security guards flank the entrance. They cut through the crowd, headed toward me.
And just like that . . .
I’m fucked.
Chapter 36
Delilah
“Morning, sunshine.” I brew a pot of coffee as my sister stumbles into the kitchen Sunday morning.
It’s going to be a long day. We’ve got a few more things to pack before the big furniture movers come. Somewhere along the line, I was fortunately able to convince Rue I wasn’t capable of moving her china cabinet, king-sized bed, or extra-tall dresser.
“How was the party? Tell me all about it.” I grab two mugs from the cupboard and glance at the clock. If we can finish in the next couple of hours, that should still give me the better part of a day to spend with Zane. I’ve been thinking about it all weekend, my head and heart waging war about the things I should or shouldn’t say tonight.
But I’ve overruled them both.
I’m going to go with the flow for the first time in my life and say what feels right in that moment. I won’t plan any kind of speech or silly declaration of love. Whatever happens happens, and whatever is said will be said.
If anything, I just want to end things on a high note with the door wide open. If we can at least manage that, then I’ll call this summer a success. And I’ll deal with missing him privately and personally, and hopefully, someday, I’ll be able to get over this little summer fling.
Daphne takes her coffee mug from me, her gaze shifting to avoid mine. “Thank you.”
“Have a seat,” I say. “How was the party?”
My sister clears her throat. Her baby blues mist as she looks off in the distance.
“Oh, god,” I say. “Weston. What’d he do? Did he break things off?”
I move to her side, wrapping my arms around her. Gone is the light in her eyes and the sweet cadence in her demeanor. I recognize the heartbreak in her eyes. I’ve seen it there before. She’s hurting. She’s upset.
She shakes her head before nuzzling her cheek against her shoulder. “Delilah, there’s something I have to tell you about last night.”
“What? You’re scaring me.” I suck in a breath and hold it, my body tense.
“Zane went to the party with someone else.” Her words are a near whisper.
If hearts could shatter, mine would be in a million pieces right now. I’m numb. And yet I feel everything all at once.
“Maybe it was a misunderstanding?” I blink away the tears that brim my eyes.
Daphne bites her tongue, slowly shaking her head side to side.
“When we got there, I saw him standing next to her, and she kissed him, and when I confronted him, he tried to say it wasn’t what it looked like, but she was hanging all over him. His expression, Delilah . . . the color was drained from his face. He wasn’t expecting to see me. He looked like someone who’d been caught red-handed.”
“So he lied.” My words are monotone. “He lied to me.”
Daphne places her hand over mine.
“He told me he couldn’t take me to the party because he was on some kind of restriction and he thought he’d lose his contract if he violated it,” I say, brows lifting. I let out a single dry laugh, though nothing about this is funny. “Huh. And then he went with someone else.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
I try and smile to keep the tears from falling, but one escapes anyhow, sliding down my cheek and landing on the top of my hand. “I hate myself for even wanting to know this, but I just can’t help myself . . . what did she look like?”
Daphne exhales slowly, eyes squinted. “You know, I never saw her face. They kissed, and then when he turned around, she was behind him. She had dark hair. I think. Anyway, it doesn’t matter because he’s an asshole and you deserve better.”
“I just don’t get it. We spent so much time together this summer. Everything was going well. We were close. I mean, we were friends. At least I thought we were?” I rest my chin on my hand, staring ahead at a printed picture of a dairy cow hanging next to Rue’s kitchen table. She’s had that thing forever. I’m pretty sure I could reproduce it from memory if I had to. But now, every time I look at that cow, I’m going to think of this moment. “You think you know someone.”
My mind replays the last six weeks. Chicago was a major turning point for us. We shared things about each other. He opened up. We laughed. We screwed. I suppose the last few weeks he has seemed rather distant. I thought he was working? Maybe he was off with . . . her?
“I’m so sorry.” Daphne shakes her head. “I hated to tell you. I debated on whether or not I should since you’re leaving tomorrow. But I thought you had the right to know. And even Weston was upset. He had no idea Zane was taking a date, but to be fair, Weston wasn’t originally going to go because his brother was getting married, but the wedding got cancel
led, and that’s how we ended up going, but anyway. Weston was just as shocked as I was. We didn’t stay very long after that. Maybe twenty minutes. Long enough to say hi and be seen by all the right people, and then we were gone.”
I huff. “I guess it’s not like he was my boyfriend. I mean, technically this isn’t cheating.”
“Were you exclusive?”
“I was. But clearly my efforts were one-sided.”
My phone buzzes gently from across the table, and Daphne watches with bated breath as I reach for it and slide it near. Zane’s name flashes across the lit screen.
“Speak of the devil.” I don’t think twice before tapping the red button. “No thank you.”
A few taps later and his number is officially blocked from my phone.
“I’m done,” I declare, welcoming the numbness that washes over me and reminding myself that what’s done is done, and that someday this will all be a distant memory. “I took your advice, and I embraced complicated, and it was fun for a while, but I won’t be lied to. I have more respect for myself than that.”
“Good for you.”
I stand up, taking a sip of my coffee before shoving my phone in my back pocket.
“Ready to get to work?” she asks.
“Yeah. Let’s load the last of the small boxes. The furniture movers will be here around noon,” I say. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Sure?”
“Don’t tell Aunt Rue about this. I’m not in the mood for one of her lectures, and I know she’ll march over there and give him the what-for, and I just don’t want to spend my last day here dealing with any of that.”
“Won’t say a word.” Daphne slips her arm around my shoulder and we head to one of the back rooms where Rue keeps her doll collection and crystal.
“And promise me one other thing,” I say as we walk.
“Of course.”
I bite down on my trembling lip, hoping the physical pain will override the emotional. “Promise it won’t feel like this forever.”
“It won’t. It gets better. I promise.”
We stop in the hall and she wraps me in her arms. She’s a good three inches taller than me, and I bury my head in her shoulder.
“I don’t understand.” My words are muffled against her shirt.
“And you never will.” She rubs circles into my back. “All you can do is move on and try to forget.”
Our sweet summer fling has officially left a nasty taste in my mouth. I’ve spent the summer drunk on endorphins and adrenaline rushes, Oxytocin, and lust. But now it’s a toxic combination, coursing through my veins and making me sick.
I want to forget.
I want to forget everything about him.
Chapter 37
Zane
Five calls. Four texts. Nothing’s going through.
She’s blocked me.
Which means she doesn’t want to talk to me . . .
Which means she’ll never hear the truth . . .
Which means she’ll leave here tomorrow, hurt, because of something she thinks I did.
I slam my phone down and glance out the window in time to see a moving truck back into Rue’s driveway.
Daphne ambles across the drive, motioning for the truck to come a little closer and then telling it when to stop.
My heart races, pounding so hard I can’t think straight. Without hesitating or thinking any of this through, I grab a piece of paper and scribble down a note.
Gorgeous,
Please take my calls. Please come see me before you leave. It’s not what you think.
I love you.
de la Cruz
I read the note and crumple it up. I’m not telling her I love her in a note. That’s fucking lame. We’re not in junior high.
I grab another sheet and write the note again, this time omitting the part where I tell her I love her. Someday, when I get a chance, I’m going to tell her to her face. She’ll get to hear it straight from me.
Slipping on tennis shoes, I run outside before Daphne disappears, ignoring the horrified look on her face when she sees me coming at her.
“Daphne, I swear to you it isn’t what it looked like. What did you tell her?” I hook my hands on my hips, squinting, the letter folded neatly in my left palm.
“I told her what I saw.” Her voice is laced with disgust. This isn’t the Daphne I met a couple of months ago. This Daphne hates my fucking guts. “And you shouldn’t be here. I don’t want my sister seeing you, especially after I spent all morning calming her down.”
“Jesus.” I run my hand through my hair, tugging a small fistful. The last thing I want to do is hurt Delilah. “Daphne, you have to give this to her.”
I slip her the note.
“She’s not taking my calls or texts, and I have to explain everything to her before she leaves tomorrow.”
Daphne cocks her head to the side, examining me. Behind her, one of the movers stands with a clipboard, clearly needing her attention. But I need it more.
“Whatever explanation you’re going to give her, which I’m sure will be some kind of variation of the truth that paints you in some saintly light . . . is it even going to change anything? She’s going back to college in a month and you’re here playing football. You already made it crystal clear to her this summer that she’s nothing more than your own personal sex toy.” Daphne huffs. “You had fun. I get it. But now she’s hurt, and you have the nerve to stand here acting like you deserve another chance?”
“Ma’am?” The driver of the moving truck lifts a finger. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I just have some questions before we get started.”
“Yes. Sorry.” Daphne spins around, ending our discussion before I have the chance to tell her that Delilah was so much more than what I gave her credit for this summer.
In many ways, she saved me.
I watch Daphne shove the note in her side pocket and lead the movers inside the house.
Lingering for a moment, I watch the door on the off chance Delilah might come out, but she never does.
Tonight I’m throwing rocks at her window.
Tonight I’ll do whatever it takes.
I have to see her one last time.
She can’t leave here thinking I didn’t care about her.
She can’t leave here never knowing that I loved her.
And that I still do.
Chapter 38
Delilah
Two Months Later . . .
I close the lid to my laptop and shut my textbook. I’ve been working on this research paper for five straight hours, and my vision’s beginning to blur from too much screen time.
Taking six whole steps across my studio apartment, I open the window by the kitchenette to let some fresh air in. I watch a few students saunter along the sidewalk, bags slung over their shoulders, laughing and talking. It’s not right being cooped up in this little apartment when it’s autumn in Chicago and the weather is to die for.
I should get some fresh air. Maybe that’ll help me focus. And feel human again.
I grab a water bottle and my sneakers and phone, spotting a missed text message from my older sister, Demi, along with a screenshot of her TV. It’s fuzzy, and I can hardly make out the picture, but it looks like she’s watching ESPN.
Tapping the screen, I call her, and she answers in the middle of the second ring.
“Oh my god, Delilah. Didn’t you use to date Zane de la Cruz?” Demi’s words are hurried and excited.
“We didn’t date,” I say. “But what about him?”
“Turn on ESPN,” she says. “There’s a special on hometown heroes or something. I was sitting here with Royal, tuning out Sports Center like I always do, and then I heard them mention his name. Did you know he’s in Chicago now? He plays for the Chicago Thunder.”
I’ve turned to stone, standing here unable to move. The phone slips from my hand, but I manage to catch it before it crashes to the floor.
“Turn your TV on,” Demi urges. �
�It just started about five minutes ago.”
Palms sweating and heart racing, I toss throw pillows from my futon couch until I find the buried remote. I don’t even know what channel ESPN is or if I even have it, but I’m flipping through the stations like my life depends on it.
Found it.
The camera pans across a football field where men in black and grey are practicing drills, and then it cuts to a head and shoulders shot of Zane being interviewed.
He smiles, his dimples just as prevalent as before, and everything around me fades into the distance. I see him and only him.
I hang up with my sister, and in the span of the next hour, I fall for him all over again. And when it’s over, my heart aches. All the pain and hurt I spent the last two months processing and tucking away have all been dredged up again, brought back to the surface.
The fact that he’s in the same city as me . . .
“It’s good to be home.” His voice fills my apartment as he looks straight at the camera.
I finish the documentary, having watched the entire thing from the edge of my seat in a state of suspended animation, and I collapse back into the throw pillows when the credits begin to roll.
“He’s here,” I whisper out loud, because apparently I need to hear it to actually believe it. All of this feels incredibly surreal.
The day Daphne and I moved Aunt Rue out of her home, she slipped me a piece of paper Zane had apparently hand-delivered. At the time, I was too hurt to look at it, so I tossed it aside, laying it on Rue’s dining room hutch. Later that afternoon, when the movers had left, the letter was gone.
I never had a chance to read it.
And I spent the weeks that followed convincing myself that it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
I was moving.
We were done.
Whipping out my phone, I do some quick research. There isn’t a lot of detailed information available, but from what I can tell, the Cougars signed some rookie running back out of Texas and then cut Zane from the team shortly after football camp started. At the last minute, the Thunder’s running back tore his ACL in practice and they picked up Zane.
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