The watch lying on the table sparkles in the sun like a living thing. Seeing it brings a familiar pang of longing for my mother, but it’s muted now, a ghost of feeling whispering along my heart. I’m happy to have the watch back, but now that it’s returned, I know that it was never about the watch. Not when it came to Delilah.

I’d have just as happily never seen it again if it meant I could keep Delilah in my life.

“Do you know why Delilah got in touch with me?” I ask Sam.

She hesitates for a beat, but then her nose wrinkles, and I know it’s out of annoyance. “I got her texts. I know she was smoothing things over for me.”

Anger pulls tight along my neck and shoulders. “She was working off your debt, Sam.”

“I know.” She sighs. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

If she wasn’t a woman and ten times weaker than me, I’d be tempted to wring her neck. As it is, I can barely look at her. “A year’s worth of work instead of touring Asia like she’d planned. All so that I wouldn’t call the police to report your crime, and your mother could rest easy. And you knew?”

She shakes her head like I’m slow, and she’s trying really hard to be patient with me. “Saint, you and I both know you wouldn’t have called the police.”

The urge to shout pushes at my skin. “Do we?”

“Once Delilah told you about Mama’s health and how me being arrested might affect her health, you wouldn’t have risked it.”

I fucking hate that she’s right. When it came down to the wire, I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it. The fact that Sam understood this about me before I did really irks. I snort without humor. “You are some piece of work. Delilah has always covered for you, protected you, and in return you shit on her every chance you get. If that’s what you call love, you might want to rethink your priorities.”

Having nothing more to say, I go to find the woman who taught me what love truly means.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Macon

Delilah is huddled on her bed. As soon as I walk in, she lifts her head. There are tears in her eyes. I’ve never seen her cry. It rips into my heart.

“Honey . . .” Crawling onto the bed, I gather her in my arms, half-afraid she’ll slap me away. But she doesn’t.

With a sob, she curls into me and burrows her face into the crook of my neck. I hold her close, rocking us and murmuring nonsense words into her hair.

“I can’t believe it,” she says, her voice muffled on my skin. “How could she do that?”

“I don’t know.” I kiss her head, stroke her back. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

“That bitch made me cry,” she sobs. “I never cry.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Delilah cries harder, and it isn’t pretty. It wracks her body and wets the side of my neck. All I can do is cuddle her and wait it out. When she settles, I reach over and grab a tissue.

“Blow.”

She obliges, and I use another tissue to wipe her tears. Delilah sits back, leaning on the headboard. Her face is red and swollen. And I love her. I don’t know when it truly hit me, but I feel it now with every breath I take. I want to tell her, but it isn’t the time. Truth is, I don’t know what to do to make it better.

Delilah crumples her tissue and tosses it aside. “All this time, it was Sam who did that stupid prank.” Red-rimmed eyes meet mine. “You never said a word. Never defended yourself.”

“To what purpose? You hated me and loved Sam. It was better for everyone if you kept on assuming it was me.”

She huffs, her blunt nose wrinkling. “You hated me. By all accounts, you could have easily torn me apart by telling on Sam.”

Wincing, I take her hand. It lies limp in my grip. “I never truly hated you, Delilah. That night, you walked in wearing that killer dress, and it occurred to me that I’d been an utter fool when it came to you. I wanted to say something that night. Call a truce, apologize, something. But then those fucking tater tots showed up, and it was too late.”

Her pink lips wobble, and she shakes her head. “You know what’s strange? When I saw you that night, it finally hit me that we were both outsiders there.”

Because Delilah is the only one who ever truly saw me for me. I don’t want to lose that. I hold her hand a little tighter. “It wasn’t our time yet.”

Biting her lip, she ducks her head. “Would you have ever told me?”

“Delilah, I’d have taken it to my grave if it meant sparing you pain. The fact that you were able to forgive me despite thinking I’d done that to you was a rare gift. How could I selfishly hurt you just so I could look better in your eyes?”