The sound of Delilah’s bedroom door slamming shut grabs my attention. Right then. Stay away from the angry woman. Fuck it. I don’t need her. I had a life before Delilah. A good life.

Flipping through my phone, I read a bunch of texts for work.

Carl, my director, is looking forward to getting back to work: translation—are you up for this, Macon?

Timothy wants to know if I want another date with Anya. No thanks, Tim.

A couple of my costars want to know if I’ve heard any rumors about the new script. Unless a character’s death is imminent, which affects our contracts, we’re kept in the dark as to what will happen each season. The producers don’t want to take any chances that a spoiler will get out. They don’t need to worry about me; I don’t have anyone to tell.

And that’s when it hits me. I don’t have anyone.

North is my friend. But we are both kind of closed off. It isn’t the sort of deep connection that makes me feel like I have an anchor.

I’ve never had someone whom I could turn to in the dark of night, when the world feels a little too empty and cold, and find comfort.

Sitting here sticky and wet with sand and ocean muck, I realize that the one person who might fill that empty space has just given me the brush-off, convinced we can’t work.

A grim smile pulls at my mouth.

Delilah might be right. We might be a disaster. We might live to regret it. But she’s completely off her nut if she thinks I’m going to let this go without a fight. Because if there is one thing I know to be true, it’s that everything worth having in my life is worth fighting for.

And I will fight for Delilah.

Delilah

I’m pissed. Pissed at Macon and pissed at myself. This isn’t a fairy tale; this is real life. I can’t switch gears that easily. I can’t just slip from a lifetime of thinking of Macon in terms of ribald hate to . . . what? Lust? Is this simple lust or something more? And if it’s more, then what is it? A fling? Forever?

His accusations, the questions he laid forth burn through my skin and settle like a hot stone over my heart. I considered the offer I made to Macon a sacrifice for family, a necessary arrangement to protect my mother. But Macon’s confession made me wonder. He said he’d been numb until I came back into his life. I’d been numb too. So . . . dead inside. I cannot deny that from the moment I realized it was Macon texting me, something woke up and paid attention.