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

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.”