I pull away from my mother and sit up, wiping my cheeks. A small defiant smile tickles my lips. “No, not really.”

“Good. And she’ll get over it.” Mama gives my arms a quick squeeze. “She’ll have to because I have the suspicion neither you or Macon will get over each other.”

I suck in a breath and stare down at the table. “He told me to go. Said he needed to clear his head.”

When my mother speaks, her voice is soft and hesitant. “Do you love him?”

Love. My heart gives a great big thump. I have avoided love all of my life. Logically, I shouldn’t have. I knew what a happy relationship looked like; my parents’ marriage was ideal. And yet whenever I thought of falling in love, I’d feel slightly ill and unsettled. Love is risk. For me, opening myself up to certain risks meant opening myself up to pain.

“You don’t have to tell me how you feel about Macon. You have to tell him. You fight for everyone you love. Maybe it’s time to show Macon that you’ll fight for him too.”

Fight for Macon. I hadn’t thought about our relationship in those terms. Is that what he wanted from me? I remember the look in his eyes when I said I was going. He was shocked. Disappointed, even.

I settle down in the guest bed for the night, and the ache in my heart grows so wide and deep I can barely breathe through it. One thing is certain; Mama was right when she said I’d never get over Macon.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Macon

The light of the screen flickers over the dark media room. I stare at the footage playing with unseeing eyes. I only came in here to get away. The door opens, spilling light into the darkness. My chest clenches tight, expecting to see Delilah, but disappointment quickly follows as North steps into the room.

“What are you doing?” he asks, taking a seat next to me.

“Watching a movie. Obviously.”

“Seems to me like you’re brooding.”

I snort without enthusiasm. “How’d you guess?”

“You always come in here to brood.” He grins when I give him the finger. “Is this a southern thing?”

Rolling my head to the side, I meet his gaze. “Yes. We southern gents brood in dark theaters when the mood so strikes us. Later, I shall be performing all my favorite Tennessee Williams monologues.”

North smirks. “Fucking lit majors.”

With a grunt, I roll my head back to face the screen. We fall silent. That is, until North ruins it by talking again.

“About a Boy? I expected you to be watching some film noir.”

“I like this movie.” It reminds me of Delilah. Shit. I all but kicked her out of my house. At least that’s how she took it. Is it any wonder she fled?