Page 92 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“I’m angry at my mom!”

“Why?”

I want to say, “Why not?” but instead I say, “Because she lied. She lied about her surgery to make me feel bad so I’d come home.” My chest caves in. I gasp for breath, refilling it just enough to press on. “I’m mad that she has fucking season passes for guilt-tripping me into doing what she wants, like it’s somehow my fault that she got knocked up too young or that my dad cheated or that he’s sick and I have to take care of him.”

“Good.” His gaze is hard on mine. He nods as his thumbs pulse against my shoulders. “What else?”

“I’m mad that neither of them could get their shit together for my sake and just be fucking happy together.” My voice tapers off. Falls into the pit my admission carved out of my heart. “I’m mad that my dad is dying, so I can’t even be mad at him anymore.”

His eyes flutter closed, and he presses his lips together. He nods again. When his eyes open, they’re unguarded and lethal in their honesty. So filled with anguish but edged in pride. “What else?”

I shake my head, biting down hard on my lip. “Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s more than anyone should have to endure.” He swallows hard, the column of his throat working over the same knot twisting mine. “But it’s not everything. Come on, Delilah. I’m a big boy. I can take it. I won’t break.”

“But I might,” I whisper.

He shakes his head softly. “You won’t.”

Tears well in my eyes and I try to look away, to let them fall where he won’t see, but one of his hands releases my shoulder and cups my jaw instead. The pad of his thumb strokes my skin gently, and I come all the way undone.

“I’m mad that you were my best friend in the whole world, and you left me when I needed you most.” I breathe in the scent of him. The scent of home. My stomach twists. “I’m so fucking mad at you for that. I don’t understand how you could be the kind of person who did that to me, but also one who would wait in an airport parking lot for hours for my flight to take off. I’m mad that I don’t know which version of you is real. The one who walks away or the one who stays.”

He doesn’t flinch. He holds my gaze and continues tracing my skin with his thumb. “Can’t I be both? A stupid kid who made a mistake, but also the man he grew into, who would do anything to make it up to you? To take care of you?”

“You said it yourself that you thought you were taking care of me back then, too,” I whisper. “But you didn’t even give me a say. I would’ve chosen you anyway, rumors be damned.”

“I know that now.” He leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead. “I shouldn’t have taken that choice away from you. You’re right, and I’m sorry.”

You’re right, and I’m sorry. Such simple words. Such powerful ones. How many times would it have made all the difference for Mom to admit that to me? Rather than to double down on her lies just to be the one who wins in the end. How much would it have meant if Dad had replied to my letter all those years ago, with nothing more than that sentence?

It would’ve meant the world. It would’ve meant nine years that we’ll never get back.

I tilt my head back, capturing Truett’s gaze with my own. His thumb moves to my bottom lip, tugging it from the trap of my firm bite. Leaves rustle all around us, cocooning us in a world of our own. Away from the responsibilities and the fear. Away from the past and all the burdens it left us with.

“You can push me away. You can lash out. You can feel whatever you need to feel.” He tips my chin up, brushes his lips featherlight against mine. “But I’m never going to walk away. I’m never going to stop taking care of you. I will prove to you every day that I am this man. That I will not abandon you again.”

I surge upward, capturing the word again with my mouth. It tastes bittersweet like regret, but that quickly gives way to the cinnamon spice of his breath. To the warm slip of his tongue between my parted lips. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close to me. Our mouths move in a dance perfected by time apart, making this moment of reunion so much sweeter. He’s not shy anymore, and I’m not nervous. I’ve screamed the anger out, and with it every ounce of reservation. And he’s here, just like he said he’d be. I’m not alone anymore.

My teeth graze his bottom lip, scraping the ridges left by his constant worrying bites. He groans softly. Warm breath washes over my mouth, down my neck. Goose bumps ripple my skin. My breasts heave with each gasp, brushing the plane of his muscular chest. I’ve wanted him for so long—a feeling that I’ve always kept at arm’s length. To embrace it is overwhelming and heavy. It’s saccharine in its sweetness, exquisite in its pain.

His fingers weave into the hair at the base of my skull and tug softly, pulling me away from the kiss like if I get too close, he won’t be able to stop. Still, I reach for him. The locks of my hair straining against my scalp only stoke the flame higher. I need him here, like this. Around me and moving inside me. Yearning pulses between my thighs and I squeeze hard, but the ache remains.

His eyes are heavy with lust, a gray so dark it could be charcoal. “I need to get you home before I lose all ability to let you go.”

I blink through the haze. He’s right, though I’ve never wanted him to be wrong more than I do at this moment.

He smiles like he’s read that thought as it comes to me. “Don’t worry, we’ve got time. Now that I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go that easily. But your dad needs you more right now.”

Letting me go, like he’s so sure that he already has me. Have I ever been so sure of anything in my life?

I’m sure of this: the panic rising rapidly in my chest. The idea of being alone in the aftermath, left to wonder if any of it was even real—it strips me bare. Leaves me shivering.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” My voice breaks on the request. “Not like, with me, but you know…”

His eyebrow lifts. My fingers itch to smooth the soft ripple of his forehead wrinkles. Now that I’ve touched him, stopping seems impossible. By the way his hands flex against my scalp, I know he feels the same.

“Yeah.” His hand finds mine and squeezes. “I know. Let’s go home, Delilah.”

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