Page 51 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“I’m sorry,” I choke out. It’s half sleep laden, half sorrow. All broken.

The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens. “For what?”

“For last night. I—” I swallow. The tears are building again, and I only have so long before I throw up or sob or both. I choose my words carefully, trying my best to be clear and measured. “You helped me, and I attacked you out of nowhere. About shit that doesn’t even matter anymore.”

Because why should it matter that he abandoned me all those years ago? It’s not like we’re anything to each other now. There’s no need to drag up old wounds, flaying us both open in the process. Especially over a man I only half-tolerate for my dad’s sake. And drool over when sick. Or when I see him in these Wranglers, which is all. The. Time.

Ugh.

He grimaces, probably exhausted by my constant yo-yoing between bitter asshole and remorseful crybaby. I tug the blanket up over my braless breasts, not that he’d even care to look. I feel so small, lying here while he stands over me, face tense with contemplation.

As though he can hear my thoughts, he forgoes the chair and takes a seat on the bed. The mattress dips around his weight, tilting me into him. I try to scoot away, but it’s no use. There’s only so much bed, and Truett is a big guy. He takes up a good bit of the empty space and way too much of the oxygen in this room.

His hand rests on my thigh, dangerously close to the apex, though he has no way of really knowing. I’m beneath so many layers of blanket, now freezing as the fever breaks. Goose bumps break out across my skin. Because of the fever or his hand, I couldn’t say.

“It does matter, Delilah.” His voice is gruff. Thick. He clears it and swallows, gaze shifting from mine to where his hand lies. “Okay, partial apology now and then you really need to get some rest. You’re turning green.” His cheeks hollow. “I’m sorry I shut you out after everything. And I’m sorry about the party. I thought you left that night because… Well, I don’t know. I just thought you left. And Kyle was gone when I got back, so honestly? I thought y’all went somewhere together.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he squeezes my thigh once to silence me. It does a lot more than that. Heat pools between my legs. I imagine his hand moving higher, pulsing against my hips. My throat constricts. The juxtaposition of my thoughts and the nausea is enough to send my head spinning.

“I didn’t find out until the following Monday about the video. About what Kyle did.”

I’d be less sobered if he’d thrown ice cubes down the back of my shirt. I reach for my water, my hand shaking as I bring it to my lips. Hopefully Tru will write it off as a product of the illness rather than the aftereffects of a waking fever dream.

“You’d blocked my number by then.” His gaze lifts to mine, bright and clear despite the storm that rages inside. “And then I found out you moved with your mom. That you weren’t coming back.”

I gulp audibly. “I—I didn’t realize…”

He nods. “I know. And I’m not telling you as an excuse, because it’s a shitty one at best.”

I lick my lips. “Then why are you telling me?” I rasp.

His thumb moves over my thigh, dipping low. Even through the layers, I feel it searing me. It’ll take a lifetime to forget the sensation.

“You didn’t attack me out of nowhere.” He shakes his head, more to himself than me, I’d wager. “And it isn’t shit that doesn’t matter anymore. Where you’re concerned, it’ll always matter.”

My lips part, but he gets to his feet before I can formulate a response. He retrieves the bowl I’d forgotten about from my vanity and turns to leave the room, foot landing on the strip of brass where carpet meets hardwood in the threshold. “I’ll fix dinner and bring it back in a bit. Holler if you need anything.” He winces like he’s thinking better of that statement. “Actually, you might want to consider unblocking me so you can call instead. Yelling might not be the best move till you’re feeling better.”

I crack a smile. It’s stiff as a rusted water hose wheel, but it eventually cranks into position. “Does that mean I can yell all I want when I’m healthy?”

His lip twitches. “Yeah, Temptress. Get better, and then you can yell at me all you want.”

The door snicks closed behind him. I hear the thud of his retreating footsteps, followed by the distant tenor of my father’s voice. My chest aches. I’ve been so sick, Roberta had to be the one to take care of him. I couldn’t push through enough to be strong for him. What kind of daughter does that make me?

My spine slumps into the stack of pillows. Something hard presses against my hip. I retrieve my phone from where it jabs me, and I’m about to toss it on the floor when I remember what Truett said. It takes a few minutes, but I finally figure out where my blocked contacts are housed. It’s him and that bitch Jessica Mathias, the one who caught Dad and Lucy and spread it all over school in the first place.

I unblock Truett’s number, reinstate him as a contact, then shoot him a text.

Me

Hey, this is Delilah. I unblocked your number.

Truett

Good. Now get some rest. Your beauty sleep awaits.

Me

You saying I need it?

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