Page 52 of The Last Call Home
Cassian looks like he’s about to say something but bites it back.
And me?
I want to laugh.Not because it’s funny.Because the simplicity of it cuts deeper than anything else tonight.
So, I speak with nothing but the truth, “You say it like it’s possible, Delilah.”
She just stares us both down like we’re the complicated ones here.“I want both of you.But not if this is going to be a battlefield.”
“It already is,” I mutter.
“But it doesn’t have to be,” Cassian says, his voice lower now, more plea than protest.
Delilah leans back onto the couch as if the cushions are the only thing holding her upright.
“We figure it out,” she says.“Together.Or not at all.”
I cross my arms.Mostly to keep from reaching for either of them.
“You really think we can do this?”
She shrugs.“I think we’ve all survived worse.”
Cassian smiles, a little crooked and worn out.“Speak for yourself.I nearly died last night when your mother made me try to learn salsa dancing.”
That earns a laugh.Honest and quick, bubbling out of Delilah like a glitch in her composure.I catch myself smiling, too—just barely.
“What the hell are you talking about?”she asks.“Why were you with my mom?”
“The knitting club came to the bar,” Cassian says, deadpan.“The old ladies rolled in at seven p.m.with their needles and gin.Then your mom shows up and demands I salsa with her.I thought I was gonna have to be airlifted out.”
Delilah snorts.“You salsa danced with my mother?”
“There was foot stomping.There was yelling in Spanish I only half understood.I think one of the grandmas propositioned me with a ball of yarn and a wink.”
She laughs again, louder this time.“You survived.Barely.”
“Barely,” he confirms.“I have emotional scars.”
And just like that, the room shifts.
Not healed.But open—just enough for light to get through.
Delilah’s smile softens.Her expression folds into something more serious, more vulnerable.
“You really want this?”she asks, voice low again.“Because if we do this ...it has to stay between us.At least for now.There’s the Syndicate to worry about.My mom.The gossip mill in this town could put TMZ to shame.I want this to be safe.Private.Ours.”
I nod.
Cassian nods, too.
No big declarations.
No grand vows.
Just three broken people sitting in a quiet room, hoping that maybe—just maybe—this doesn’t fall apart before it even begins.
ChapterEighteen
