Page 42 of The Last Call Home
The screen goes black, and I’m left staring at my reflection in the glare.My smirk fades.
Mal.
Tonight, I’ll see him again.However, it won’t just be him.It’ll be her too.
Delilah—mouthy, magnetic, impossible to ignore.She’s the wildcard in all this.The reason the silence between us might actually crack wide open.The way she looks at both of us is like she already knows the things we haven’t said out loud.
Everything will be on the table tonight.No more pretending.No tiptoeing around truths that refuse to stay buried.Not between me and Mal.Not between her and him.Not between me and her.
And if I’m lucky—if the mood shifts, if the timing aligns, if Mal looks at me the way he used to, and Delilah doesn’t pull away when it all combusts—maybe there’ll be more than dinner.
Maybe I’ll get to touch him again—to taste what I never stopped craving ...
Maybe I’ll get to watch her come apart between us.
Fuck.
The thought-alone coils heat low and tight, dragging across every frayed edge of my restraint.Leaves me buzzing.Hungry.Wrecked before it even begins.
I should be focused on Desmond Draven.The Syndicate.The town.
But all I can think about is the way Malerick looked at me the last time I saw him.Like I still mattered.
And Delilah—who could set a man on fire with one glance and make him say thank you for the burn.
What would it feel like if he stopped holding back?
If she stopped pretending she didn’t want this?
If we all just gave in?
Just once.
Or maybe—if I’m fucked enough—one last time.
ChapterFifteen
Delilah
If this is a trap,it’s a beautiful one.
The cabin is nothing like I expected.I thought “neutral ground” meant some run-down shack with creaky floors, rusted hinges, and a single lightbulb swaying like a horror movie prop.Something where secrets got spilled, and bodies disappeared.
But this?This is wilderness couture.
All glass and warm wood, the kind of place that probably smells like whiskey and heartbreak on a good day.The deck spills toward the lake like it’s reaching for an apology it’ll never get.Like it’s waiting for someone to fall.
I hover on the threshold, breath snagging mid-snark.My boots crunch against the snow as I step forward, reluctant and already regretting how easily I could fall for a place like this.
“This is like a mansion in the woods,” I mutter, low and judgmental, because awe feels like weakness when I’m with them.I shake it off like I’m brushing away a sin.
Cassian’s already inside—because, of course, he is.He shrugs out of his coat with that maddening, effortless grace.The kind that should come with a goddamn warning label:Will ruin your ability to form coherent thought.
He glances over his shoulder.“You coming in, or planning to loiter dramatically?”
“You two brought me to a lake house like you’re about to propose,” I shoot back, stepping inside.The hardwood beneath me groans.
“Where did Mal get this?”
