Page 46 of The Last Call Home
I loved him like I didn’t know how to love anyone else.With everything broken and stitched together inside me.With a need that carved through sex and jokes and third parties.But I didn’t have the language for it.Neither did he.
Malerick didn’t grow up in a home that taught love.He grew up learning survival.Love was a weakness.Intimacy was a threat.
So we touched and teased and fucked, but we never said what we were.
And maybe we were both too scared to ask.
I scoff.“I don’t know what it was.But it wasn’t nothing.”
Malerick’s gaze meets mine.For a second, just a breath, I see something flicker there—loss, want, regret.Then it’s gone.
Delilah doesn’t speak.Doesn’t move.
But I can feel the moment she softens—just a sliver.The air shifts.Barely.
I don’t push it.I just let it breathe between us.
“I didn’t come here to recreate the past,” I say.“I liked you the moment you barreled into the bakery at three in the fucking morning like it was normal.I came tonight because I don’t want to lie to you.Not about this.Not about him.Not about what you could mean to me if you give us a chance.”
Her mouth opens.Closes.No words.
And I get it.
Because when I look at her, everything burns.Every fuck-up, every mistake, every person I’ve failed.It’s all here.
And she might walk.
She probably should.
But if she stays ...
“We weren’t supposed to be anything,” Malerick states.“The job doesn’t leave room for things like that.But it happened.And it was fucking good until it wasn’t.”
I don’t look at Malerick.I can’t.
“Rachel’s ultimatum fucked everything up.I told her I loved her, hoping she wouldn’t leave,” he states.
“And I—I walked away.Didn’t say goodbye.Just vanished.”
“Why?”Delilah’s voice is quiet now, stripped of sarcasm.Just raw.
“Because I didn’t want to watch him choose someone else every day and still expect me to be his backup in the field,” I say instead.“Because I didn’t want to become bitter and reckless.So I left.And I kept leaving.Until now.”
Silence folds around us, thick and tight.
“Then why come here?”she asks.“Why Birchwood Springs?Why the bar?Why the hell are you still here?”
“For the mission,” I lie—too easily.
It rolls off my tongue with the ease of muscle memory.A reflex.Years of practice wrapped in that single word.
But then her gaze collides with mine.
“I’m in my forties, Delilah.”My fingers drift to the back of my neck, dragging over skin that feels too tight.“It’s time to stop pretending I’m not tired of running.And when they said the job was in this town ...”I glance away, not because I’m ashamed, but because looking at her while saying this makes my chest ache like I’ve been punched from the inside.
“I remembered how I felt back then.When we were ...whatever we were.It felt like home.”
My eyes flick to Malerick.
