Page 60 of The Last Call Home
“I—” I start, then falter.Because he’s not wrong.
“I wasn’t even sure who I was back then,” I admit, quieter now.“How was I supposed to deal with the bigots?The stares?The sideways comments?It was easier to shut everything down before it got complicated.”
He snorts.“That’s what Delilah meant when she said she didn’t want bullshit.Maybe she could already smell how rotten it was.”
That makes me pause.
Because she probably did.
Cassian steps closer, voice soft but edged with challenge.“What now?Would you care if people found out you were with me?”
I don’t answer right away.
Because the truth is—yes, I would’ve cared.A year ago, definitely.Even six months ago.I was still wired for self-preservation.Still trained to scan the room before I reached for anything I actually wanted.
But now?
I think about the way Delilah looked at us—like she saw through both of us and still wanted in.
I think about the fear in Cassian’s eyes.Not of being seen.Of being left.
“I don’t know if I care anymore,” I say, and it’s not a performance.It’s real.“But I care about you.”
He stills.
“You know what scared me the most?”I ask.
“What?”
“That I never told you.”
“Told me what?”
“That I loved you.”
His eyes snap to mine.
“I said it to her,” I continue.“Because she needed to hear it.Because I thought it might make her stay.But I never said it to you.And that’s the part that won’t let me sleep.That I let you walk out the door without knowing.”
Cassian’s face caves in—just for a second.Then he locks it down.Like if he lets the emotion rise, it’ll swallow him whole.
“What now?”I ask, because I don’t know.Because the part of me that learned how to survive by staying detached is unraveling under the pressure of being this fucking exposed.“I need the truth.Not the version you gave Delilah so she’d stay.”
“I want us to try,” he says, voice breaking around the edges.“You.Me.Lilah.”
“After everything that happened between us?”
He nods.“Especially after everything.”
He crosses the room slowly, like he’s waiting for permission he shouldn’t need.Like he knows this is delicate, and he doesn’t want to break it before it can be real.
He’s close enough that I feel him before he touches me—the warmth of his body radiates off him as if knows mine has been cold for too long.
“I didn’t come to fix the past,” he says, his voice low and guttural, as if he’s forcing the words through a throat thick with everything he hasn’t said.“But now that I’m here ...maybe we can figure out if there’s a future worth wrecking everything else for.”
I don’t answer.
My chest rises, but no sound comes out.No words.Just a heartbeat that won’t settle.
