Page 17 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

We bump fists and head upstairs.

Back in our apartment, the circle of conversation has shrunk. Captain Jake and Compassionate Cal are still on our couch. Mom has taken my spot on the end table, her hands resting on her knees as she speaks quietly to them.

When I close the door, her head whips my way. “How is he?”

“Not good,” I say, unable to sugarcoat the truth. “I predict a bender and thorough disappearance. Might not see Des for a while.”

She passes her hand over her mouth, probably to hide the trembling. Jake shakes his head, muttering under his breath. Cal looks sad.

Lennon shoves onto the couch, jostling our brothers. “Maybe his next tattoo will say ‘I Love My Mom,’ but love will be spelled l-u-v-e.”

Mom’s muffled laugh slips through her fingers. Cal and Jake roll their eyes. I sit on the floor and face my family, pleased with Lennon’s diffusing of the Post-Desmond Tension. Still, the rocks in my heart shift and grind. I hate leaving Des like that, and I hate possibly having to lie to my family.

I focus on Mom. “What happens from here?”

“They need to make sure there are no lingering Becerra supporters who might lash out at us with some kind of final revenge. And if you decide to leave the program, paperwork will need to be filed. It’ll take time to get identification with your old name.”

“The US Marshals move like a sloth colony,” I say, struggling to control my aggravation. “That kind of paperwork could take weeks.”

“More like months,” Jake says.

Exactly why I have to lie. There’s only one scenario in my future, and it leads me straight to Delilah’s cute shop, Sugar and Sips.

Rolling full steam ahead with my plan, I take a calming breath. “It’s fine. I can wait to go back to Windfall. I mean, it’s already been ten years. What’s another few months?”

Jake squints at me like I’m one of those abstract 3D posters, where if he stares long and hard enough, my true intentions will be revealed. “You can’t go back yet.”

“I heard Mom the first time.”

“Seriously, you can’t.”

“That’s times three, and it’s just as clear.”

I stand and stretch, inching away, attempting to dodge more questions, but Mom follows me to the kitchen.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” she says, leaning into the counter. “Thanks for taking it in stride.”

Guilt over lying rises, but Delilah is worth the fib. “I’m fine waiting to go back. I have work to do for my publisher. It’s best if I hunker down for a while and focus.”

“A new project?”

“A prequel to Sathya’s series. We’re on a deadline, and I need sketches for the whole thing done in a few months. I’ll probably go work with her at her family’s ranch. Use the time to get my head on straight, then figure out how to go back to Windfall and not scare the daylights out of Delilah by appearing out of thin air.”

Delilah has already had the daylights scared out of her by yours truly, but the rest isn’t a complete lie. I do have a deadline. Unfortunately, my writing partner, Sathya, isn’t at her family’s ranch. She’s MIA. I have half her script for her prequel to our bestselling Gates of Ember series. It’s been a killer few years of huge sales and rabid fans, mostly due to Sathya’s vivid world building: a reimagined underworld with the haves and have-nots of purgatory, deception, unions, spies, workers, horned defenders fighting the spear-tailed demons who feed off their fear. The prequel was our publisher’s suggestion. A way to milk more money from the successful graphic novels.

Sathya was on board. She wrote the first half of the script. Now she’s off the grid, vanished without communication, which isn’t abnormal. Unlike Desmond, she doesn’t resurface with infected piercings and horrible tattoos. She returns with fantastically written pages. My agent is praying she returns sooner rather than later, with the remaining panels for the graphic novel outlined. My fateful trip to New York was a way to appease the publisher, let them know half of our production team is on track and on time. I’ve already knocked out the illustrations I can with the material I have, and I’ll have a ton of work to do when Sathya resurfaces.

Until then, I have an abundance of free time, otherwise known as beg-Delilah-to-be-my-best-friend-and-hopefully-my-lover-again time.

“Work will be a great distraction,” Mom says. “The time will fly.”

“It will.” Because I’ll be in Windfall wooing the love of my life. “It would be awesome if we all move back eventually.”

Her mood dims. “A lot happened there, and a lot of time has passed. Returning to a place with that many memories can hurt more than it heals. I’m not sure I want to go back.”

Her warning takes a bite out of my optimism.

There are no guarantees where Delilah is concerned. Our chemistry might have fizzled. Our old scars might be as infected as Desmond’s eyebrow ring, too damaged to heal. Delilah might be so upset about her (hopefully ex) fiancé she doesn’t give me a chance. I’ll also have to face Ricky and Avett and their animosity for vanishing on them too. But I can’t shake the feeling that Delilah was on my flight for a reason.