Page 94 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

A rush of happiness floods my stomach, even on this frustrating day. “I’d have called sooner, but I’ve been running around.”

“You never told me why you had to go back to Houston.”

“Another family nightmare. Nothing for you to worry about.” Not while she’s dealing with her own mental health.

“E.” She pauses. There’s a soft swish, the rustle of what sounds like couch cushions. “Last night you said you hoped we’d always be friends. This is what friends do: try to be there for each other. If you’re having a tough time, I want to know.”

Friend. Not the label I want. Soul mate. Her albatross. Those would be a start. I’d even settle on exasperating lover who annoys her with his antics, but the edginess of the past few days pushes at my chest and throat. “Sadie came to find me in Windfall.”

“Desmond’s Sadie?”

I rub my eyes. “Yeah.”

“Because she wants to reconnect with him?”

“In a manner of speaking.” The bowling ball is back in my hands. This time it’s covered in spikes, pricking my skin and sure to cut Delilah. Now that I know her secret, Sadie’s truth is that much harder to share. A deep breath later, I say, “Des didn’t know, but she was pregnant when we left. She has a nine-year-old boy. Desmond’s son.”

Delilah gasps. My eyes burn.

Her breathing gets ragged, shaky. I bite my tongue to stem the push of tears. I can’t imagine what it’s like for Delilah, hearing this news. I’m not sure how she copes in her everyday life when she sees children, knowing what she can’t have.

“We’re trying to find Des,” I say roughly. “He’s not making it easy.”

“I’m so sick for him.” She sniffles a couple of times. “For Sadie and all of you. And I really fucking hate your father.”

“I’d say join the club, but membership is pretty full.”

“God, E. I wish you’d told me.”

“There was a lot going on.” Our worlds imploding for a second time.

We’re both quiet, but her soft breaths calm me. Awareness I’m not alone in the mess that is my life.

“How do you plan to find him?” she finally asks.

“By acquiring hepatitis.”

She lets out a watery laugh. “Care to explain?”

“Des has some questionable hangouts.”

We talk about the gross bars he frequents and my family’s ramshackle efforts to find him. I make jokes about Sandra’s annoying advice, drinking in Delilah’s laughter like a dehydrated man. When there’s a lull, I ask her more about rehab and her recovery after her accident. She talks with a stronger voice tonight, explaining how hard that time was, both on her and on her mother, my understanding of Hayley Moon’s wrath gaining clarity.

Near the end of the call, she gets quieter—longer silences filled with weighted beats.

“Don’t call me tomorrow,” she says suddenly, so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.

But I did.

My heart plummets into a free fall. “Do you have plans?”

“No. I mean, sort of. I just need a breather, I think.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever you need.”

Unfortunately, what she needs seems to be less of me.

I’m half-focused the next day, looking for Des while desperately analyzing my talk with Delilah, wondering if that was a we’re-done-thanks-for-helping-exhume-my-trauma breather or if it was truly an I-just-need-a-breather breather.