Page 34 of The Next Lie

“She said, ‘you’re alive.’ Like that was the whole world.” Delia’s hand goes to her throat. “I wanted to touch her.”

I stay silent.

“I wanted to shake her, too.”

“That’s allowed.”

Her eyes fill again, and this time she does not wipe the tears quickly enough to pretend they are anything else.

“I don’t know which one I hate more,” she says. “That she lived without me, or that I’m glad she did.”

My chest aches. I don’t tell her that’s love. She’s too smart not to know it and too angry to want the word.

“She’ll want to talk to you,” I say.

Delia’s face closes. “No.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t.”

“You will.”

“You don’t get to order me around, Deacon.”

“No. But the past has already found you both. You can either speak before it does, or let it choose the language and the time for you.”

She stares at me.

“You are such an asshole.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“From women with excellent judgment, I’m sure.”

“A few.”

The smallest breath leaves her. Humor without amusement. Still, it is better than tears.

Then the door opens again.

A man in a black suit appears just inside it, smart enough not to step all the way into the room. One of Nash’s. Young. Alert. Trying not to look at Delia’s face.

“Mr. Blackwood said to tell you Miss Hart left with Mr. Lafitte and Mr. Rousseau. They’re back at the house now.”

Relief hits before I can stop it. Reva is safe.

The man’s gaze flicks to Delia, then away. “He also said you’re not to go there tonight.”

I almost laugh. Of course he did.

“Tell Mr. Blackwood I remain moved by his concern.”

The man does not know what to do with that.

Delia does. “He means go away before he throws something at you.”

The man goes, the door closing behind him. For a moment, Delia and I stand in the quiet he leaves behind.