Chapter 82
Eighty-Two
The Riverside Tennis Club was quiet. Night had fallen, leaving the courts empty under the harsh white floodlights.
Cassie had driven around for hours, the streets blurring past, not wanting to go home, not wanting to face the silence waiting there.
Somehow, without realising it, her route had led her here, to the place where she’d first met Delilah, somewhere to examine the whole mess.
Like she could spool back the days, and watch it happen again, and warn herself, Don’t, you tit. She’ll break your heart.
She sat cross-legged on her favourite court, bouncing a ball absently, the soft thwack echoing like a metronome. Her thoughts kept returning to her—every look, every touch, all of it replayed in her mind, but now in a cruelly different light.
She thought of the day she had cried in Delilah’s arms, how she’d held her so carefully. She thought of the Petra incident, how Delilah had backed her completely when she had no reason to.
She thought of the way Delilah had made love to her, in a way that made Cassie understand exactly what that expression was supposed to mean.
All of it misread. All of it a mistake.
And still, she wished she hadn’t left without watching Delilah play. Cassie felt pretty sure Delilah would have acquitted herself in her match with that other actress. Cassie simply should have been there to see it.
A sound made her glance up.
Delilah.
She was standing at the far end of the court, out of breath, hair damp, cheeks flushed from running. Eyes wild and stormy, fixed on her.
Cassie’s hands stilled on the ball.
‘Cassie,’ Delilah said. ‘Can we talk?’