Chapter 14
TROY
Iwatch as Delilah silently organizes her notes for the fifth time in twenty minutes. She's barely looked at me since we sat down, focusing entirely on her own sketches and calculations, occasionally sliding one across the table without explanation.
The engineering study rooms were full so we’ve had to come into the library. We submitted our proposal last week and are finally getting into the swing of this project. The only problem is my project partner seems to want to work alone, which, you know, doesn’t really work.
“Okay,” I finally say, setting down my pen. “This is ridiculous.”
She glances up, brow furrowed. “What?”
“This.” I gesture between us. “You're doing half the work on your own without even telling me what you're thinking. We're supposed to be partners.”
“I'm sharing my work,” she says, nodding toward the pages she's given me.
“You're sharing results. Not process. Not ideas.” I lean forward. “Look, I get that you don't trust me—”
“I don't,” she agrees bluntly.
“—but we can't work together if you're going to shut me out of every decision.”
Delilah's jaw tightens. “I'm not shutting you out. I'm being efficient.”
“No, you’re being stubborn.” Frustration flares in my chest. “This is a partnership. And you're treating me like I’m here to mess it up.”
“Trust is earned,” she says coolly.
“And how the hell am I supposed to earn it if you won’t even talk to me? Are you afraid I am going to take all the credit here?” My voice rises before I can catch it. A couple of students at nearby tables glance over.
Delilah notices too. She leans forward, lowering her voice.
“The AC thing wasn’t just about the credit, Troy.”
I exhale through my nose. Seriously? “Then what was it about?”
“It was about being invisible.” Her voice isn’t angry now — it’s soft. Frayed. “I spent three hours in that sweltering mechanical room, diagnosing a compressor failure everyone else gave up on. I fixed it. Saved the whole damn camp from shutting down in the heatwave.”
She shakes her head, looking away.
“And then I walked out… and there you were. Smiling. Getting all the credit. People clapping you on the back while I was still wiping sweat off my face.”
“People just assumed—”
“And when I brought it up? You laughed, Troy. You said, ‘It’s just an AC unit, Greer. Not a big deal. Lighten up, Mittens.’”
Her voice cracks a little on the last line. She presses her lips together.
“Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to you. But to me? It was the one thing I did that summer that mattered. The one thing that might’ve made the other counselors see me as more than the weird, intense girl with too many tools and no social life.”
And just like that, I see it. Not the version of her I thought I knew. Not the girl with the sharp tongue and the perfect posture and the permanent scowl. But the girl who worked her ass off and still felt like no one saw her.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, quiet now. “I wasn’t trying to dismiss what you did. What you did was... kind of incredible.”
It’s the truth. Watching her crawl out of that sweltering mechanical room, covered in grease and sweat, I remember thinking ‘holy shit, she actually fixed it’. It made me respect her. But I never said that. Never showed it.
And now I feel like an asshole for thinking that was enough.
“Well, it felt dismissive,” she says. “Do you know how many people came up to me that summer to tell me how amazing you were? How smart? How talented? All while I was busting my ass and being completely overlooked.”
She looks away, something vulnerable in her profile that I've never noticed before.
“It would have been nice,” she continues, voice softer, “just once, to be seen. To have someone acknowledge that I did something valuable. Instead, I got a stupid nickname mocking the protective gloves I had to wear to not electrocute myself.”
The weight of her words hits me square in the chest. I’d been so caught up in the camp social dynamics, in my role as the popular counselor, that I hadn’t considered what it was like for her on the outside of that circle.
“I'm sorry,” I say, meaning it. “I should have realized what it meant to you. And for what it’s worth, fixing that AC system was really incredible. That thing was ancient, and no one else could figure it out. How did you even know what was wrong?”
She blinks, caught off guard. “One of my mom’s exes was an HVAC tech. Used to let me tag along on jobs sometimes. Taught me a few things between chain-smoking and hitting on receptionists.”
“Your mom have a lot of ex’s?” I raise a brow. She shrugs, not looking at me.
“Yep. But, he was... different. I mean, he actually talked to me. Like I had a brain. Showed me how to use tools and taught the basics of building shit.” Her voice goes a little tight. “Then one day, he just bailed. Left his toothbrush and everything. Poof. Gone.”
A bitter smile curves her mouth.
“Honestly, that's probably the healthiest male relationship I’ve ever had.”
She says it like it’s a joke. But it’s not.
“My mom’s had a string of guys,” she continues, too casually. “Most of them were more interested in her cleavage than my name. But him? I thought maybe... I don’t know. He might stick. Be someone real. Be... a dad.”
She shrugs like it's nothing. Like she didn’t just hand me a piece of her that most people probably never get close to.
“It’s pathetic, I know.”
She glances at me for a second, then looks away. I can tell she’s about to put that wall back up and pivot away from the vulnerability. But instead she says, “You really remember it was the compressor?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “And a fried relay switch. You re-routed something too. Everyone else had written it off ‘til Monday — but you got it working before the worst of the heatwave.”
My throat tightens. I take a breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, slower this time. “Not just for the newsletter. Or the stupid nickname. Or letting people give me credit that was yours. I’m sorry I didn’t see it. What it meant to you. You did something amazing, Delilah. You held the whole place together. And I just… stood there.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she nods, like she’s decided something.
“I forgive you.”
My eyes snap to hers. There’s no sarcasm, no forced smile. Just the truth.
“You do?”
“I do.” She sighs. “But only because you finally pulled your head out of your ass and gave a real apology.”
A breath of laughter escapes me. “I deserved that.”
“Damn right you did.” A ghost of a smile flickers on her face. “And don’t think this means you’re off the hook forever.”
“And the ‘Mittens’ nickname?” she asks, testing me.
I wince. “Okay, yeah. Not my finest hour. It started off as a dumb joke. The gloves looked huge, and I thought it was cute. But I can see now it probably felt like... rubbing salt in the wound.”
There’s a pause. Her lips twitch like she’s suppressing a smile.
“But,” I add carefully, “it still kind of suits you. So, no promises on retiring it completely.”
“Doesn't change what happened,” she says finally.
“No,” I agree. “But maybe it shows I wasn't completely oblivious to what you did. Just too self-centered to understand why it mattered to you.”
She nods slowly, then reaches for one of her diagrams.
“So,” she says, turning it toward me. “What do you think about using a modular approach for the sustainable housing units?”
She's actually asking for my input.
It's not forgiveness, exactly. But it's a start.
The following night, I’m at some hockey party with all my friends. The party is in full swing, music pulsing, the air thick with alcohol and too much perfume. I should be having fun.
I usually do. Parties are my natural habitat.
People come up to me—girls, guys, randoms I barely know. Everyone wants to talk, joke, get me to take a shot with them. I love being around people—lots of people—meeting new people and chatting. I get a kick out of it. But tonight, I find myself looking for someone who probably isn’t here.
Delilah.
Which is stupid because this isn’t even her scene. Still, my eyes keep flicking toward the door. Just in case.
“Bro, take a shot with me!” Some guy from my engineering class claps a hand on my shoulder.
“Can’t. Working out in the morning,” I say, shaking him off easily.
“Dude, again? You’re always working out.”
“That’s why I’m bigger than you, bro,” I shoot back, grinning.
He groans and wanders off.
It’s not that I don’t drink—I do. But I don’t need to all the time.
I figured out a long time ago that I can still have fun without it.
And if you do a couple shots with people at the start of the semester they’ll still remember you as the fun guy and be a little easier when you turn ‘em down later on.
I can still own a room, still be the guy everyone gravitates toward, still be the one making people laugh.
It’s a skill.
I scan the room again, my gaze landing on Freddie. Or, more specifically, Freddie and Brianna. His old fling before he met Alex, so many years ago now, but she won’t give it up. Brianna claims she’s one of Delilah’s best friends. If she’s here then maybe Delilah is too.
Freddie looks bored but polite while Brianna is clearly trying to make something happen.
She’s leaning in, laughing too hard, flipping her hair, lightly touching his arm. It’s a solid effort.
Would probably work on most guys. But not Freddie, because he is already in love with someone else and I know that, because the second Alex walks by, he immediately turns away from Brianna and pulls her into him.
His hand rests on her lower back. Protective. Casual, but not really. And Alex just melts into him. Like it’s second nature. He doesn’t even have to think about it.
I don’t know why that makes something twist in my chest.
I make my way toward Brianna, sliding in next to her at the bar.
“You look like you need a rebound,” I say smoothly.
She turns, already smiling. “Hawkins. Took you long enough.”