Chapter 6
DELANEY
Therapist: What do we say to people who want to be involved in our lives?
Me: No.
Therapist: Do better, Delaney.
Me: Welcome to the shit show. Buckle up. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.
Therapist: No.
Me: Well, I tried.
—Delaney’s Secret Thoughts
Tori jumps up when the door opens and Ryker walks in with Jamie, and Olivia following behind. His gaze finds mine as he holds up the bags. “I got you a few options.”
My stomach churns at the thought of food. Ashton, however, doesn’t seem to have that problem. She jumps up as two more people filter in behind Olivia.
People I recognize from Ashton’s wedding.
Oh, come on . . . Seriously?
They’re Ryker’s parents.
Because why wouldn’t his billionaire parents be inside my tiny, hundred-year-old apartment above a flower shop staring at the pig at their feet?
Jamie snags one of the bags from Ryker and smiles at Ashton. “This one’s for you, Ace.”
“That’s my cue.” She smiles and takes Kyrie from Jamie’s arms. “You sure you don’t want to come stay at our house for a few days?”
I really wish I could. Especially right now, when I’m feeling raw and exposed like a live wire, with far too many strangers invading my space and making my anxiety that much worse.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I’ve fought too hard to stand on my own two feet to give in and rely on her now.
With a shake of my head, I lean into her hug and kiss Kyrie’s head. “Love you, K.”
Her chubby hands clap my face as she presses an open mouth kiss to my cheek while Ash brushes her lips by my ear. “Call me if you need anything, and try not to drool over Ryker’s dad.”
I shove her away and regret the move immediately when my body whines in protest. Ouch. “Bye.”
“You want waffles or eggs, Lane?”
God, he’s good at that.
Reading a room.
I’m quickly learning he’s ridiculously in tune with everything happening around him. I guess he has to be. And my goodness, am I thankful for it right now.
“No thanks,” I try signing as I answer. Please let that have been right. I really don’t want to look like a fool in front of his family.
Not that they even acknowledge me.
Ryker’s mom walks over to him and wraps her arms around him like she’s reminding herself he’s here and he’s okay. She’s small, maybe five, five. But somehow, she doesn’t seem it. Not when a nearly six-and-a-half-foot tank of a man melts into her arms without hesitation.
For a moment, it feels like I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t be privy to.
A private moment I’m intruding on in my own home.
She signs something, her hands moving fluidly, the motion like an extension of her body.
He nods immediately, no pause, no confusion. No lip reading. Just understanding.
Effortless understanding.
His dad joins the two a moment later, slipping an arm around both of them.
Ryker doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t stiffen or pause. There’s no posturing or ego.
Just . . . love.
Simple. Solid. Unapologetic.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that.
I glance at Olivia, and something in my chest loosens when I catch the look on her face, like she’s about thirty seconds away from ordering everyone into seats and taking control of the situation and the room.
Honestly, she might be the most intimidating person in the room.
Maybe all the emotions are a bit hard for her too.
Standing tall and beautiful in a black skirt suit that looks like it costs my entire month’s rent and a pair of red-soled shoes that I know costs more than it, she steps up beside me.
Her eyes sweep over my face, cataloging every bruise and cut before stopping on the fingerprints disappearing beneath my hoodie.
“How are you feeling?” Her eyes continue their lap down my body. “Because you look like shit.”
I huff out a quiet breath. Blunt I can handle. It’s easier than whatever emotional ambush is happening in my kitchen.
“I’ll be okay,” I tell her, hoping if I say it enough times, I might actually believe it too.
“Hmmm . . .” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Nice deflection.”
Before I get a chance to respond, movement pulls my attention back to the man crossing my apartment.
My dark knight.
He’s closer now.
Within reach. Within breathing distance. Within touching distance.
“Hey.” He bends his knees to bring us eye to eye.
Just one single word, but it lands like a touch. One I surprisingly don’t hate.
My chest tightens as I lift my eyes. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t have to fake it for me, Lane,” he whispers, not buying the lie.
His hand slowly lifts, like he’s giving me time to pull away.
But I don’t. I don’t move a muscle. I’m not even sure I breathe as his fingers run along the stitches holding my cheek together, careful not to touch.
Barely a trace, and yet somehow, I feel it everywhere.
Like he’s checking to make sure they’re okay after my earlier shower.
I was careful not to get the bandage wet, but I should probably change it anyway.
Unfortunately, I’m all too familiar with how to care for stitches.
Last night was not my first time in the hospital, just my first time in that one.
“I’m okay, Ryker,” I whisper and try to sign.
“You don’t have to be, Delaney.”
And that truth in that sentence . . . ?
That almost ruins me.
“You two are so hot, we’re really not going to have a hard time selling this marriage,” Olivia declares to the room, and chaos ensues.
Ryker
“Fuck me, Liv. Really?” I groan and drag a hand down my face as Olivia drops her bomb like she’s the hot, blonde weather girl on Channel Six, telling us about the storm hitting this weekend.
Pretty fucking sure Mom’s head threatens to explode.
I expect to see steam coming out of her ears any second as her face turns an unhealthy shade of red. “Excuse me?” Mom asks, glaring daggers at Liv before throwing her hands up. “Wait. Do not answer that.”
“Was there a question?” Dad asks Mom, completely unbothered, and immediately regrets it when she turns the look on him.
The one my brother and I hate.
The one that brings three-hundred-pound linebackers to their knees when she walks into the locker room.
Eleanor Kingston Beneventi has been a vice president of the Philadelphia Kings for as long as I’ve been alive.
Intimidation is in the job description. Even if she’s not at the top of the company food chain, she’s pretty far up there.
She mastered the art of nonverbal communication long before I ever lost my hearing, and it only makes her more terrifying.
The only woman I’ve ever met who can go toe-to-toe with her is my Aunt Scarlet.
Which is unfortunate, considering Scarlet is the one at the top of the damn food chain.
The CEO and general manager of the Kings.
She also happens to be Liv’s mother.
Our family isn’t just complicated.
It’s chaos. Pure and simple.
Heavier on the pure, and lighter on the simple.
“It’s the best option,” Liv announces calmly, like she’s not detonating a bomb inside Delaney’s living room.
My jaw tightens as Tori comes to sit on my feet. Not by them. On them. Because adding a thirty-pound potbellied pig to the mix is just what this situation needs, apparently.
“You can’t be serious,” Mom snaps, already shaking her head. “I changed your diapers, Olivia. You just passed the bar. You are not a trial attorney. We’ll bring in someone with more experience—”
Oh shit.
Liv passed the bar on her first try years ago.
“Aunt Len.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t call Mom out on her dismissal. “This is the best option.” Liv doesn’t even flinch. “I’ve spoken with the partners at the firm. I trust them with my life—”
“Well, I don’t,” Mom snaps again. “And I don’t trust them with Ryker’s.”
Jesus.
“Lenny . . .” Dad wraps his arm around Mom’s waist and pulls her back against his chest, grounding her before she can go full-on scorched-earth mode. “Let her finish.”
“Fine.” She wiggles out of his hold. “I’m listening.”
I don’t wait for the rest.
I honestly don’t care what they’re saying because across the room, Delaney sways on her feet. Just barely. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice. But I do. I always do. Dropping down onto the couch, I reach for her, my hand closing around hers before she can argue. “Sit.”
She opens her mouth to protest. It’s in the way her lips part and her eyes narrow, but I tug gently, steady but firm, until she gives in and sinks down beside me.
Too quiet.
Too tired.
Too damn breakable.
I can’t get the image of her on the ground last night out of my mind. Broken.
Up close, it’s worse. Her skin is pale. Eyes glassy. There’s a tightness in her face she’s trying to hide but doesn’t fool me. Nothing about her does. “You look like hell,” I whisper and sign while my parents and Liv argue, my thumb brushing her knuckles without thinking.
Her lips twitch, and she winces. “Wow. You and Olivia should start a club.”
She got wow, you, and start right, maybe she’s getting better.
“Already a member,” I shoot back, not even bothering to hide the edge because yeah, I’m worried about her. More than I probably should be. Definitely more than I want to be.
My gaze drags over her, slower this time.
Cataloging.
Memorizing.
“Did you take anything?” I ask.
She hesitates, and my jaw clenches. “Lane . . .”
“I’m fine.”
I want to tell her good girl. She got both words right. But instead, I call it like I see it. “Bullshit.” I lean in slightly, lowering my voice to barely above a whisper. Tuning out everything else I typically strain to hear. “You don’t have to be fine with me, Delaney.”
Her breath catches.
It’s a fraction of a second.
But I feel it.
Across the room, the arguing doesn’t stop.
Voices overlap. Hands move. Words are spoken and signed, but I tune it all the hell out.
It’s noise. Loud or not. White fucking noise I can’t even hear and don’t want to process.
And none of it matters. Because right here .
. . right now, this woman is shaking, and I’m done pretending I don’t see it.