43. Delilah
DELILAH
I stand in Kane's bedroom, staring at the open drawer.
My drawer.
It's filled with the things I left here. Two sweaters. A pair of jeans. Underwear. My second phone charger.
It doesn't take long to empty it again.
I never actually moved in. Not officially. I just kept enough here to make it easier to stay over.
Which I did. Almost every night for weeks.
God, I'm an idiot.
I zip the bag and set it on the bed.
Then I go to the bathroom and collect my toothbrush, the face wash I left on the counter, the hair tie I hung on the towel rack.
When I come back out, Anton is standing in the doorway.
"Ms. Dorsey."
I turn. "Hi."
He doesn't say anything for a moment. Just looks at the bag on the bed.
Then he says, "Would you like me to set aside anything you're leaving? For your next visit?"
My throat tightens.
Because there won't be a next visit.
And we both know it.
"No," I say. "There's nothing to set aside."
He nods once. "Understood."
He leaves without another word.
I sit on the edge of the bed and press my hands to my face.
This is the right decision.
Kane lied. He kept information from me because he thought he knew better. He treated me like a child who couldn't handle the truth.
Just like my mother did.
And I can't stay with someone who does that.
I can't.
But god, I want to.
I want to crawl back into this bed and let him hold me. I want to cry about my mother and Vivian and the hotel receipts and the lies. I want him to tell me it's going to be okay, even though it isn't.
I want what we had last night.
But that was built on a lie.
And I can't stay in a relationship where the foundation crumbles every time things get hard.
I stand and pick up the bag.
Kane is in the hallway when I come out.
He looks exhausted. His tie is loose. His hair is disheveled like he's been running his hands through it.
"Lilah."
"I'm ready."
He glances at the bag in my hand. "Stay tonight. You can decide tomorrow."
I shake my head. "No."
"Please. You're exhausted. And I don't want you driving when—"
"I'm not driving. Stepan is. And I'm not staying."
"Just one night."
"That's what you said yesterday. Just one more day before you told me the truth."
He flinches.
I feel a pang of guilt, but I push it down.
"I'm leaving," I say. "Now."
He watches me before stepping aside.
I walk past him toward the stairs.
Halfway down, he says, "Lilah."
I stop.
"What?"
"What happens with Vetrov?"
I turn around. "What about him?"
"Are you pulling out of the case?"
I hadn't thought that far ahead.
But no. I'm not abandoning the bakery's defense just because Kane and I ended.
"I'll work with Skye," I say. "Not you."
"I'll keep cooperating. Whatever she needs."
"Fine."
"And the hearing?"
"I'll be there."
He nods. "Okay."
I turn to go.
"Lilah."
God, I wish he'd stop saying my name like that.
"What?"
"Do you want me to stop calling you?"
My heart clenches.
Because no. I don't want him to stop calling.
I want him to call tonight. To check in. To make sure I'm okay.
We've been ending our evenings together for weeks. A call. A text. Sometimes just a photo of something stupid one of us saw during the day.
And now that's gone.
I force myself to say, "Communicate through Skye."
"Okay."
I walk down the stairs, through the foyer, out the front door.
Stepan is waiting by the car.
He opens the door without a word.
I get in.
He closes it behind me.
Through the window, I see Kane standing on the steps, watching.
He doesn't move.
I want to get out of the car. I want to run back to him and tell him I'll stay. That we can figure this out. That I don't care about the lies as long as he promises not to do it again.
But I can't.
Because he will do it again.
Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next month.
But eventually, something will happen that he thinks I can't handle. And he'll decide to protect me from it.
And I'll be right back here.
Stepan pulls away from the curb.
I don't look back.
The apartment above the bakery is cold when I walk in.
I set my bag on the couch and turn on the lights.
Everything looks the same. The lime-green couch. The shelves I built. The rewired lamp from the flea market.
But it feels different.
Because last night, this place felt like a beginning. Like the start of something permanent.
Now it just feels empty.
I carry the bag to the bedroom and unpack.
Two sweaters in the dresser. Jeans folded on the shelf. Underwear in the drawer.
Then I go to the bathroom.
Kane's toothbrush is still beside mine on the counter.
I pick it up.
I should throw it away. Or at least put it in a drawer so I don't have to look at it every morning.
But I can't.
Not yet.
I set it back down and leave the bathroom.
In the kitchen, I open the fridge.
It's mostly barren. Some leftover dough from yesterday. A carton of eggs. A bottle of prosecco we didn't quite manage to get into last night, during our Friendsgiving celebration.
I pour myself a glass.
Then I sit on the lime-green couch and drink it while staring at the wall.
My phone vibrates.
I check it, half hoping it's Kane.
It's Priya.
PRIYA: How did it go with Bitch and Bitchier?
I almost laugh—a small miracle.
Then I type back.
ME: I left Kane.
The three dots appear immediately.
PRIYA: What?? Are you okay?
ME: No.
PRIYA: Where are you?
ME: The apartment.
PRIYA: I'm coming over.
ME: You don't have to.
PRIYA: Too bad. I'm already putting on my shoes.
I set the phone down and finish the prosecco.
Then I pour another glass.
By the time Priya knocks, I'm halfway through the bottle.
I open the door.
She's wearing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. Zara's not with her.
"Amari has her tonight," she says, stepping inside. "I figured you might need me alone."
I nod.
She closes the door and pulls me into a hug.
I don't cry. I just stand there, letting her hold me.
After a moment, she pulls back. "Tell me what happened."
I do.
I tell her about my mother. About Vivian's texts. About the hotel rooms and the lies and the shopping trips that were just cover.
I tell her about Kane. How he knew yesterday and didn't tell me. His claim that he was protecting me.
"He lied," I say. "Just like my mother did."
Priya sits beside me on the couch. "What did he say when you told him that?"
"He said he was trying to do what was best for me."
"And?"
"And I told him I couldn't stay with someone who can't trust me with the truth."
She nods, processing. "Do you think he'll do it again?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he's terrified of losing me. So every time something happens that might push me away, he's going to hesitate. He's going to decide whether I can handle it. And he's going to lie to protect me from it."
"Did he say that?"
"He didn't have to."
Her eyes stay on me before she speaks again. "Delilah."
"What?"
"Do you love him?"
My throat tightens. "That's not the point."
"It kind of is."
"No. The point is that I can't trust him."
"Can't? Or won't?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugs. "I'm just asking. Because it sounds like he made a mistake. And then acknowledged it, apologized, didn’t try to minimize or justify.”
"So?"
"So maybe this isn't about trust. Maybe it's about you looking for a reason to leave before he does."
I shake my head. "That's not what this is."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Because you've been waiting for him to fuck up since the day you got back from the Poconos. Maybe even before that."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
I don't answer.
Because maybe it is.
Maybe part of me has been waiting for Kane to prove he's not worth staying for.
Maybe I've been looking for an excuse to leave before he hurts me worse.
But that doesn't make this okay.
"He lied," I say. "He knew something that affected me. And he didn't tell me."
"I know."
"So what am I supposed to do? Just forgive him?"
"I don't know. That's up to you."
I finish my prosecco. "I can't go back."
"Why not?"
"Because if I do, it means I'm okay with what he did. And I'm not."
"Or it means you're okay with people making mistakes. And learning from them."
I don't respond.
Because I don't know what to say.
Priya stands. "I'm going to make you something to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Too bad."
She goes to the kitchen and starts opening cabinets.
I stay on the couch, staring at the wall.
My phone lights up.
I check it.
It's Skye.
SKYE: Kane's lawyer just sent me the latest documents. Everything's in order. Do you want to schedule a call tomorrow to discuss strategy?
I read the message twice. Not just because I'm shocked that Skye is burning the midnight oil on Thanksgiving night—I mean, let's face it, that's what lawyers do—but because of what her text implies.
Kane kept his word. He's still cooperating.
Even though I left, he's still showing up.
I type back.
ME: Yeah. Tomorrow works.
I set the phone down.
Priya comes back with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. "Eat."
"I'm really not—"
"Eat."
I take the plate.
She sits beside me and watches while I force down a few bites.
"You know," she says, "it's okay to still love him."
I say nothing.
"It's also okay to not know what you want yet."
I set the fork down. "I just gave him a drawer, Pri. I told him I wanted him in my life. Permanently. And he was sitting on information that could have changed everything."
"I know."
"So how am I supposed to trust him again?"
Priya's face softens. "You don't have to figure it out tonight."
"What if I never figure it out?"
"Then you don't."
"That's it?"
"Yeah. That's it."
I press my hands to my face.
"I hate this," I say.
"I know."
"I hate that I still love him. That I want to call him. I hate that part of me wants to go back and pretend this never happened."
"So don't pretend. Just sit with it. Feel like shit for a while. And then decide what you want to do."
I lower my hands. "What if I decide wrong?"
"Then you deal with it. Like you always do."
She stands and takes the plate back to the kitchen.
I sit there, staring at my phone.
I want to call Kane.
I want to hear his voice. To know he's okay. To tell him I'm okay.
But I can't.
Because if I call him, I'll break.
And I'm not ready to do that yet.
Priya comes back with a blanket. "You're sleeping on the couch tonight."
"What?"
"You're not sleeping in there." She gestures toward the bedroom. "Not after what you told me about last night."
I want to argue. But she's right.
I can't sleep in that bed. Not with his toothbrush in the bathroom and the memory of him promising to stay.
She spreads the blanket over me. "I'm staying tonight."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
She sits in the chair across from me.
I close my eyes.
And for the first time all night, I let myself cry.