Fractured Freedom(25)

“There’s no page for you, Delilah. You have to go home, where it’s safe.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want safe!”

How could I tell him that my mental health had been in the gutter, that maintaining a 4.0 in college was exhausting, and even when I tried to make friends, that fell flat? That I’d never quite found myself because I was too tired and sad to do anything other than get through each day. That when I’d date, I could not find one man who’d live up to the expectations I’d set for them, or maybe the ones Dante had set for me.

That last one was the absolute worst.

“You don’t understand anything,” I whispered and pointed to a side street. Then I motioned to the building. Just as he parked alongside it, I opened the car door and puked into the gutter.

“Oh, damn,” I heard him grumble, and then he was out of the car and around to my side instantly, like he cared. Cared about a sister that could be used as a tool, I guess.

I wondered if Izzy had thrown the idea of me as cover out to him before. Had he turned it down and they’d laughed over my clean image? Or had Izzy thought this all up on her own?

I couldn’t stand how mad I was at her and how relieved at the same time. Relieved that she wasn’t using, but mad that she hadn’t told me.

And to think I’d accused her of being an addict. I’d been the one who’d supported her this whole time and then threw it all in her face. The idea of our argument brought tears to my eyes, along with the fury running through my veins for her lying to my face again.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I murmured.

“You already were sick, Lilah,” he whispered back.

It was then I started crying. Deep guttural cries of relief that my sister was truly clean, guilt that I’d accused her of using, and pain that they’d used me. Maybe one tear was for the fact that the guy I’d lusted over for years and years was the one to get me out of jail and now I’d have to deal with him too.

I mean, it was fair to cry over that, right?

I deserved a minute, or a month. I probably needed a year of therapy or more to get over all this, though.

“Do you know that I was the only one who stood up for her with my family time and time again? The last time we were home, my parents actually said she couldn’t come inside. God, how I fought them. And my brothers are such assholes half the time, I swear they relish me getting worked up about something they think isn’t a big deal. Dom even said he’d like to be banned from the house for a holiday.”

Dante wasn’t paying attention to me as I practically slid out of the car over my vomit and started toward my hotel building. He was assessing the location, I guess. He squinted those piercing eyes that I tried hard not to look at toward the building adjacent to us, and then he whipped his head back and forth, looking up and down the street.

I waved him after me and lifted my purse. “Let’s get inside.”

He nodded without saying much else. He was quiet most of the time, and so I tried to think nothing of it.

We passed the lobby where I waved to the bellman. He stared past me at Dante with big eyes. Rightfully so. Dante drew attention everywhere, with his tattoos and large frame. I waved Dante toward the side lobby.

“You always take the stairs to your room?”

“Well, yeah. The elevator is always busy, and no one uses these stairs. These only go up to the third floor.”

He hummed as we climbed each flight. By the time we got to my floor, I was out of breath. I didn’t pride myself on working out, but I was less out of breath than when I’d started here two months ago. I spun to find him not even huffing a little.

Dumb military and secret missions kept him in shape, I guess.

“So, can you tell me what it is I can tell my family, because I need to know what to say to my mom and—”

“I’ll tell you inside.” He nodded as he stepped close to me, so close I could smell the sandalwood on him. Jesus, that smell I remembered. It dominated most of my dreams through high school. My hand shook as I put the key in the lock.

I heard the lock click, and then I turned the knob to let him into my place.

Which was a bit of a mess. Izzy and I had gone out the night before, and we’d packed quickly. I hurried to grab a bra off the floor and move the scattered toiletries off my bed.

The man always tried to be respectful. He turned toward the window to look out as I tidied up. It gave me enough space to calm myself.

While straightening the white sheets of the bed, I informed him, “I need to call my family and let them know everything is going to be okay. My mom is worried sick. As you know after her telling your mom—”

“Izzy called me, Delilah. Not your mom.”

Right. That snippet of information continued to roll around in my head and knock every button of irritation in me. I tried to contain it, though. That was their life. They lived undercover. I had to be okay with it.

“Well, I called my mother, and she’s worried sick. My story was obviously a lot harder on Izzy than it should have been. I need to clear that up with her and let her know everything is going to be okay.”

“You can’t let your mom know about the undercover work.”

“What?” I whispered. That was impossible. I told my mother pretty much everything. I’d even divulged my crush on this man to her at one point, only to be told to wise up, that he went for women like Izzy.