Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(82)

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll go on retreat to Brooklyn.” She smiles at me. “The schedule Charla set up for me is about to get the ax anyway. We have to shift gears and go into launch mode.”

“Is that stressful?”

“Sure, sort of. There will be interviews and appearances, late-night TV. Stylists and crap.”

“Do you feel up to that?”

“Well, I never feel up to that. But it’s for something I really want. So it’ll be all right.” She reaches up and puts a hand on my face. “You look so worried.”

I’m sure I do. Twenty-four hours ago I was carrying her limp body into the E.R. But I don’t want to talk about it. “Want to go for a walk on the beach?”

“Yes!” She slides off the bed. “Let me grab a sweatshirt.”

We both get dressed. When she comes back, I’m tapping on my phone.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Nobody yet. But would you mind if I asked Becky to find you a seat on my flight tomorrow. Is that okay?”

She stops. Then opens her mouth. Then closes it again. And then? Her eyes get wet, and she covers her face with her hands.

For a second I’m so stunned I don’t move. But then I cross the room to her in two quick strides. “Hey! Easy.” I wrap my arms around her. “I have no idea what I did. But I’ll undo it.”

“No!” She sniffs, clinging to me. “I’m sorry. I never cry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I mean never.” She wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“Shh.” I rub her back slowly. “Deep breaths. Want to fill me in?”

“It won’t make any sense.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t trust myself. The first thing I told you when you showed up in my New York hotel room is that I didn’t want a man to complicate my life.”

Uh-oh. “I remember.”

“Because I fucked things up so badly before. I let him control me, because I was overwhelmed. He managed my career, and he managed my life. I was swept under.”

“Okay.” I’ve got her tucked against my chest, exactly where I like her to be.

“And I swear it’s the only reason I’m hesitant about going to New York. Because it’s your turf, and you’ll have to help me manage. Again. I’ll feel like I never learned how to adult.”

“But—”

“—hang on, I’m not done. Just now you were thinking about plane tickets and how we needed one. And you didn’t just buy it. And you didn’t just ask Becky. You asked me first.” She pulls back and looks at me with red eyes. “Just keep doing that. I want to go to Brooklyn with you so badly. But I can’t let anyone handle me for a while.”

I wipe her tears with my thumbs. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I never wanted to manage you. I just want your company. I want to ask about your day, and hear about all the weird parts of your career. And I want you to sing to me.”

“I could do that.” She sniffs.

“See? We got this. In fact, there’s something I want to show you on our way out.” I take her by the hand to the living room, where I left my shoes and my gym bag earlier. From the bag I pull the T-shirt I had made a week ago.

“Oh my GOD!” she shrieks when I hand it over. “That’s hilarious.”

“I thought so. And thank you for validating my world view. But it’s a joke, okay? That’s how I see my role here. A good listener, followed by comic relief.”

Her eyes well up again. “Thank you. I love it so much.”

“You’re welcome.” I step closer and give her a squeeze. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I think I’m…a total wreck!” She pushes her face into my shoulder and sobs. “He drugged me.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“I let him.”

“Shh. Okay.” Her body shakes with sobs, and I hate that so much. But trauma doesn’t ask permission. And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now. Nowhere at all.

*

Eventually, we do take that walk on the beach. Delilah’s bodyguard follows us at a discreet distance, while we walk barefoot through the sand.

I squeeze her hand as the waves crash onto the beach. The tide is coming in. We walk mostly in silence, because Delilah is emotionally drained. My heart is full, though. Things aren’t settled between us, and they sure aren’t easy. But I’m here, and we’re together. It’s all I ever wanted.

She stops suddenly, looking straight ahead.

“What is it?” The beach is mostly empty. I see one guy riding his bike slowly down the path at the edge. But that’s it.

“The lifeguard tower.”

“Oh.” There it is. The spot where I was supposed to meet her three years ago. “Come on, then.”

Hand in hand, we walk to a spot of her choosing. “Right here. This is where I waited.”

“For a guy who asked fifty times for your phone number and never got it.”

She smiles up at the dark sky. “Huge mistake. One of many.”

“We’ve both got those. But I think we need to let them go, if we’re going to be happy.”