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But every rise and fall of Delilah’s chest tethers me back to my sanity.

She’s okay.

If I don’t fuck this up, the moment can’t end.

Victor waits, a few feet from the foot of my bed. He’s never been in my room before. Nobody has. Only Titus.

But it was faster to get her here than walking all the way to her room. She’s wearing my sweats. Wrapped in three of my thickest bath towels.

And she’s sleeping.

On me. Like she needs me.

I won’t fuck this up. I can’t.

Somebody needs me and I won’t fuck this up.

So, I sit there on the edge of my bed with Delilah in my lap and I don’t fuck it up.

Not when Victor leaves.

Not when Titus falls asleep at my feet instead of in his bed.

My back muscles cry out. My eyes blur from lack of sleep. None of that makes me let her go.

When five a.m. comes, I carry her to her room and leave her in the center of her bed.

Minutes pass of me watching the rise and fall of her chest before I whisper brokenly, “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.”

Chapter 17

Business as Usual

DELILAH

Ihad a dream I went swimming last night. Just me, the moon and the gentle motion of wading in the water lulling me into the most restful sleep I’ve had in a while.

On the regular, Weston and my father and a mirage of the woman who didn’t raise me haunt my dreams.

But last night was peaceful. They didn’t make a single cameo.

I feel rested, almost weightless, as the sun streaming through my window heats my skin, nudging me awake.

For a second, I lay there and just revel in normalcy.

After pulling myself up against the cushioned headboard, I survey the room that I’ve woken up in for the past month, minus a few days.

It doesn’t look like the cell of a glorified prisoner. It resembles a place I would have chosen if I wasn’t forced to be here. I don’t know how, but every day Ms. Agnes sneaks something else in here that I would have chosen for myself.

The muted colors don’t overwhelm me, and the soft lines of the furniture create a feeling of safety I probably shouldn’t trust.

Yawning, I look at the summer quilt at my feet, almost kicked completely off the bed.

The black socks on my feet seem out of place. I never wear socks to bed.

My brow hikes while I try to summon memories of what I did before falling asleep last night.

It’s fuzzy. The only thing that stands out is how warm and safe I felt as I slept.