Page 21 of The Last Call Home (The Timberbridge Brothers #5)

Chapter Eighteen

Cassian

She means it.

Not in the way people say things when they want to fill the silence—or call a bluff. Not like she’s the one bluffing just to maintain control of this situation.

Delilah fucking means it.

She wants this.

Me. Him. Us.

She’s looking at both of us like she’s not afraid of what this could become—only concerned about what might happen if we let it slip through our fingers. She’s offering us something we never had with Rachel: clarity. Intent. Boundaries.

And perhaps the scariest thing of all?

She’s asking to be seen. Not absorbed. Not tolerated. Not simply a beautiful addition to our former wreckage.

A part of it. An equal.

I swallow hard because this feels like one of those moments when you look back and realize it was the last time you had a choice before everything changed.

She wants to keep it private.

And I get that. Between the Syndicate, the secrets, and her mom’s matchmaking mafia, privacy may be the only luxury we can afford.

Still, I can’t stop staring at her.

Not just because she’s stunning—though, fuck, she truly is.

It’s because she’s doing something I never expected: she’s giving us a chance. She’s essentially choosing us before we’ve even proven we can be anything worth choosing.

I glance at Malerick. He’s stiff, arms crossed, lips pressed together like he’s barely holding it together. But I see it. The same thing I feel tearing me open from the inside.

Hope.

And, fuck, I want to reach for him.

I want to kiss her.

Kiss him.

I want to believe—for once—that we’re not going to ruin this before it starts.

I’m stuck in this goddamn moment, my heart racing as if I just sprinted through a minefield, wondering if I’ll survive what comes next.

Delilah leans back into the couch cushions, arms relaxed, but there’s nothing calm about her. Her pulse is fluttering just beneath her jaw, and I can see the way her fingers curl against her thigh like she’s grounding herself.

I can’t stop staring at her. It feels like if I blink, she’ll disappear, and I’ll wake up choking on regret again.

“Do we really want this?” she asks, her gaze shifting from Malerick to me.

And the way she says it—quiet, honest, with her eyes wide open like she’s not just asking a question but offering herself up for the answer—it slays me.

Because, yeah, I do. I’ve wanted many things in my life: closure, peace, a better freaking past. But this? Her voice in this room. His silence doesn’t feel like a wall for once. The possibility of something genuine?

I never let myself want this before.

I want it too much.

“I do,” I say, stepping forward. “But I want it to be more than just sex, or entertainment because this town can be fucking boring.”

Malerick’s head tilts slightly. He’s still closed off, still holding himself as if any wrong move might crack him in two. I know that posture too well.

So, I say it, low and careful, like the words might bruise if I’m not gentle.

“I don’t want this to be about filling in blanks or fixing what Mal and I broke.” Then, I focus on him. “I want this to be new. Built from now, not from whatever the hell we were.”

Delilah’s eyes flicker between us. I can tell she’s reading every shift in the air. Every look. She’s always watching, even when she pretends she’s not.

Her voice cuts in. “Then show me.”

Three words. That’s it.

And my breath stutters.

“Show you?” I ask, needing her to say it again. If we’re not all on the same fucking page, I won’t survive taking that step.

She nods once. “You both want this. Prove you’re not going to run the second it gets real.”

The air pulls tight.

Fuck.

I don’t know if I want to kiss her or fall to my knees and thank her for not running.

But what I do know is that I can’t stay still.

I take one slow step forward. Then another. She doesn’t move, but her breath catches just slightly when I drop down in front of her, hands on her knees—not forceful, just there. A way to show her I’m not going anywhere without saying a word.

Her skin’s warm beneath my palms, and somehow, that’s enough to make everything else fade. When I look up, her eyes are wide—searching, exposed, like she’s letting me see something no one else gets to touch. It fucking near wrecks me.

“I’m not asking for tonight to define everything,” I murmur. “But I need to touch you. I need you to feel that this isn’t performative. This is us. Starting.”

She nods. Barely.

My hands trail up the outside of her thighs, slow enough to give her time to stop me. She doesn’t. She shifts forward, the hem of her shirt catching slightly against my wrist.

Behind me, I hear Malerick inhale—sudden, audible, like the breath was dragged out of him.

When I glance back, he’s watching us, his eyes dark, mouth parted, every line of his body pulled tight.

It’s not jealousy, no. It’s hunger. A slow-burning want he’s not bothering to hide.

And for once, it doesn’t look like it terrifies him to feel it.

Delilah leans down—forehead to mine. Her nose brushes against mine, a featherlight graze as if she’s daring me to move first. Daring me to cross that invisible line we’ve been toeing since the moment she walked into my life like a fucking spark.

My breath hitches.

I don’t move—not at first. Just take her in. The way her lips part slightly, like she’s already halfway there. The heat rolling off her skin. The scent of whatever lotion she wears—vanilla and something floral that makes me stupid.

My hand shifts, fingers trailing slightly higher along her thigh. She doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t blink. Her eyes remain on mine, wide and expectant, yet not pleading.

I lean in, slow as hell. Letting the moment stretch, letting the anticipation bleed between us until my pulse is roaring in my ears. I brush my nose against hers again, my lips barely grazing hers—just enough to make us both exhale as if we’ve been holding our breath for years.

And I kiss her—slow, cautious, like I’m afraid I’ll spook whatever magic’s holding us together. Her lips part beneath mine, and the moment I sink into the kiss, it feels like coming home to something I never thought I’d deserve.

She sighs into it, and fuck me, I feel that sound everywhere.

My other hand finds her hip, grounding myself—not to take, but to remain. To feel.

The kiss deepens, slow and certain, our mouths sliding together as if we’ve already decided not to run from this.

I press my lips against hers as if I’m memorizing the shape of her desire, the weight of her longing, and giving mine back in return.

This isn’t claiming her. Not yet.

It’s a need that settles low in my chest and makes everything else fade. Like she’s the answer to a question, I never thought I was allowed to ask. Warm. Intentional. Hers.

And she’s kissing me like she’s not afraid of what comes next.

I kiss her like she’s the beginning of a future I stopped believing I could have. Like I’m memorizing the moment her lips part for me, her breath warm and hitched, her fingers threading into the collar of my shirt like maybe she needs this just as badly.

The kiss deepens. There’s nothing tentative about it now. Her tongue glides against mine and I feel it all—the frustration, the longing, and the sharp edge of desire that’s been bleeding between us for weeks.

When I pull back, I’m breathless.

Her lips linger close, swollen and flushed, like she might pull me back in if I don’t move first. So I do—slowly pushing to my feet, every nerve still buzzing from the kiss.

And then I turn to Malerick.

He hasn’t moved. But his eyes are locked on mine. Burning. Scared. Needing. His hands braced on the edge of the counter like he’s steadying more than just his body.

“Come here,” I say. Not loud. Just enough for him to hear. My voice catches around it anyway, like I’ve never actually meant those two words before.

He doesn’t move at first.

Then he does.

One step.

Then another.

He crosses the room slowly. Like each footfall is a choice he hasn’t finished making.

When he’s close enough, he doesn’t take my hand.

He grabs it—pulling me up with a force that’s more need than finesse.

I’m barely upright before he’s on me.

One hand curls around the back of my neck, fingers threading through the hair there like he needs something to grip. The other comes to my jaw, thumb dragging across the corner of my mouth like he’s trying to decide whether to hold me still . . . or pull me closer until we both fucking break.

And then he kisses me.

Not like the kiss with Delilah. This one’s rougher. Angrier. But it doesn’t feel like he’s angry at me. Instead, it feels like he’s angry at time. At the years we can’t get back. At the ache of everything we buried. Probably at the loss—maybe everything we didn’t say back then.

I kiss him back anyway because fuck if I don’t feel the same.

We break apart when Delilah’s hand slips between us. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

She just looks at us—both of us—and leans in.

And when her mouth brushes mine again, softer this time—less daring, more stay—I feel the shift in both of us.

But it’s Malerick who moves first.

His hand slides behind her neck, thumb tracing the line of her jaw like he’s memorizing her. She turns to him, like she was always meant to—fluid, unafraid. And when their lips meet, it’s not the heat that wrecks me first.

It’s the care.

The way he kisses her . . . like he’s learning how to be gentle again. Like he’s not sure he feels unworthy for her mouth, yet he allows letting himself to embrace it anyway.

And I’m watching.

Fuck, I’m watching, and it hits me low and hard.

Not with jealousy.

Not even lust.

But there’s something else—something deeper. Something greedy.

I want to be part of that kiss.

I want to feel her sigh into my mouth again and his body pressed against mine like it used to be—only this time without all the silence and fear between us. I want the three of us tangled together in something that feels like hope, if hope didn’t come wrapped in shame and scars.

My hands itch to reach for them. My chest aches with it.

But I don’t interrupt.

I let it unfold—her hand against his cheek, his mouth moving with hers like they’re trying to figure out a language I already half-know.

And, fuck, I feel it everywhere.

A pulse behind my ribs. A drag of heat through my spine.

This isn’t just a kiss.

It’s the beginning of something I’ve never had.

Not like this.

Not with both of them.