Filfthy(72)

The day Daphne and I moved Aunt Rue out of her home, she slipped me a piece of paper Zane had apparently hand-delivered. At the time, I was too hurt to look at it, so I tossed it aside, laying it on Rue’s dining room hutch. Later that afternoon, when the movers had left, the letter was gone.

I never had a chance to read it.

And I spent the weeks that followed convincing myself that it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

I was moving.

We were done.

Whipping out my phone, I do some quick research. There isn’t a lot of detailed information available, but from what I can tell, the Cougars signed some rookie running back out of Texas and then cut Zane from the team shortly after football camp started. At the last minute, the Thunder’s running back tore his ACL in practice and they picked up Zane.

Lying down, I curl up with a pillow and close my eyes, replaying every memory I’ve held onto. The bitter. The sweet. The heartbreaking end I never saw coming.

I felt safe here in Chicago. I thought I was worlds away . . . from him. Now I’m going to be looking over my shoulder everywhere I go, wondering if I’m going to run into him, obsessing over what I might say if we ever come face to face again.

Wallowing in a self-indulgent pool of bittersweet memories, I squeeze my eyes tight and pull up a selfie on my phone. It’s from the night we watched the Fourth of July fireworks from his backyard. We’re smiling, happy, blissfully unaware of what’s to come.

Once upon a time, we were living in the moment.

And I’ll admit, from time to time I did think about the future.

But never in my wildest dreams did I envision going down in flames.

I’m drifting, second by second, into what I hope to be a delicious nap. I need to escape for a bit. Quiet my mind. Still my thoughts. And I’m almost there . . .

Knock, knock, knock.

A quick zing races through me, running down my chest and spreading to my fingertips. I can’t breathe.

Tiptoeing quietly across my tiny apartment, I peek through the peephole . . .

. . . and open the door.

“Hey, Hayden,” I say. “Come on in.”





Chapter 39





Zane



I’m standing outside the expansive purple Victorian, staring up at the third window at the top of the turret where Delilah once claimed to live during the school year.

I don’t know if she still lives there, but tonight, I’m willing to take a chance.

I’ve been back in Chicago over a month now, my days and nights consumed with all things Chicago Thunder, but there hasn’t been a night that’s passed where I haven’t wondered where she is. What she’s doing. If she’s lying in her bed thinking about me too.

Pressing every apartment buzzer outside the entrance, I get a few responses over the intercom and eventually hear the heavy clunk of the door unlocking. I’m not sure how I feel about Delilah living in a “secure” apartment where the tenants blindly buzz strangers in, but I’m in now and that’s all that matters.

Climbing three flights of stairs, I find a long hallway with three apartment doors, pausing for a minute to get my bearings.

North.

The turret is north.

Standing outside a door labeled 3B, I hear voices. Two of them. A man and a woman.

Delilah.

I hear them laugh, their voices muffled by the thick, wooden door. Moving closer, I all but press my ear against it.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you . . .” she says. “I mean it. You’ve been so wonderful. I don’t deserve it.”

There’s another man in there and from the sound of it, Delilah thinks he’s pretty fucking great.

My fists clench and my jaw tightens.

I’m halfway between staying and going when the door opens, leaving me no choice.

A man stands on the other side. He’s clean cut. Well-dressed. Preppy almost. He wears a checkered button down, thick hipster glasses, and his sandy blond hair is combed back on top. He’s lanky and serious. This man is the complete opposite of everything about me.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Hayden, who is it?” Delilah comes out from behind him, pausing. Her expression pales.

“Hi Delilah,” I say.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

I smirk, besotted all over again at the sight of her. “I came to talk.”

“Is everything okay here?” the hipster nerd asks, waving his pointer finger between us.

Delilah and I lock stares, the seconds before she answers ticking by slowly.

“Yeah,” she says. “Everything’s fine, Hayden.”

“All right, well, I’ll be next door. Pound on the wall if you need me . . .” He squeezes through the doorway past me, disappearing behind a door labeled 3A.