Page 127 of The Next Lie

Something flickers in her eyes. Pain...shame. Something. Whatever it was…good. Let it hurt.

She has spent too many years turning her own pain outward because no one taught her where else to put it. I understand why. I’m still finished tolerating it.

“She ruined everything,” Delia says.

“She survived. And she came looking for revenge. There’s a difference.”

Delia’s mouth twists. “Same result.”

I catch her arm before she can walk away.

She looks down at my hand. “Don’t.”

“Then stop acting like a child.”

Her face goes cold.

That is dangerous ground with her. I step on it anyway.

“You wanted her gone before she saw too much. She’s here now. She’s already seen enough to make leaving impossible. So now it’s time to adjust your expectations.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Deacon.”

“Time you started.”

Her nostrils flare.

For one second, I think she may hit me. Her eyes narrow as she thinks about it. Then the moment passes, and she jerks her arm free.

“I want to go home.”

“Good.”

“Not with you.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate for you.”

I look toward the house. Through the glass, I can see Shiloh in the hall with Homer clutched against his chest like a tiny hostage. Reva is gone from view. Nash must have taken her upstairs.

That’s for the best.

If I follow now, she will either throw something or let me kiss the wound closed before it has bled enough to cleanse. Neither will fix the problem.

Nash’s warning stays under my skin.

You’re gonna lose her before you ever really have her.

I already lost her once. On paper. In a house full of blood. In every year I let distance pretend it was mercy.

I won’t do it again because Delia cannot keep her teeth behind her lips.

I grab my jacket from the back of a chair and look at Delia. “Move it.”

She stalks past me toward the side gate, wet dress clinging to her legs, chin high, pride louder than her shoes. She does not look back.

That, at least, is familiar.

The drive to her house is silent.