Page 24 of Sweet Oblivion

DELANEY

Therapist: What do we say to people who want to be involved in our lives?

Me: No.

Therapist: Do better, Delaney.

Me: Welcome to the shit show. Buckle up. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Therapist: No.

Me: Well, I tried.

—Delaney’s Secret Thoughts

Tori jumps up when the door opens and Ryker walks in with Jamie, and Olivia following behind. His gaze finds mine as he holds up the bags. “I got you a few options.”

My stomach churns at the thought of food. Ashton, however, doesn’t seem to have that problem. She jumps up as two more people filter in behind Olivia.

People I recognize from Ashton’s wedding.

Oh, come on . . . Seriously?

They’re Ryker’s parents.

Because why wouldn’t his billionaire parents be inside my tiny, hundred-year-old apartment above a flower shop staring at the pig at their feet?

Jamie snags one of the bags from Ryker and smiles at Ashton. “This one’s for you, Ace.”

“That’s my cue.” She smiles and takes Kyrie from Jamie’s arms. “You sure you don’t want to come stay at our house for a few days?”

I really wish I could. Especially right now, when I’m feeling raw and exposed like a live wire, with far too many strangers invading my space and making my anxiety that much worse.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

I’ve fought too hard to stand on my own two feet to give in and rely on her now.

With a shake of my head, I lean into her hug and kiss Kyrie’s head. “Love you, K.”

Her chubby hands clap my face as she presses an open mouth kiss to my cheek while Ash brushes her lips by my ear. “Call me if you need anything, and try not to drool over Ryker’s dad.”

I shove her away and regret the move immediately when my body whines in protest. Ouch. “Bye.”

“You want waffles or eggs, Lane?”

God, he’s good at that.

Reading a room.

I’m quickly learning he’s ridiculously in tune with everything happening around him. I guess he has to be. And my goodness, am I thankful for it right now.

“No thanks,”I try signing as I answer.Please let that have been right. I really don’t want to look like a fool in front of his family.

Not that they even acknowledge me.

Ryker’s mom walks over to him and wraps her arms around him like she’s reminding herself he’s here and he’s okay. She’s small, maybe five, five. But somehow, she doesn’tseem it. Not when a nearly six-and-a-half-foot tank of a man melts into her arms without hesitation.