Page 82 of Tank’s Weakness

“And if they can’t?”

She squeezes me tightly. “Then I look the other way when you take it into your own hands.”

“Would that ruin what we have going?” I ask, heart racing.

She shakes her head slowly. “No. I know who and what you are. I’m not going to ask you to change. I want to feel safe again. I need to.”

Leaning down, I kiss the top of her head.

Just when I think she can’t get any more perfect, she goes and says some shit like that. Proving that she really is right for this life despite my first impression.

“I should call Smoke. Fill him in,” I murmur into the dark.

“Just five more minutes,” she begs.

“Okay, baby.”

Five minutes. I can do that.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Delaney

Music plays as I scrub at my baseboards. My fingertips are tender from all the cleaning products, but I keep working.

“I don’t want no scrub,” I sing along.

The only good thing to come out of my firing is that all the little jobs I’ve been putting off here around the house are being checked off. I painted the guest bedroom, I wiped down all the cabinets and changed out the handles, I put together the shelving unit in the guest bathroom, I sat down and plotted out how I want the front landscape to look instead of the current rock bed situation where weeds pop through all year long, and now I’m giving my dusty baseboards the attention they deserve.

Maybe I should have taken Tank up on his offer to stay home with me. To distract me from all this nervous energy. He even offered to let me come to the shop to hang out with Jane, but I refused. I know if I had gone, Sloane would have ditched the shop and hung out with us girls. Then nothing would have gotten done. As cool as Smoke is, the last thing I want to do is distract his employees while working.

I could always call Erica. She’s got sick days hoarded up like candy. Somehow the woman never gets sick, so she never uses them unless she has a trip planned, but even then she keeps more than enough stashed away in case of an emergency.

No.

I won’t burden my friends. My problems aren’t theirs.

Come on, Delaney, you are capable of entertaining yourself for a while without anyone’s assistance.

My phone rings, and I smile. Saved by the phone.

I drop the rag into the bucket. Groaning, I stand up and head into the kitchen where my phone lies.

Worry fills me as I take in Mrs. Stephensen’s name flashing across my screen.

Why is she calling? Is everything okay with my students? Did something else happen that I don’t know about yet?

“Hey,” I say as I answer the phone.

“Delaney, I just heard what actually happened. Are you okay?” she asks, worry coloring her tone.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Stephensen.”

She scoffs. “Call me Lydia, and let’s be honest, you’re far from okay.”

I sigh and admit, “It’s rough, but I’m trying to keep busy.”

“It’s absolute bullshit. They shouldn’t be able to fire you over something out of your control. From what I’ve heard, it was clear as day that it was taken outside of your home. That someone was watching.”