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I pull my sketchpad from my bag again, along with my phone. I input Joseph’s number and store it under the contact name of Paladin. If he wants to act like a knight and saviour, it feels like a fitting name.

I put my phone away and try to ignore the little hitch in my heart as I imagine the lifeline he’s thrown me. “Without repercussion, expectation, or comment.” I don’t know if I’d ever take him up on his offer. There’s only so much money he could spend on a hotel room to keep me safe, and only so many times he can change a lock. But knowing there is an alternative, a way that doesn’t require me finding drunken men to offer sanctuary, and my prayers that they don’t suddenly sober up, that’s beyond comparison.

Four months to go. I chant the words to myself as I carry on with my coursework. Four months, but with a lifeline.

It’s a lifeline I hope I never have to rely on, that luck will be on my side, but just knowing it’s there gives me something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

Chapter seven

Joseph

Two Years Ago

Isit in my car, parked up outside Delilah’s shop. I’ve fifteen minutes before we agreed to meet, and I swear I’m going to sweat through my shirt before she arrives. If she arrives, I chide myself. I’m still half expecting to get out of the car and wait outside her shop, only for Felix to arrive and give me a firm right hook.

I can’t say I’d blame him. I wouldn’t even fight back; I’d just let him dish out the punishment I’m sure I deserve. What I know of Felix is how much he loves Delilah, and what he knows about me is how much I fucked up when I promised I wouldn’t.

I settle back in the seat and check my watch. Again. I swear she has me in a complete spiral, one where I don’t know which way is up. She’s been on my mind for what feels like every second since I left her shop this morning. She consumed my thoughts even when I had the music on loud as I cleaned my house. Wiping the kitchen sides down? Recalling that first conversation with her. Scrubbing the oven? The memories of when she opened up about her strained relationship with her father. Straightening up the items in the fridge? Revisiting the first time she called my phone after I promised no questions, no repercussions.

That night, when I woke to an unknown number flashing on my screen at almost two in the morning, I knew it was her. When I answered the phone, I didn’t even say hello. I automatically said her name. Within five minutes, I was out of my house, in my car, and on my way to her.

I’m sure Felix knows all of this, knows my intentions and how I only wanted to protect her. It was initially the one thing that brought us together. Nothing unites two men more than a shared desire to protect a woman. And nothing causes more friction than one of them fucking up and causing pain.

I grab my phone from my pocket, checking my emails in the desperate hope that it’ll provide some relief and distraction from my thoughts before we’re due to meet. It doesn’t help, but then I see her in the rear-view mirror. She strides down the street looking like a woman on a mission. There’s a frown on her face, and I wonder if she’s been as distracted by thoughts of me as I have of her.

I watch as she draws closer to the shop, and then I get out of the car. She jumps slightly at the sound of the door, and her steps falter for a second.

“Hey,” I call.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to show,” she states.

I walk around the car and draw level with her.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to show either,” I admit.

“So, Mr Hotshot Movie Star, where do you think you want to go tonight?” she asks. She squares her shoulders a little, and I wonder if it’s a last challenge, another opportunity for me to duck out of this.

I’ve been thinking about this all day. Going out somewhere for a drink should be okay, but there’s always a chance somebody could spot me, photograph me, and put our image on social media. Somewhere private would be better, but I know that makes me sound sleazy and like I’m stealing an opportunity to get her alone.

“No idea. I’m fine with whatever you think,” I offer. I cross my fingers that she’ll suggest a quiet bar where we can grab a table at the back and talk quietly about our history without being overheard.

She takes a deep breath. “How far away is whatever place you’re currently calling home?”

“About a forty-minute drive.”

She doesn’t say anything in response, just walks to the passenger side of my car. It makes me smile a little, thinking how determined her stride is now compared to how she used to get into my car—timidly and afraid people would see. She was always more worried about me and my career than what people could think about her.

I unlock the car, and we both get in. I go through the motions of starting the engine, clipping in my seatbelt, then change the song on the sound system to something more melodic rather than the heavy beats of the track that automatically starts through my connected phone playlist. I glance over at her.

“I’m sure,” she states before I even have chance to ask her.

“Okay.” I suppress a smile. She looks at me with one eyebrow slightly raised. I was always fascinated that she could do that.

“It’ll be easier to talk than to try to avoid being overheard in a pub,” she points out.

“True, but your uncanny ability to read my mind is still a little scary,” I joke.