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DELILAH
“What kinds of books do you like to read?” Aspen leads the way through the stacks, running her fingers over the spines of countless books that don’t look like anybody’s ever cracked them open. Considering we’re the only people here, it makes sense.
Not the only people, though. Not quite. I have to correct myself when, turning the corner at the end of a row, I spot Quinton sitting at a table. His hands are folded on top, his posture rigid. He’s staring daggers at me, obviously.
But he’s not getting in the way. He hasn’t said a word since accompanying Aspen to the library, where we agreed to meet up today during our free time. I guess I should be grateful for that much.
Still, I get the feeling we have to stay close to where he’s sitting. I can just imagine the conversation they had before this. You can hang out with her, but make sure to stay close to me so I can hear everything you say. He needs to get a life.
She asked me a question, didn’t she? I need to pay attention. “Oh, whatever I can get my hands on. We didn’t have a ton of money for new books, and the library was pretty far away. I was never sure if I’d be able to get back there in time to return the books.”
“That’s tough.”
“Yeah, it was. But when we’d go to thrift stores, I’d always hit up the book donations and grab everything that looked interesting.”
“Favorite genre?”
She’s such a goddamn nerd. I like reading, but I don’t get all starry-eyed over it like she does. “I don’t know. I liked romances, mysteries, and thrillers. When I was younger, I read all the Nancy Drew books.”
“Me, too!” Oh, goody, we have something else in common. “Brittney has the complete set here. Hardy Boys, too. I didn’t think anybody else read them since they’re so old.”
“I think my aunt had an old copy lying around from years ago, and that’s what got me into them. I’m pretty sure I was the only kid I knew who read them.”
“Same here.” She pulls out a thick, heavy book. “I like history, too. But only if it’s not too dry and boring. Some authors know how to make it interesting.”
“True.” God, this is painful. Watching her walk around, browsing for her next read. Like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Why does she deserve to live but not Nash? Why does she deserve to be happy and in love and secure? She’s a Rossi now, on top of the world.
“This is a good one if you’re interested.” She hands me a book about the Gilded Age, but that’s all I know since I don’t bother flipping past the cover. All my attention is trained on her. How to start talking about things that matter.
“What else do you like to do?” I ask. I’m throwing darts at a board right now, flailing around, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Either that or she doesn’t have a lot of actual friends. Only people who are afraid of her husband.
She seems to give it actual thought, even frowning a little. “I used to like going to movies. My mom and I would keep track of all the best movies that came out every year, and we’d root for our favorites during the Oscars. I miss that a little.”
“My aunt used to love watching that,” I offer. “Even if we didn’t get out to see the movies that were up for awards. She still had her favorite actors and actresses based on what she heard on the talk shows she watched.”
She still looks a little sad. Maybe this is worth digging into. “I guess there’s not much of a chance of getting out to the movies around here, huh?”
“Not really.” She shrugs it off with a little smile. “It doesn’t matter. I know I’m lucky to be here. Things could’ve gone much worse. But…”
My heart’s in my throat. From where we’re standing, I can see Quinton watching from his chair. I can’t get too personal or push too hard without him knowing it. “But what?” I ask in a softer voice. “You okay?”
She offers a soft chuckle. “I was thinking about my mom. It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to her. I don’t even know if she’s okay or not.”
“I’m sorry.” I’m not. I’m glad. She needs to suffer.
We move to the end of the row, then round the end of the shelves. “Lucas has been a big help,” she murmurs while wiggling her fingers at Quinton. I wonder how he’d react if I gave him the same little wave. I can just see him launching himself over the table to get to me.
“Lucas?” A big help? I’m finding that hard to believe.
“Sure. He’s been great.”
Are we thinking of the same person? “How so?” I ask, trailing behind her. This isn’t what I’m supposed to be interested in, but now that she’s started talking about him, I can’t help wanting to hear more.
“He’s taken a lot of time to teach me self-defense. I’ve gotten a lot better at it.” She grins at me over her shoulder. “I’ve even knocked him on his ass.”
Right. Like she could do that. Then again, she killed Nash. Maybe she gets, like, serial killer strength when she’s upset. “That must’ve been satisfying.”
“It was. He’s not a small guy at all, but I knocked him flat. It made me feel strong. Not physically, but, you know. Inside.”
