Many times.
I hoped for Delaney’s sake, he had left and would stay that way. There was nothing worse than him coming and going. Messing with my head and my heart. I didn't want that same thing for Delaney. Yeah, it would hurt to not have a father in her life, but she’d always have me. And with me she would get something even cooler. A big brother. A protector. I would kick anyone’s ass who hurt her.
Delaney’s eyes started to shut as she sucked on the empty bottle. I would never forget that squishy air sound as she kept sucking. This was her routine. It took all of ten seconds for her eyes to shut. I pulled the bottle away and her little lips kept trying to suck at the bottle.
I stood up and rocked her for a few minutes.
Once I knew she was down for the count, I put her back into her crib.
Luckily, she stayed asleep.
Sometimes she would stay awake and cry, then I’d end up having to keep holding her. Or I’d fall asleep in the rocking chair with her in my arms.
With Delaney asleep and Gram asleep, I went back to my bedroom.
I went to the side window and opened the curtains and blinds. I took a flashlight and started to flick the light on and off. I did it ten times and waited.
The light in the bedroom directly across from me turned on.
The curtains opened, followed by the window.
I waved.
Lilah rubbed her eyes and waved at me.
I didn’t feel all that bad for waking her up. She had done it to me a million times.
Out of all the girls at school who thought I was cute because Delaney was cute… it really didn’t matter. I liked the attention. Lilah knew that. She pretended like it didn't bother her, but it did.
But for me, it was simple.
Those girls at school could smell like flowers and all that. And they could look how they look.
But they weren’t Lilah.
She wasn’t just the girl who lived next door.
She was the girl I loved.
Chapter 32
Say It All Again
NOW
(Amelia)
… if there’s a chance to love you, I’d risk my life. If I could find the right words, I would repeat them every day until I could no longer speak. If I could just touch you… to know I feel whole…
I had spent the better part of the day putting together a story based on the letter to Delilah. I had nothing to lose. I told Bel I wasn't interested in offering anything to her about the letter. This was for me. This came with no pressure. This was for fun. Just to write and get something done. All these visions in my mind about the letter and I wanted to do something with it.
When it was done… well, I had no plan and that was okay.
But those last few words of the letter rang in my mind.
There came a point in the day where I needed to decide what to do. Go for more coffee. Or switch to a different kind of drink.
Josh made the decision for me when he asked me to come over.
Just seeing his words on my phone screen made my heart jump.
He was forever the greatest story. The story I would never write. The story that I would keep to myself or keep between he and I.
I had no idea what was happening between us. Or what I wanted it to be. Or what he wanted it to be. What I did know was that when he touched me, it felt good. When he kissed me, it felt good. When I got to see his artwork, it made me feel good about my writing. And maybe in some way, I wanted to write something for him to read. Nothing about an animal with wings that could talk. But a real story. Something for him.
Maybe he would read my story about Delilah and enjoy it.
There was always an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach as I knocked on his door. I suddenly worried about how I looked. I touched my hair, wondering if my messy bun was too messy. I touched my cheeks, wondering if a little makeup wouldn’t have been the worse thing in the world. Of course, I was in an old hoodie and old jeans.
Couldn’t have worn something nice, Amelia? Something with a low-cut neck maybe?
The door opened and Josh stood there looking as messy as me.
It was instant relief and I smiled.
He wore a gray t-shirt with black and white splotches on it. His jeans had rips in the knees and paint stains on the thighs. His left arm was in the air, leaning against the open door, a beer bottle in his hand.
He was everything dangerous and wild.
He was everything I’d ever wanted.
“Is that new?” I asked and pointed to a large piece of paper that hung from an easel.
“Just a concept,” he said. He twisted off the cap on two fresh beers. “I’m always trying to outdo myself. To challenge myself.”
“I like it. I like that it’s dark. Like penciled sketches.”
“Too bad everyone likes color,” he said. “Color catches the eye and attention. The black and white makes you stop and think.”
“Something tells me you don’t care though," I said.
“Never do,” Josh said with a wink.
He slid the bottle to me.
I caught it and took a drink.
“I started writing something new,” I said. “Nothing good or concrete, but something.”
“That’s good to hear. What’s it about?”
I shook my head. “I’ll show you when it’s done.”
“Is it about a beaver that swings a sword?” Josh asked.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“And that makes me want to tell you what I’m writing about?” I said. “Sure.”
Josh laughed. “Well, maybe I’ll just take the lead here, love.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Follow me,” he said.
He walked through the entire apartment and went right for his bed. I was okay with that for both the right and wrong reasons.
The apartment was dimly lit. It was so comfortable and cozy.
Josh sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You know small pieces of my life,” he said. “And what you saw the other day just…”
“Delaney,” I whispered.
“Yeah. You saw the dates too.”
"I did,” I said. “Three years old…”
“Delaney was my sister,” Josh said.
“Oh, Josh.”
“Just wait a second," he said. He stood up. “This was a time even before you, love. My grandmother took care of me. I told you about me and her. I was a tough kid. She was painting. What it did for me. I also told you about her Parkinson’s. How one day she just started shaking and could no longer paint. But there was something in between all of that. I never talked about it. That was Delaney.”
“And you’re going to talk about it now?" I asked.
“I don't know what there is to talk about, Amelia. My father would come and go as he pleased. I think in my grandmother’s heart she truly believed one time he would just show up and be different. Because when he’d come back, he would be different. He would bring me something. Bring her something. He would do all the chores. Fix things around the house. Cook. Clean. Grocery shop. I could see this hope in my grandmother’s eyes that this was going to be a good thing. Until he would leave. But the last time he came back, he brought a baby with him. He brought Delaney. This little baby. She was six months old.”
“What?” I asked. “Where was her mother?”
“Dead,” Josh said. “Overdosed.”
“Ohmygod," I whispered.
“I’m not going to talk details, love. To put it simply… he showed up with a baby and left not too much later after that. I don't think he even had a second of desire to stay. Or to raise Delaney. Or to raise me. And when he left, he was gone for good. See, that house I used to mess with, that was his house. He met a woman who changed his life. And he started taking care of her kids. He loved her kids. He raised her kids. They were a happy family. Yet he left a family behind. One that he wanted nothing to do with. On
e that ended up whittled down to just me.”
Josh took a drink and rubbed his jaw. He stretched his neck and walked to the drawing I commented on. With his pointer finger, he traced lines around the drawing. I was addicted to him. Every aspect. The man. The artist. The person who was hurt. And the memory of the boy who protected me.
“Josh,” I said as I stood up. “What happened?”
“Cancer,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Amelia, you know that kids get cancer, right?”
I swallowed hard. “I know that, Josh.”
“Well… that's what happened. There was more than that. Some issues passed along from her mother. But it all just… it just attacked her body. She was there. And then she wasn't. It was so fast. I mean, you know, maybe a year or so. But still. The fastest year of my life. With doctors. Appointments. Medicines. Treatments. Hospitals. Special centers. It was…” Josh made a fist and gently tapped the drawing. “It just didn’t matter. It wasn't enough.”
I inched toward him and reached for his arm.
I skipped it though and did something else.
I slipped my hand into his.
I held his hand, like we used to do.
“She was three,” I whispered to Josh.
“That’s right. I used to get up with her in the middle of the night. Give her bottles and everything. And even when she was sick, I was there. I missed a ton of school but that was okay. I didn't care. I needed to be there with her. Except, I wasn’t… when she…”
“Where were you?” I asked.
“I got drunk and high with Murph,” Josh said. “It was right when I started hanging with them. When Delaney got sick, I got angry. So angry. I started to go looking for fights. Looking for ways to relieve the anger. I couldn’t stand seeing my grandmother upset. Seeing her shaking. It was all falling apart right in front of me. It was horrible to watch.”
I squeezed his hand tighter. “I’m so sorry, Josh. That does nothing for you. But I have to say it.”
“I was out one night, and Delaney let go. She was never afraid of dying though. She kept telling me she was going to fly.”
Fly, baby, fly.
The words echoed and made my heart twist.
“She always said that,” Josh said. “She was going to fly. I was so drunk that night. And stoned. And then I went home, and my grandmother told me what happened. She refused to use the word dead. Or died. She just told people that Delaney went to fly. And then the house was suddenly quiet. Empty. My grandmother getting worse. And…”
Josh choked on his words.
He looked down at my hand holding his.
He smiled.
“Then there was you, love,” he whispered. “This beautiful girl out of nowhere always pulling me back from the fire.”
“Josh, what you did for me…”
He lifted our hands and kissed the back of mine.
He pulled his hand free and walked away.
I watched as he threw the bottle back and chugged the rest of his beer.
He placed the bottle on the counter and went to the fridge for another one.
He stood with his back to me.
My mouth started to run dry. I ached for him. In so many ways.
“You saved my life," I said. “What you did for me. You saved me. Even though things didn't work out. And I understand why they didn't work out. I loved you, Josh.”
“That fixes nothing,” he said.
My lip curled.
I moved across the cool, hard floor of the apartment with a purpose.
I thought about grabbing his shoulder and trying to turn him around. But that wouldn't work. Josh was too big and strong. But I hated to feel weak. I wasn’t weak.
At the last second, I made my move.
I jumped on his back.
Josh barely moved.
He reached forward and put his beer down.
“Amelia…”
“Shut up,” I growled. “I’m so sorry for what you lost. And what you went through. And what happened to you. It’s not right. It’s not right at all.” I slid my right hand down his chest. “But I’m here. I’m here, Josh.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting into here,” he said. “The story never ends.”
“It’s not supposed to. We’re still writing it.”
“Don’t get all cliché on me, love. It's only going to piss me off.”
I hung from Josh’s back in a playful and flirty way. But the feeling of my legs around him, the pulsing ache between my legs controlling my thoughts, I was in big trouble.
“Then maybe you should make me be quiet,” I said.
That was just as cliché as the other thing I said.
Josh stepped back until my ass hit the counter. He bent his knees and made me sit on it. He unlocked my grip on his shoulder and chest.
He spun around and faced me.
Without hesitation, he cupped my face with his strong and protective hands.
My hands touched his hands.
I lost my breath.
My lips parted, looking for air.
Josh moved in and kissed me.
Slightly turning his head, not just kissing me but kissing me.
His tongue swept across my lips and the tip of my tongue. I instantly bit down, not sure why, but managed to grab his bottom lip. My hands went for the top of his jeans and pulled him closer to me. I wanted to feel him.
Josh carefully tilted my head back, commanding me with his hands.
I managed to let out a soft groan as I stared up at the ceiling.
His lips touched my neck and I felt myself turning into a puddle.
I was helpless to his touch.
His tongue wrote something from one side of my neck to the other, but I had no idea what it was. What I did know was that between my legs, I felt swollen and ready for him.
I started to lean back, ready for him to take me right there on the kitchen counter.
Josh made a quick move and pulled me from the counter against his body.
I wrapped my legs around him.
He put me at eye level.
I then took my turn and cupped his face.
Feeling the scruff.
Tasting his breath.
His eyes battling with mine.
“Say something,” I whispered.
“You really want to hear something?”
“Yes. Please…”
Josh then said something I never expected to hear.
“… if there’s a chance to love you, I’d risk my life. If I could find the right words, I would repeat them every day until I could no longer speak. If I could just touch you… to know I feel whole…”
He kissed me and walked toward his bed.
Those words… perfectly spoken.
Just like in the letter to Delilah.
Which meant…
The letter to Delilah was written by Josh.
I gasped as Josh put me down on his bed.
I looked into his eyes and saw that he was vulnerable.
Maybe I should have stopped him right there before things got too crazy.
But I didn’t.
The vulnerability made him sexier, if that were possible.
My hands clawed at the back of his shirt, giving the silent order that it needed to come off. Which it did as he stood up and ripped it over his head. I bit my lip as my eyes scrambled to see, memorize, and lock every inch of his cut body into my memory for personal use only.
In a daring move, Josh fell to his knees, hitting the floor with a thud.
I jumped up on my elbows and watched with my jaw dropped as he eased his hands under my shirt and inched it up. Then his hands kept going, leaving my shirt where it was. His big, artist hands crested the swell of my breasts, over my bra, still strong, yet soothing. He squeezed hard enough to make me moan. But my breath was quickly stolen when I felt his lips touch my belly. I wanted to gasp, but the sound was inaudible. The flicker of his tongue against my skin m
ade me shiver. He kissed a few inches up and then decided to playfully draw a straight line down my body. He was stopped by the top of my jeans. As I started to move my hands, needing to give him everything I had to offer, his hands moved faster.
I managed to look down and I watched as he opened my jeans. His fingertips then played along the inside of the top of my panties. Gently tracing from hip to hip, leaving a warm torture spreading between my legs. The desire and the ache came together, the years of thinking and maybe even waiting, all building to this moment.
Josh must have known it too because he moved his hands to my hips and curled his fingers tightly around both my panties and my jeans. He paused long enough to look at me. There was a slight curl to his lip. He was my protector. My fierce protector. Who looked mean and pissed off, but that made me feel comfortable.
“Josh…”
I found a letter. I think you wrote it. To someone named Delilah. Someone that you obviously love. So why are you…
Josh pulled and lowered his mouth down to my lower belly.
I cried out and lifted my hips, letting him slide my panties and jeans down my body. His hands kept going, all the way down to my ankles, stripping my clothes off. His kisses were soft and caring as he moved toward my left thigh. I shivered and fought back the urge to laugh from the ticklish feeling that went through me.
Then his hands returned, touching just inside my knees. He gently parted my legs and moved his hands up, sliding along warm skin, seeking out even warmer skin.
I swallowed hard and rocked my hips forward, wanting him.
In another bout of cliché things to think or say, I wanted his tongue to be the paintbrush and my body to be the canvas.
I blushed at the thought, but that’s where this was going.
I bit my lip again as the fingertips of his right hand touched my folds. He made a wide, circular motion, spreading me open. There was no hiding how ready I was for him. The sound of his fingers against my honey echoed around us. He slid his fingers up and over my mound. His thumb trailed, peeling me open, gently rubbing my clit, forcing me to groan with the desperate need of relief.
“You’re so fucking perfect, love,” he whispered, his breath against my inner thigh.
A Letter to Delilah Page 20
