by S. L. Scott
Love. Present tense. Shit. “Loved. Anyway, this is about you. He hit a woman you’ve been friends with for years.”
“Delilah’s forgiven me.”
“I haven’t.”
“Join the club, because I haven’t either.”
The car’s now too quiet and the memories too strong. “We should go.”
5
Jason
The love of my life has bounced around my head since the errant thought last night. The love of my life. The love of my life.
What the . . . No.
It makes no sense. I loved Delilah, but the love of my life? I’m twenty-five. I have a lot of life left to live. Am I sure that the love of my life is the same girl I started dating when I was seventeen? That seems like a stretch to my more logical side. Was my love for Delilah just teenage lust mixed with hormones? That makes more sense. Was she never meant to be my one? Surely a man as cold and ruthless as I am now doesn’t get to have a one.
That thought mixed with the pouring rain has really put a damper on my day.
Sundays are supposed to be lazy days, but I’m not used to sitting around. I only bought supplies to fix the issues out back, so by four o’clock I’m going stir-crazy. Standing abruptly, I accidentally scare my mom in the process. She jumps, her book flying from her hands. “What are you doing?” she asks, holding her heart.
“I’m going for a ride.”
Turning behind her, she looks out the window, then turns back. “It’s pouring out there.”
“I’m used to riding in all kinds of weather.”
“I don’t want you getting sick, Jason.”
“I won’t. I just need to burn off some of this energy. I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing.”
She’s staring at me with concern written through the soft lines of her face. “You can relax here, son.”
My shoulders drop some of the burden they were holding. “I know. I’m just going to go for a ride.” Working all those years for my last boss, hanging around, watching, you would think I got used to being still. Patient. But not here. My mind is active. On alert like I’m still on someone’s payroll. I don’t feel like I’m home. Not like I used to. I need something to alleviate the restlessness in my veins. I need out. Fresh air. Space.
“Okay. Will you be home for dinner?”
“I’m not sure. Don’t wait for me. I can always make a sandwich when I’m back.”
“All right.” She’s done trying to convince me, and I appreciate the space she’s giving. Kicking her feet on the coffee table, she opens her book again. “Be careful. Those curves get dangerous when wet.”
“I will be.”
I slip on my leather jacket and tighten the laces on my black shoes before starting the Harley. The loud muffler is a musical masterpiece, owning the chorus of the road while I ride.
The thing about small towns is they’re small. There aren’t a lot of places to get away from it all unless you find a cranny down by the river to hide inside. Or you own property that doesn’t back up to the main roads. No, privacy isn’t a specialty of small towns, so I decide it’s time to stop hiding and show up to make my presence known. With my chest puffed out and my emotional armor in place, I drive straight to the Noelle farm.
I even rev the engine when I drive up the dirt driveway as if to prove some point I’ve already forgotten.
Never expected her to be outside. I should have. She always loved rainy days. The bike is stopped before I take a good long look at her on that front porch.
Delilah Rae Noelle looks younger than her years. Always did, but damn, if seeing her now doesn’t make a million memories come back as if they were yesterday.
Her hair is twisted on top of her head, but that strawberry-blond hair still shines. She moves to the railing, leaning against it as if she sees me every damn day. Even from here I can see that sparkle in her blue eyes, an expectation I always hoped I could fulfill when she looked at me. I would have done anything for her.
Except the one time I didn’t think twice, never thought of her or how my choices would affect us. I was selfish, but I’ve learned a lot since then. I’m curious if she still smells of vanilla, so I run my fingers through my hair hoping to tame what must look a mess from the rain and riding.
I take a deep breath when I see her smile and wave at me like we’re old friends. Not what I expected.
I cut the engine and swing my leg off the bike. I shove my hands into the pockets of my wet leather jacket and start walking. When I reach the bottom of her steps, just four dividing us, I grab the railing. It needs a good paint job and it’s unstable. I add it to my list of tasks to take care of, though I know good and well taking care of her isn’t my job any longer.
Three years is a long damn time not to see the beauty that stands before me. Not even knowing why I’m here, I say, “Hi,” to see where it leads.
She rocks back on her bare feet, and smiles so wide the rain has trouble hiding her sunshine. “What took you so long?”
“I got here as fast as I could.” I take another step up and she turns as if I’m welcome on that rickety old porch of hers. “With a few minor detours along the way.”
“I’d say.”
I cover the last two steps, which leaves only a few feet between us. Leaning against the railing, she says, “I never thought I’d see you again, but here you are looking like all sorts of trouble in all black.”
“I like your dress.”
Her cheeks pinken like the color of my mom’s roses in her backyard. “Well, are you gonna give me a proper hello, Jason Koster, or are we going to pretend like we never danced in the moonlight?”
There’s my Delilah.
He didn’t destroy her.
“No pretending over here.” I go to her and wrap my arms around her, my eyes closing, my senses on high alert. She always awakened all of me, my whole body responding to her. Vanilla with a hint of orange.
Damn, she smells good. Like home.
She’s just not my home to lay claim to anymore.
I feel her cheek rub against my neck before she lowers back on her feet and our arms return to our sides. Her eyes are cast down when she steps back. I want to lift her chin, to touch her again just to feel the surge through my body, but I don’t.
When she finally looks up, she asks, “I heard you were back. What brings you around?”
Gossip. It spreads as fast as a phone call in this town.
I rest my shoulder against the column. “Figured I should since rumors were going to be spread anyway.”
“So you came by to nip it in the bud or to start the mill spinning?”
The right side of my mouth lifts. “Maybe a little of both.”
She smiles, but it falls quicker than it appeared. Her eyes are set on her toes, a dark pink dotting the nails of each. “You know, Cole’s going to hear about this.” The change is fast, her sunshine gone. Does she fear Cutler finding out that I visited?
“Not if you don’t tell him.”
Her gaze flashes to mine. “I don’t talk to him unless I’m court ordered.”
“What kind of court is ordering you to talk to him?”
The rain has become the most fascinating thing again when she turns away and reaches out to catch a few drops. “You’ve been gone a long time. I think you’ve forgotten what it’s like living here.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I reach out and take her hand in mine, bringing it under the shelter of the roof. Tapping the water that pooled in her palm, I say, “Maybe you can remind me.”
She pulls her hand away, the rain falling to the wood floor. As if she caught herself in a compromising position, she backs away from me and gives me a cold shoulder. “You know,” she starts, staring out over the long drive up to the house. “It was good to see you, Jason, but I think it’s best if you go.”
One second.
Two.
Three.
“Why?” What just happened?
Her smile is gone and an un
familiar sadness creeps onto her face. She lowers her head for the third time in the last few minutes and it’s wrong. All wrong on her. She moves across the porch, opens the screen door, and steps inside. “It’s getting late.”
Before it has a chance to slam closed, I catch it. “Talk to me, Delilah.”
I see her chest rise and fall with a heaviness that wasn’t there in the lighthearted moment shared a minute earlier. “Don’t say my name like that, Jason.”
“Like what?”
“Like you still care.”
“I do,” I reply too quick to replace it with the lie I should have told.
“Then don’t.” She tugs the screen door and I let go, letting it slam shut. “I think it’s best if you don’t visit me again.” She moves into the darkness of her house and the front door is closed.
One lock.
Two locks.
One chain slides into place.
I’m tempted to ring the doorbell, but I’m in so much shock by the turn in her demeanor.
I mount my bike and start it, but before I drive away, I glance back at the house. She’s quick to hide to the side of the window, but not before I caught her spying on me. What’s going on? Why the sudden change?
Per her request, I leave. I’m over being wet and the path to her farmhouse will become a mud pit if I don’t get out of here soon. I maneuver around the watery potholes on my way to the street. Once I’m on pavement again, I take off like I have someplace I’m supposed to be. I don’t. I have nowhere.
I think it’s time to start mapping out a plan. I have about a week’s worth of stuff to do around my mom’s house and then what? Where do I want to go? What do I want to do?
Jobs found me during the last three years. After landing in LA, I was spotted by a scout at the beach working out. Boom. I was hired for stunt work. Then an actor I met on set. We grabbed a few beers, and partied together on the regular. He made a few headlines around Hollywood and asked me to cover him. The money was good, but then I was a free agent and scooped up by referral by a visiting dignitary.
I liked working in the private sector with my last boss, but almost getting killed several times over wasn’t fantastic. It’s not bad to just hang around a bit and work on things that don’t have me sleeping with one eye open.
Skidding to a stop to test the brakes of this bike, I arrive at my mom’s still hell-bent out of shape over that farewell. I dash inside and shake my jacket off just inside the kitchen door. My mom comes around the corner with two towels. “Looks like the rain won this round.”
“I wasn’t in the mood to fight.” With Delilah, but I let it reside as if that response fits her comment.
“Take your shoes off and let them dry out here. I’ll hang your jacket in the laundry room. Go change and bring me these wet clothes. I’ll wash them.”
Toeing off one of my shoes, I look up at her. “You don’t have to wait on me like I’m a kid.”
“You don’t have to be so resistant to help. We all need it every now and again.”
“Is this really about clothes? I have a feeling it’s not.”
She takes my shoes and moves them off to the side of the door. “Everything I say doesn’t have to mean more than the words I choose.”
“Fine.” I strip off my wet shirt and cut through the kitchen to the laundry room to dump it into the washer. “You were actually talking to me about wet clothes.” I strip off my soaked socks and add them in too. I pass back through the kitchen and head for my room.
“Jason? What’s wrong?”
I shut my door and strip the rest of my wet clothes off and pull on some pajama pants and a T-shirt I yank from the closet. When I return to put the rest of my wet clothes in the laundry room, I pass my mom as she sips a glass of tea. Her eyes follow me, but she doesn’t say another word.
When I return, I do. “She told me not to come visit her anymore and shut the door in my face. Is that what you want to hear?”
Her glass is set down and she looks at me. Really looks at me—right in the eyes. “No, that makes me sad to hear. I’m sorry.”
Leaning back against the opposite counter, I sigh. “You don’t have to be. I wasn’t planning on staying long. Just long enough to help you out, and then I’ll be out of your hair again. Delilah obviously wants nothing to do with me now, so she can go about her life like I never stopped by.”
She crosses the small kitchen and hugs me, resting her head on my shoulder. “I don’t want you out of my hair, Jason. I like you being home. I miss you and wish I saw you more, not less.”
I lean down and look at my mom. She’s always been so strong—a single mother since my dad died when I was five. Working full-time, even if it took two jobs to get the hours. Never missed a Friday night game of mine—whether home or away.
She’s the one person who would be most disappointed to know the depths I’ve sunk during the time away. Somehow, even with mother’s intuition, she hasn’t seen the black of my soul. She’s looked past the dead in my eyes, in my heart, that allowed me to do my job—and do it well—for the last few years.
Detachment was key. When I finally thought I could befriend someone, it put them at risk. Is it safe to attach myself now—to her again, to this town and the people here with so much unsettled? “I’m not running out the door. Not yet anyway. But I’m not feeling like I can stay much longer either.”
“I’ll take what I can get. Or I’ll bake your favorite cake to tempt you to stay.”
Embracing her again, I say, “I never could resist your chocolate cake.”
“Good. Now that it’s settled and you’re going to stick around a bit, can I get you something to eat?”
“I’d like that.”
“Head into the living room and find us something to watch tonight.”
I do as I’m told and settle on the couch. As I flip through the stations, my eyes keep shifting to the right, straight to that prom picture. When everyone looks dated and awful, there’s Delilah Noelle looking gorgeous even in her sister’s hand-me-down prom dress. I get up and set the frame face down and return to the couch. Continuing through the channels, I stop when I reach a Marvel movie.
The problem is I’m still too distracted. I’d like to blame the frame but I know it doesn’t matter whether I can see the photo or not; that woman is ingrained in my brain.
I get up once more and position the frame the way it was before and return to the couch just as my mom comes in with a plate of snacks. Glancing between the photo and me, she’s about to say something, but I cut her off before she has a chance, “Just let it go, okay?”
She sets the plate down on the coffee table, and says, “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
I look up with raised eyebrows, contesting that last statement with just a look.
Rolling her eyes, she confesses, “Fine. But I’ll wait until tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m talking about the snacks.”
“Oh,” she says, then laughs. “You’re welcome for that, too.”
God, I love my mom.
6
Jason
Five days after being back and I’m already feeling like I could hang around a little longer. Sure, Delilah has kept her distance, and I’ve kept mine, but it’s been nice working around the house during the day and kicking it at night with Billy. I haven’t felt as restless. Working with my hands has been calming on my mind. It keeps my attention focused on the task at hand instead of the million angles that someone might be playing to feed their greed.
I’ve managed to avoid Cole Cutler, thank fuck, our schedules running opposite so far. The evening starts off easy—catching up with McGilley while Billy keeps the tab open. I’ve never been one for loose lips, but the easy nature of being parked on a barstool like the guys have for the last four or five years, I find myself talking about some of my adventures, leaving the illegal parts out.
The door swings open, and I hear a f
ew guys call his name, “Cutler.”
I’m tempted to turn and look when the conversation goes quiet, but I keep my focus on the half-full pint glass in front of me. One by one, he greets the guys and then he’s behind me. Billy says, “There’s a free stool at the other end of the bar. I reckon it would be best if you take a seat down there, Cutler.”
Cutler ignores him, his eyes already burning a hole in the back of my head. “Well. Well. Wellllll. If it ain’t the great number eight himself, Jason Koster.” His hand lands hard on my shoulder, and he squeezes.
Cracking my neck to the opposite side, I pick up my glass and down a swig or two before turning and looking back over my shoulder. “Cutler. It’s been a while.”
“Sure has.” He slides in on the other side of me and pats the bar. McGilley already has a pint ready and sets it down. “On them,” he tells him. With a fake smile plastered on his face, he leans closer. “Here to visit your mom? Your girl? What dragged your sorry ass back to town?”
“Here we go,” Billy says. “Cool it, Cutler. We’re just catching up on old times here.”
Bopping his head, he adds. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t have the girl. She’s mine.”
“Not from what I’ve gathered.”
Cutler asks, “What did you say, Koster?”
Turning to Cutler for the first time, I look him dead in the eyes. “I said, not from what I’ve gathered.”
My shoulder is shoved, but I catch myself before I fall. Billy is on his feet and pushing Cutler back against his protests. “Get off me. Fucking assholes.” He shrugs out of Billy’s hold, giving up the fight before it ever really began. Sneering at him, he spits, “Where’s your loyalty, Langston? Or are you brainwashed into bowing down to this fucker, too?”
His insults don’t hurt me. Him breaking bro code pisses me off. “Loyalty. What do you know about loyalty?”
“Let’s take this outside, Koster.”
McGilley adds, “Yes, take it outside, boys.”
After finishing my beer, I slide off the barstool and head for the door. The bell above the door rings as I walk out. Moving down the sidewalk, I hear them behind me but move to the corner before turning around. A calm I’ve come to expect washes through me. My hands fist and release. Fist and release. I’ve wondered many times if I’ve become desensitized to violence, almost looking forward to it. Release.
