by S. L. Scott
“I didn’t realize your mom kept your truck,” I say.
“She didn’t have to,” he says, starting the engine. He drives across the property as if he never left. “She even takes her out for monthly drives.”
“I once saw it driving through town. Figured I must have been seeing things.”
He smiles, but it slips away when his eyes spot the lake ahead. Shifting the truck into park, he rests his arms on top of the steering wheel. “Wow, it’s exactly the same.”
The lake doesn’t get the same attention from me since he’s stolen all of mine. He turns to me, catching my eyes on him. Looking content, he says, “Hi.”
Jason’s sweet enough not to embarrass me. “Hi.”
“You were staring.” Okay, maybe he’s not so sweet, calling me out.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like when you look at me.” My cheeks heat because he not only likes me looking at him, but he noticed me staring. I open the door, needing to get out of the close confines of the cab of his truck. Before I can climb out, he calls, “Hey, you’re making me look bad. Stay there.” He hops out and runs around. Offering me a hand to get out, he stands close, not leaving much room between us.
Though I accept the offer, I say, “You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
When my feet land on the ground, we release our hands. He’s quick to shove his in his pockets. “You were always very independent, so I know you can take care of yourself. But no matter how independent you are or how many years have passed between us from then to now, I will always worry about you, Delilah.”
My racing heart calms as if I was tucked under his arms like I used to be. It’s wrong, and my head is swimming in confusion, but it feels good to feel cared for again.
9
Delilah
Staring.
I’m staring at him again. The way his muscles work fluidly together, the veins popping out with the least bit of effort he puts into a task.
His arms . . . they’re better than any porn I can imagine.
Jason Koster was always gorgeous. Tall, dark, and handsome was envious of what that man possessed. His body is hard, the fittest I’ve ever seen him, and he was fit when he played football. But this is different. This peak physical perfection makes me even more curious how he stays in shape, and why to this degree. “Do you still play football?”
He stops and stomps a plank of the dock with his heel. When he glances up, he replies, “No. Billy and I have tossed the ball around a bit, but that’s all really.”
“You got a tattoo.” I eye the design on the underside of his arm. I move closer and reach out, unable to resist the urge to touch him. I’m quick to run my fingertips over the ink but realize I’ve crossed a line I shouldn’t have. When I start to pull back, he covers my hand with his.
My heart rate kicks up, and my breathing quickens. I stare at our hands when he says, “Two years ago . . .” He pauses. Releasing me, he takes a deep breath. “It’s a design I saw graffitied under a bridge in Seattle. I took a pic. I wish I knew the artist so I could show them.”
“Why did you choose that design?”
“It spoke to me. If you look closely, the detailing of the clouds mixed with the darker sky. Blurring the night with the day.” He shakes his head gently. “Can the light fight the dark? Can it survive?”
“Is that how you feel? Are you surviving the dark?”
He asks, “Right now? I’m living. For the first time in a long time, I’m living.”
“That’s surviving.” Looking satisfied, he comes back to me . . . back to me . . . and stares deep into my eyes. I can’t look away, especially when a smile crosses those full lips. “Can I have the blanket, Delilah?”
His request snaps me back to reality, and my eyebrows shoot straight up. “Oh, yeah, sure. Here.” I shove the blanket I was holding like a lifeline into his hard, brick-like abs. Peeking down, I can see the muscle beneath the button-up shirt, that six-pack calling my attention right to it.
With the blanket bunched in his arms, his eyes lower to my lips before he leans forward. “Oh my God, are you going to kiss me?”
He chuckles. “I was going to cover you back up since I saw goose bumps on your arms.”
Heat blooms through my chest and starts covering my cheeks. “Of course,” I say, shaking my head. “I was kidding.”
With the blanket wrapped around me again, he whispers, “Did you think I was going to kiss you?”
Still mortified, I jerk my head back. “No!” Yes. “Not at all.” Oh, my God! This is so humiliating. I was going to let him. Not just let him but kiss him back. I know I was. Oh, good gracious. Desperate much? Yes, I sure am.
I walk around him and point at the dock like that is actually going to deflect the shame creeping across my skin in a fiery, blotchy haze. “Is the dock safe?”
Staring. He’s staring again. “Yeah.” He chuckles when he speaks. “It needs a little work, some planks replaced sooner than later, but for tonight, as long as we don’t jump up and down on it, it’s good to go.”
I’m not even cold. It’s just him causing these goose bumps. I toss him the blanket and watch as he spreads it across the planks. Grabbing the picnic basket from the truck, I can’t believe I almost kissed Jason Koster. That is, if he would have kissed me. The man is magnetic, and I’m weak to his pull. Will this never change? Even after he broke my heart?
Reaching in after me, he grabs a small cooler and a few pillows, and follows me to the dock.
The scene is set, the sun going down. The cicadas get louder as early evening rolls into twilight. He’s thought of everything, including wine. I pull the containers out of the basket as he fills two glasses with Sauvignon blanc. He’s pleasantly surprising me. “I’ll admit, Koster, I expected beer, but you went all out.”
“I wanted to.”
I pause midair with a large container in my hands as his tone draws my attention. “Why?”
I’m not granted his warmth, but he does seem to struggle to keep his gaze on the glasses in front of him instead of on me. “Do you like chicken salad?”
He may have avoided the question, but I don’t point it out. “You know I love it.”
With a nod, a rogue grin spreads on his face, and he finally looks up. With the sunset caught in his eyes, they shine with that light that used to live there. “My mom taught me how to make her recipe. She makes the best with grapes and celery.”
“She always did. She’s a wonderful woman, Jason.”
He takes a baguette from the basket and rips it in half. “She says the same about you.”
The compliment makes me smile, but the baguette fascinates me. “Where did you get that? I know Smally’s Grocers doesn’t sell French bread.”
He glances up, his darker eyelashes highlighting the golden centers of his eyes. “I ran over to Kerbyville. They have a bakery this side of downtown.”
“That’s forty-five minutes away.” I’m not so much asking a question as questioning why he drove so far.
Returning to the bread, he shrugs and hands me half. “It was the closest bakery.”
“But it’s bread.”
“You don’t like it?” He rips his piece lengthwise.
I struggle to comprehend why he would drive two towns over for specialty bread. “I love it. I just . . . you really didn’t have to go to this much trouble, Jason.”
“I had some time to kill this afternoon.” He takes the lid off the container of chicken salad and then spoons some into the crevice of the loaf. “Did you know Smally sold the store?”
Smiling, I reply, “Yes, I live here. It was big news when he announced it. Raina Smith and her fourth husband bought it a few years back after promising Smally they’d keep the name.”
“It is a legend around here.”
“Well, Raina’s fifth husband disagrees, but I heard she filed for divorce last week, so he won’t have a say anyway.”
He laughs. “Wo
w, she’s only in her fifties.”
“She brags she’s had one husband for each decade of her life.” I laugh now, feeling silly talking about this.
He chuckles, and it’s a good laugh. The sound is a trigger of happier times in my life. I split my bread, and he spoons the salad inside, silence seeping in. I notice how his eyes take in the area as if he’s scanning more than casually looking around.
“It hasn’t changed at all out here,” he finally says.
“The whole world seems to except this little plot of land, which forever remains unchanged.”
“I like it. It’s exactly how I remember.” I look up when I feel his gaze lay heavy on me. “You haven’t changed either,” he adds.
My head lowers, and I feel self-conscious. I hate that my cheeks heat under the most innocent of comments. It’s been a long time since I’ve been complimented. Setting my sandwich down, I tug at my skirt with one hand and pick up my wine with the other. A single finger touches the base of my chin and lifts it up. “I like seeing your eyes and your sweet face.”
“I don’t feel so sweet these days.”
His hand returns to his side of the blanket, though there doesn’t appear to be defined lines with my legs stretched over to his side and the arm supporting his weight on my side. “Can I ask you something, Delilah?”
I know what it is. It’s always the same. People are baffled with how I ended up with my boyfriend’s best friend. Gullible. Naïve. I was so stupid. Something about Cole or the divorce.
Coming out on the other side of this nightmare I survived, I see how he twisted the truth and made me believe I wasn’t good enough to hold on to Jason’s love, to keep his attention when he would soon be surrounded by so many girls and then the NFL would call. I stood no chance at all. Sabrina taught me that jealousy makes women vicious. I’d be an embarrassment on his arm. My accent would be mocked. He’d eventually see what he could have would be better than what he had at home.
Cole did a number on my head, which destroyed my heart. I don’t understand why Jason is back, but I can’t deny I still have feelings for him. Does one ever get over their first love?
“God, I’m the most boring person ever, Jason. What could you possibly want to know about me?”
“Why are you still here?”
Easy. “I live on the farm.” I have nowhere else to go . . . not an easy thing to admit, not even to myself.
“No, why are you still in Solace Pointe?”
I take a sip of wine, the cool liquid counteracting the heat of the evening. I like how I feel less pressure with a little wine in me, more relaxed, or maybe it’s that Jason puts me at ease. He used to. I never had to be on guard with him.
Not like with Cole.
Cole made sure I stayed on my toes, and the few unfortunate times I forgot that lesson, I paid the price.
“It’s complicated,” I reply.
“I have the time.”
With the food forgotten, he settles in as if this story is worth his full attention. “It’s not exciting.”
“I’ve had enough excitement. Now I want to hear about you.”
I want to redirect the conversation away from me, but I have a feeling he’s much better at this game than I am. He always did make me feel important, until the end when I didn’t understand where I stood with him. “When my dad died, he left the farm and all fifty acres to my sister and me. The hard work he put into keeping the farm was what killed him. I wish I would have known that he was working so hard to get out of debt.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Your father was a good man. I know he thought hard work was the answer to everything.”
“He had to let everyone go, and after that, he struggled to keep up with the crops. We inherited that debt, and now I struggle to keep up.” Pointing across the property, I add, “We only have two working plots left. The others have gone to weeds.”
“We?”
“Shelby and I. Oh, and Billy. He helps us more than he should.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to get my sister and him to go on a blind date.” My giggle bubbles up. Damn wine. Damn Jason for treating me like I’m still cherished.
“I don’t think that’s how blind dates work. They’ve known each other their whole lives.”
“They still see the gawky sides of each other,” I start, my excitement to hook them up taking over my voice. “They need to see each other the way they are now. It’s been a few years.”
He finishes his sandwich and leans back on one elbow, facing me. “Where is Shelby?”
“After college, she went to New York City. We thought she was starting her career, but what she ended up doing was saving the farm.”
“How so?”
“Although the debt was overdue, the bank gave us a five-year extension to pay it off. Kindness of a small-town farmer’s credit union. We have one year left. She works and pays money toward the loan.” The burden that weighs down on me returns. “I can’t bear to lose it, so I gave up leaving to stay here and work it.”
“Is it what you want?”
“I used to. It gets really lonely, though.” I laugh humorlessly and then raise an eyebrow. “That’s not a hint, by the way.”
“I didn’t catch it if it was.”
“I have a feeling you don’t miss much.” I finish my wine. “Tell me about what you’ve been doing since I last saw you.”
“Hmm . . . the last time we saw each other was when you walked into Red River holding Cutler’s hand. That was all I needed to see. I knew right then that nothing was keeping me here anymore.”
Ouch. If he only knew the truth. I missed him so much that I ached inside as I withered away. It was easier to pretend I’d never experienced pure love than to experience the burn from it. My sister was so worried about me, but I still couldn’t bring myself to confess what was happening behind closed doors. The humiliation of them finding out the strong girl they once knew was weak.
And then Jason was gone. He disappeared into thin air, like the memories I held on to. I say, “Your mom was here.”
Lying all the way back, he rests his hands under his head and stares at the sky. “My mom can take care of herself.”
“I was here,” I whisper.
“You were being taken care of by somebody else.” He pauses and looks out at the water and away from me for too long. When he turns back, I see some of the pain I feel inside residing in his irises. “You weren’t mine, so I no longer had a right to care about you.”
You had already decided you were leaving whether I was with you or not. “And if I hadn’t been?”
“Then I would’ve had a reason to stay.”
What? He had been moving on. Without me. Even though Cole told me time and time again that Jason had moved on, should I have listened to my heart? Should I have known better and not allowed my pride to stop me from hearing Jason’s side of things? He needs to know that maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe he’d been under the wrong impression all along. “It wasn’t over for me, Jason. The night you saw us. It wasn’t over for me until he told me how you’d met someone over at State. God, I felt so foolish and hurt.”
“It was lies, Delilah,” he says without hesitation as if his heart were speaking the words. He sits up, his expression falling from the pain—at the outer corners of his eyes and the tips of his lips. “I loved you so fucking much. What did he tell you?”
What didn’t he tell me?
“Everything a best friend would know. He said you didn’t want me but didn’t know how to end it. How you . . .” I start to push up, to leave this discomfort, but he catches my hand.
“Please, Delilah. Tell me.”
I could say I’m staying for him, but that’s not the truth. I sit back down because I need to talk this through and get it off my chest. “I was used goods after dating you. Cole told me how everyone in town talked about me behind my back. Do you know what that would do to my father? Or how my mom would lose he
r circle of friends? I was destroyed after being with you, the has-been beauty queen.”
“You weren’t.” Caressing my cheek, he says, “You were per—”
“Cole said he’d love me,” I add, raising my chin and closing my eyes while moving out of the warmth of his touch. “He’d save my family the humiliation. He’d save my reputation, so I relented.” Images of him with other women shatter my thoughts and my heart once again. When I open my eyes, my gaze hardens as the pain comes back. “Looking back now, I can see how he got me at my weakest and took advantage. You were gone. I couldn’t think straight anymore. Shelby was graduating in another state. My parents had so many fights back then over the farm, me, my sister leaving. My world fell apart, and that’s when he talked me into marrying him.”
“God, no.” An emotional toll takes over his shoulders, and they sag. Scraping his fingers over his brow, he can’t even look at me. Just as I couldn’t look at myself back then. I was so weak. When he looks at me, shame still fills his body and his tone. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I failed you. I’m so fucking sorry, Delilah.”
His apologies stun me. I’m staring at the man I thought I’d marry, and now he’s sorry for everything. “You’re sorry?” I gulp down my pride, realizing how much I misjudged him.
“Yes. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Too much honesty and truth of emotion is shared. It will take time to process this, so I ramble to make it go away until I have time alone to figure out why he’s so sorry. “The county clerk was our witness. She took a call regarding an escaped bull on the highway in the middle of the ceremony. Cole thought I was crying from happiness, but I was devastated.”
“Why didn’t you call me, return my texts, or come see me? Why didn’t you want to hear my side of things?”
“I thought I had. He was your best friend, so I believed him. He had no reason to lie to me.”
“He had every fucking reason to lie to you because he was in love with you.”
“People respected Cole back then. I was the embarrassment to my family. Cole was a second chance instead of me being viewed as sloppy seconds.”
