Finding Solace: A Small Town Second Chance Romance

by S. L. Scott

  At my weakest, Cole pursued me. He’d turn up every day to spend time with me, to help a friend he’d said. And when I saw Jason at Red River just before he left again for college, I didn’t know how to understand the look in his eyes. He’d looked angry with me and definitely with Cole. But I remember what I felt that night. I’d been just as angry. By then, Cole had told me story after story of all the women Jason had been with on every visit to other campuses. He’d told me about the many crude jokes he’d heard Jason say about me when out drinking with the guys.

  Were they all lies? And if so, why had I been so stupid and naïve to believe him?

  Because I’d been devastated. I’d believed he was leaving me and heading off to his world, a world I had no place in.

  “Cole was a force to be reckoned with. He played upon my insecurities until I couldn’t see anything beyond the lies he was feeding me. I owe Jason an apology.” My swallow is heavy like my heart as I think about how I hurt him.

  Sitting up, Lorraine pats my back. “If I still know Jason at all, I have a feeling he doesn’t want or need an apology.”

  “What does he want?”

  “The same thing he always needed. You.”

  “Can I be what he needs, what he deserves now? Am I stronger?” After last night, I think I am.

  “Strength is found in the ashes of the fire. You’ve been burned, but you must rise because there’s so much life ahead of you to live. Wouldn’t it be nice to share that life with someone who cares for you so deeply?”

  Pushing off the concrete steps, she takes the watering can from me in one hand. With her other, she covers her chest. “Trust what’s in here, Delilah.” Then she adds, “Paul is in the back quarter if you’re looking for him,” before she disappears behind the house.

  Lorraine has never needed to fill her days with a lot of chatter. I think the love she feels for life is fulfilling enough. Her thoughts aren’t veiled. She always makes her views heard.

  I screwed up four years ago, and it cost me the future I once dreamed of. I won’t make that mistake again. I stand and head for the field to find Paul and get an update on the farm.

  Freshly showered after a long day of hard work, I’m baking with my robe on. I put the cobbler in the oven and return to the bedroom to get ready. I’ve timed things perfectly and am dressed when the timer goes off. Dashing into the kitchen, I hit the button to turn it off and set the cobbler on the stovetop while I gather my purse and slip on my shoes.

  With one final once-over in the mirror and a big smile in place, I’m ready to go. My shoes clack against the hardwood floors, making me wonder how long it’s been since I wore heels of any sort. A while. When I turn the corner, my feet halt under the arch in the kitchen.

  What the hell?

  I watch in horror as he scoops cobbler onto a plate, frozen to the spot.

  16

  Delilah

  “What are you doing here, Cole?” I ask, gripping the corner of the wall next to me. Officially, he’s been out of my life for two months. He finally left—coerced not willingly—about fourteen months ago, but I had only really begun to feel safe since the divorce. For such a long time, I’d locked my doors at night. I had looked over my shoulder more times than I could count, and even now, hearing a man yell makes me shudder in fear. But now he’s on my turf, somewhere he most definitely has no business being, and I am pissed.

  The metal feet of the chair screech against the floor, and he makes himself at home. Not sure how to approach the bomb—ready to blow at all times—I watch as he shovels a big bite of the cobbler in his mouth before he looks up. His eyes are the color of faded blue jeans that have seen better days. “I’m eating. You always did make the best cobbler.”

  “You would know,” I smart back, my better sense forgotten.

  “What does that mean?”

  I debate on holding my tongue, but I never did abide by his rules. Most of the problems in our relationship can be summed up in that confession. “Means you were eating cobbler all over town and not caring that I knew.”

  The vein in his forehead becomes prominent in his anger.

  Stage one.

  His spoon hits the dish, clanging to the table. “You and that mouth of yours—”

  “Are none of your concern anymore. I want you to leave.” We stare at each other for what feels like minutes. It’s seconds, but time with him always did drag, so I add, “Right now.”

  He stands, the veins in his neck coming out to play.

  Stage two.

  I remember the stages well. They were ticking time bombs leading to the finale—an explosion where I suffered the consequences.

  The pop of cracking knuckles.

  Stage three.

  I have to stand my ground, or he’ll come back. The rubber soles of his shoes stick to the linoleum as he walks, the sound ominous in his approach.

  My breath shallows, but I won’t cower.

  “Delilah Rae Cutler. That’s my fucking name on the end of yours, meaning you. Are. Mine. Always mine.”

  Stage four.

  I flinch when his hands come at me. When I’m not hurt or hit, I open my eyes and realize I’m caged by his body, his expression laden with disgust as he snarls at me. “What do you know about Jason Koster being back in town?”

  My silence must be telling, my body trembling, my breathing staggered. My throat closes in on me. He grabs my jaw as soon as I turn away and forces me to look at him. I press my hands against him and push, but his hold on me tightens, the taste of blood coating my mouth. When my eyes begin to water, he steps back and sits down to eat more cobbler.

  Don’t cower.

  “Leave, Cole.”

  “Stay away from him, Delilah.”

  My heartbeat picks up, the fear I felt when I first found him in here returning and shrouding my bravery. “Don’t tell me what to do.” My voice sounds meek, and I hate it. I hate him. “We aren’t married, and this is not your home. You need to leave right now.”

  Grabbing his chest over his heart, he fakes offense. “Oh, that hurt, but you know what will hurt more?”

  His questions are all leading, and I don’t respond. He never expects an answer anyway. He’s way too impressed with himself to let me actually guess. “You,” he replies. “You will hurt. Stay away from him. That’s your only warning.”

  That’s when his gaze travels over me. “Why are you dressed like that?” I refuse to give him any part of me. When I don’t reply, he adds, “You look like a whore.”

  “Get out.”

  Laughing, he stands and grabs his plate. Tossing it into the sink, the sound of shattering ceramic fills the space. “Oops. Tastes like shit, anyway.” He grabs his hat off the table and kicks the screen door open to leave. The new dent in the metal is seen before it slams closed after him.

  I grab my keys from the hook, the only weapon I have within reach, then listen until I hear his truck roar away from the house.

  I’m safe.

  Leaning against the wall, I try to calm down.

  I’m safe.

  Looking at the dessert from here, I feel tears spring to my eyes. I no longer have a dessert to take, but I know my makeup is ruined as well. As much as those should worry me more, it’s not my biggest concern. We can live without dessert, and I can fix my makeup.

  But my dish. He knows this was my mother’s. I only have a few pieces left of the original set—thanks to my ex-husband—and now I’m down another dessert plate.

  I refuse to cry, despite the lump forming in my throat. He’s not worth shedding another tear over. The plate, yes, but there’s no point. I pick up the pieces carelessly and upset, but don’t see a sharp edge, which catches my finger. “Ow.” Blood pools at the tip, and when I look down, it’s deep enough for me to worry. Fuck. Fuck him. Why does he cause me so much pain? Why does he hate me so much?

  Holding my finger under cold water, I let the blood run down the drain and then wrap it in a paper towel. Taking a moment that I kno
w will make me late, I bandage the cut.

  And that’s when the anger takes over, dominating every other emotion as I grab my keys again to leave.

  Anger that he thinks he can come into my home.

  Anger that he thinks he can tell me what to do.

  Anger that he broke something precious to me.

  Anger that at one time, he broke me, and I’m still putting the pieces back together.

  Anger that I believed his lies.

  Anger that I have nothing to offer Jason and his mother tonight.

  Anger that I’m not stronger.

  My head throbs with the memories of being bent, my body curled over itself as my blood puddled on the bathroom floor.

  My naked body shakes uncontrollably as my mind returns to reality. This is my life; the life Cole allows me to live—bruised with fear owning my thoughts and now my body. Not again. I will never let him do this to me again. I push off the floor and avoid the mirror as I crawl through the house.

  Cole left. “Going drinkin’,” he’d said.

  I pull my purse from the kitchen counter, the contents falling onto the floor, including my phone. Scrambling for it, I dial the only number I know will keep this secret.

  “Are you calling me about the hash brown casserole?” He laughs. “You know I love your home cooking.”

  “Billy?”

  The laughter is gone from his voice in response to hearing mine. “Delilah? What’s wrong?”

  “I need help.”

  Billy bought me a gun, but can I use it? Will I?

  I didn’t even remember I had it tonight when confronted by that monster. What good will that do me? I go to the side table in the living room and open the drawer. This time, I load the bullets, one by one until all five chambers are full. I don’t touch the safety. I don’t like guns and had hidden my dad’s shotgun in the bedroom closet after he died. I know how to shoot, but I hope I don’t have to.

  I’m much calmer and run my hand over my hair, making sure it’s still in place. It’s a silly concern after what just happened, but I need to focus on taking one breath after the other and slowly pulling myself back together.

  With a clearer head, I think about grabbing something pre-made at the market, but I’m already running late, so I go empty-handed and hope I’m enough.

  Meredith opens the door before I have a chance to knock. “Delilah, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  We hug, and then she brings me inside, but I’m quick to pull my hand back when pain shoots through it.

  “Oh no, what happened?” she asks.

  “A little accident in the kitchen. I’ll be fine.”

  “Of course, I worry, but it looks like you did a good job of wrapping it. Jason’s grilling out back. Hope you’re hungry. He bought a ton of food today. I think he’s trying to impress you.”

  He already has, but his mother doesn’t need to hear me go on about her son. I smile when I see him. “Starved. I’m sorry I don’t have dessert like I promised. I burned it.”

  In the kitchen, she pulls out a bottle of white wine and holds it up. “I don’t need the calories anyway. But that’s not like you to burn food. You’re such a good cook. Everything okay?”

  “Just busy.” I hate lying. I really hate lying to her. She’s been so good to me, but Jason will lose it if he finds out that Cole was there. “I was distracted getting ready and didn’t hear the timer go off.”

  “No worries, dear.” She hands me a glass of wine. “You look very pretty. I know Jason is happy you’ll be here tonight, but I am, too.”

  “Can I help with anything?”

  “Absolutely not. You head on out and enjoy the evening. The lightning bugs are out tonight. There’s something so magical about them.”

  “Something so small but powerful enough to shine light through the dark is magical indeed.” I open the back door. “Call me if you need anything,” I add.

  “Go entertain my son. I’m almost done in here.”

  Giggling, I shut the door behind me and whistle at him. When he looks up, he says, “Are you catcalling my meat?”

  “You’ve got the best-looking meat around.”

  He takes me by the waist but moves around until my back is to his chest. Resting my head back, I close my eyes, savoring the stolen moment. He kisses my temple. “You don’t mind a little PDA in front of my mom, do you?”

  When I catch her spying on us, she’s quick to busy herself. “I adore your mom, but I don’t need witnesses.”

  Moving in front of me, he glances inside as if to check that the coast is clear and then back to me. “I told her about us.”

  “What did she say?”

  He chuckles. “I told you so.”

  “And what exactly did she tell you, Jason?”

  Leaning in, he rests his cheek against mine. “That my feelings aren’t one-sided,” he whispers.

  “What are you feeling?”

  “Everything. All at once. As if the world had dulled before you were back in my arms.”

  Swooning’s a thing, right? Because I totally do it. “You say the most amazing things to me.”

  “You’re amazing to me.” Sliding our hands to the side, he holds my waist with his other, and we start slow dancing even though there’s no music. “What’s with the bandage?”

  “Just a little cut. Nothing to worry about.”

  “It’s bleeding through. I’ll clean it for you.” He turns and closes the grill lid before we walk inside. “Mom, can you check on the fish?”

  “Got it handled, but you’re not going to be too long, are you?”

  He laughs, but I’m not amused. I swallow hard from what she must think we’re up to. “She thinks we’re going to have sex.”

  “But you notice she didn’t stop us?”

  I elbow him. “I don’t want her to think I would be disrespectful like that.”

  “We’ll be gone five minutes. No respectful man can make love to his woman in that amount of time.” Angling over his shoulder, he calls out, “I’m going to clean Delilah’s cut. We’ll be right back.”

  She doesn’t reply, but I’m laughing too hard to know for sure. I sit on the side of the tub while he digs under the sink. With a small first-aid kit, he sits on the toilet lid. “Let me see your finger.” He carefully unwraps the bandage. “How’d you do this? It’s pretty deep. Fortunately, you don’t need stitches, but it will leave a scar.”

  “I have plenty of those already. Most you just can’t see.”

  His eyes flash to mine momentarily, but he lets the comment slide. Shit. Shit. Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything. Cole’s earlier visit has knocked my thoughts off balance. I have to collect myself, especially around Jason. I look away to hide the truth from him.

  When my finger is rewrapped with clean cotton and tape, he kisses it. “All better?”

  I’m touched by the care he’s shown me. My heart’s beating a little faster, my chest a little heavier with happiness. When I finally gaze into the warmth of his eyes, I whisper, “All better.”

  Rubbing the sides of my legs, he smiles. It’s gentle like his touch. “It’s okay. It’s just a bandage. I didn’t perform surgery.” I stand and lean my head against him. The unnerved fear I felt earlier has finally disappeared in the safety of his arms. “Hey, everything okay?”

  “Yes. Now.”

  He leans back and looks into my eyes. “Now?”

  “It’s nothing. I’m just feeling sentimental is all.”

  A reassuring smile returns to his lips. “Me too.” Kissing my forehead, he chuckles under his breath. “I also told my mom we were dating. I know we said we didn’t need to complicate things, but they’re complicated already, aren’t they?”

  We hold hands between us, and I nod. “Very.”

  So much more complicated than he knows.

  Jason’s not usually very talkative, but tonight around the firepit, he is. He’s shared and demonstrated the repairs he’s made around the house, mentioned his trip to the
hardware store, which I promptly steered him clear of since his mother doesn’t owe him an explanation regarding a certain you-know-who. And then he even talked about the motorcycle parked on the side of the garage. That one he guided us away from fairly fast after the topic was broached. He promised to take me for a ride on it soon, though. It’s a side of him I’m completely fascinated by, and I find it sexy as hell.

  But then his mother, on her third glass of wine, asks him, “Are you staying?”

  He glances over at me. “I’m thinking I might.”

  My tongue curls around the front of my teeth as I hold back from revealing my feelings. Too soon, I remind myself. The trouble is, I can hide my feelings, but I can’t hide my smile. His mother giggles in drunken delight, and I finish my wine, feeling tipsy myself.

  Changing the subject, something I’m learning he’s very skilled at doing, he asks, “Are we ready for dessert? I know I am.”

  His mom says, “We’re skipping dessert tonight.” She looks at me conspiratorially as if we’ve just pulled off a big caper.

  “Why?”

  I fess up, and by fessing up, I mean, I lie while pouring more wine to forget the real reason I didn’t bring the cobbler. “I burned it. It’s tragic, actually.”

  “Damn. I’d say so. I was looking forward to it.”

  “I’ll make another tomorrow. I promise.”

  His knee knocks into mine. “Well, since you promised and all.”

  Two bottles of wine are emptied before we decide to call it a night. After clearing the table out back, we bring the rest of the food inside and wrap it up. I’m trying to pretend I’m not feeling every drop of that wine running through my veins, but it’s hard. I don’t drink much these days.

  Jason hugs his mom. “I’ll finish in here. You go relax.”

  “Thank you, son.” She kisses his cheek.

  She comes to me, and with my face between her hands, she says, “I’m so glad you’re back in his life.”

  “Me too.”

  “And mine, Delilah. It’s so good to see you smiling again.” She embraces me.