Blind Love (Sulfur Heights Series)

by Brannon, M. S.

  When I round the corner into the kitchen, a black Lexus pulls into the drive. She’s here.

  I toss my dirty clothes down the basement steps and watch her drive down the driveway, over the faint blood-stained spot on the concrete, and park in front of the garage, taking Jeremy’s designated space.

  The cold rain awakens my skin as I watch Delilah stepping from her car with her eyes fixed on the ground and focusing solely on getting out of the car. Then realization smacks me square in the face. I haven’t seen her in months, surviving only on her voice, and now my eyes are finally able to take her in. She’s beautiful, wearing a pair of tight jeans and a zip up hoodie. Her hair flows freely down her back and I’ve never known it to be possible that someone could look so breathtaking while feeling so devastated.

  As I look at the woman in front of me, I finally understand why Drake is experiencing this gut wrenching agony. When I look at Delilah, I see my other half, the person who I’m supposed to be with, my destiny. She’s been in my life for over two years and I’ve spent several of those days with her, and it hasn’t been until this very moment that I’m falling completely hard—plummeting down at a rapid speed—straight for her. All the new feelings thriving inside me have a purpose and that purpose is Delilah.

  She is my Heaven and earth; the good in my fucked up life and the one person who cares to look at my flaws and love them. She’s the one who challenges me, supports me and pushes me to be a better person. She is my soul and I would be lost without her. My breath remains strangled in my throat when I finally know that I’m in love with this woman. I love Delilah.

  The sound of her trying to lift her suitcase from the trunk and the chill of the spring rain snaps me back to the present. I finish descending the stairs and stop short when her eyes meet mine. She’s soaked, saturated from the rain, as am I, and her body begins to tremble, on the verge of breaking.

  I run to her, catching her weary frame in my arms and fall to the ground before she hits the concrete, holding her close to my chest.

  The saddest sound comes from her throat as her body racks violently from sobs. I hold her tight, so tightly that it’s nearly hurting her. I want her to know that I’m here and will always be.

  “Shhhh…. sweetheart,” I soothe. I’m sitting on the unforgiving pavement with the woman I love melded into my arms. I have no idea how to comfort someone who’s lost a person so significant in their life, but there’s no way I can’t comfort her. I squeeze tighter, only hoping it evaporates some of the pain in her heart.

  After several minutes, and being soaked from the rain, she finally calms enough to function. When she pulls her head back, I look into her ocean blue eyes and become hers. She owns me in this moment. I love her and the need to make her eyes smile again encompasses me as her legs are curled in my lap and her body presses against mine. I pull her back, cupping her cheeks in my palms, wanting to take her pain away. I want to press my lips to hers and I want to take all the hurt away; to erase everything she feels with the love that has newly formed within me.

  My eyes flick down to her heart-shaped lips quickly then back to her eyes. She seems scared, which makes since; I know I’m scared as hell. Scared shitless she doesn’t want this because the rejection is not what I want to take in just yet. Rejection has always lived hand in hand with my life, but to have her rejection, it would kill me. Instead, I place a kiss to her forehead and whisper to her, “You’re freezing. Come on; let’s get you out of the rain.”

  Delilah climbs off my lap and I stand, grabbing her suitcase from the trunk. We start to walk to the back stairs when Delilah sees the red stain on the concrete. She stops, examining the spot. Her eyes are fixed to the place where Presley has bled out and died.

  “Where’d this come from?” she whispers as the rain drips off and rolls down her face.

  “Come on. We’ll talk inside.” I just want to walk away. This will be too much for her to handle right now and she’s shivering from the cold rain.

  Her eyes snap to mine, a raging ocean fueled with anger. “NO! Tell me where this came from!”

  Releasing a breath and bracing myself to catch her when she falls, I answer, “This is where she died.” Delilah’s body hunks forward and I catch her in my arms, holding her upright with my arms tightly around her waist and pressing her against my chest.

  “Tell me, Jake. What happened?” She moves her arms around my neck, resting her head on my chest.

  My heart breaks into smithereens when I have no other choice other than to crush her with my words, telling her how her best friend has died. “Carter came for her. She ran into him earlier that day and later on last night he came to the house looking for her. When Drake went outside to confront Carter, he pulled a gun and Presley intervened. He shot her in the stomach, and by the time the ambulance arrived, she had died.”

  Delilah’s legs give out and I scoop her up in my arms, knowing she no longer has the strength to stand. Abandoning her suitcase, I take the steps two at a time, walking carefully on the rain-slicked, rain-soaked wood as I ascend, then carry her into the house and down to my room. Since Drake has moved back in, Delilah’s room is now where Mia sleeps and we no longer have a room for her.

  I’m not sure where I will sleep now that she’s here. We’ve shared a bed on many occasions, but I was drunk most of those times. Now, I don’t know if I can lie next to her and not want to hold her, kiss her, or more. Jeremy’s room is full of crap since he never stays in there and I’m not going to even attempt to tackle that mess. He never sleeps at home anyway, and when he does, it’s on the couch in the garage.

  I set her down on the bed and tell her I will be back. As quickly as possible,I go back into the rain grab her suitcase and purse then carry her belongings to my room. When I round the corner, Delilah is standing—all rain-soaked and sexy—in front of my dresser, holding her Christmas gift to me—the picture frame with the snapshot we took at the lake.

  That first summer, and what I thought was going to be her last night, in Sulfur Heights. I remember how uneasy I felt thinking I wouldn’t see her again, and two years later, she’s still in my life. However, in the last thirty minutes, my feelings toward her have jumped to a whole other level. A level that is unexplored, scary, and could be full of the rejection that might break me if she were to ever tell me she simply doesn’t feel the same.

  Tears are still holding in her eyes when she connects them with mine. “This was probably the best night of my life.” She puts the frame back down on the dresser. “I’ve never had so much fun.”

  I nod in agreement. “Me, too.”

  Delilah

  My world has come to a crashing halt in the last several hours. I’ve learned my best friend has been murdered at the hands of a jealous, obsessive man. Presley has been murdered. Killed. Executed. Assassinated. The words float around and around and around as I desperately try to gain a grasp of how this could have happened.

  She was an amazing friend, who’s had many obstacles to overcome and was finally able to accept who she was in life. Then, from a flash of nowhere, that life was ripped away from her.

  It all seems impossible, like I should be watching a movie instead of feeling the dread and sorrow in my heart.

  Then to think Drake, Reggie, Darcie, Jake and Jeremy have had to witness her murder, an image that will surely haunt them for the remainder of their lives. Even though they live in a place where violence is ignored, witnessing this is tragic and frightening. The toughest person would never forget.

  A small twinge of pride comes to me when I think about the fact that Presley hasn’t died because she succumbed to her addiction. She died to save a life. Fat tears roll down my cheeks again when I think of her heroism. She sacrificed herself to save the man she loved.

  I pick up the picture I gave Jake for a Christmas gift and smile. That may have been a fun night, however it completely changed my view of Jake Evans. Although his exterior is rough, crude and obnoxious, I know there is so much more hid
den away deep inside. I vowed to myself I would really get to know him. Fast forward two years, and we’ve had our ups and downs, but I wouldn’t change a single moment of our friendship.

  Now that Presley is gone, he is the only other person who truly knows the real Delilah. The Delilah I’m not allowed to unleash because it would be inappropriate and go against everything I’ve been raised to believe. In all honesty, I don’t think Presley really knew the real me; the me that Jake unearthed with his crazy stunts and ability to see right through my façade.

  The entire fourteen hour trip to Sulfur Heights I was thinking about what my mother had said. That it was time to finally say goodbye to Presley and all my new friends.

  As much as it pains me to leave them behind, I know she’s right. I have an obligation to marry Emerson. He’s been devoted to me from the day we’ve met and I need to be the woman he deserves. I need to be the wife he expects.

  My daddy taught me St. James’s never break their obligations once they’ve agreed; I would only be disgracing myself and be an embarrassment to our family name. I don’t know how I will do it, but I have to say good-bye to all of them. I’m prepared for everyone’s anger toward me, but I don’t think I will ever be prepared enough to let go of Jake. I do love him. He’s been the one person I can be with that I don’t have to be someone else around; I can be me.

  I’ve never allowed myself to have these thoughts of Jake—allowed myself to feel anything other than friendship toward him—but now the end is near and my heart is taking over my well trained mind. I’m afraid of what I might do. Of what I might truly feel toward Jake. It’s so scary and I have to keep my head. However, my heart is aching and Jake is the only person who can take that pain away.

  Jake and I have crossed the boundaries of being friends. We’ve shared a bed a few times because he was too drunk to find his own and the kiss in Las Vegas, which I’ve chalked up to being drunk for the first time and high on adrenaline from my impromptu dance on the stage. That has to be why I took the stupid bet. Sure, it was an amazing kiss and Jake definitely won my fifty dollars, but I have yet to admit that. That would mean he’s better than Emerson and my mind won’t accept that. Emerson is my future. Not Jake.

  The sound of Jake dragging in my suitcase cuts off any other thoughts and I quickly distract myself by talking about the picture in my hand. He’s been staring at me since he walked back into his bedroom and I can’t help but meet his gaze. The indescribable look to his eyes… they’re not looking at me like they always do with a coy, slightly arrogant gleam. Now his eyes are searching mine as he looks at me. What he’s searching for, though, I don’t know.

  I lean down and unzip my suitcase. I’ve been afraid that all of my clothes would be soaking wet since we were standing in the rain for so long, however to my surprise, they’re still dry. I pull out a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt then turn to the corner to change my clothes, looking at him over my shoulder.

  Jake suddenly snaps out of his trance and turns toward his dresser, pulling out a clean pair of jeans. “I will leave to let you to get dressed,” he says as he walks from the room, pulling the door closed.

  I take a minute to get my bearings. I’ve been in Jake’s room many times, but this is the first time I’ve actually looked around at this uniquely charming guy’s room. Normally, it’s too dark to see anything—remembering the nights I’ve had to drag his intoxicated butt to bed. Or the morning I was first in his room and I was too distracted by his morning salute to notice anything else.

  It’s a large space with a huge, king-sized bed in the middle, a large dresser adjacent to the bed and posters of old cars covering every blank surface of the wall. There are no naked ladies posters or beer ads, not even a stolen street sign. Everything is minimal and tidy, neatly put in its perfect place.

  I quickly change into dry clothes and look at the heap of wrinkled clothes in my suitcase. Pulling them out, I snap them in the air in an attempt to get the wrinkles out as best as possible and move to the closet in hopes to find some empty hangers and space to hang my stuff. When I open the door, pictures of his family cover the surface of the door. Dozens of pictures are collaged on the wood, taking me down a happy memory lane.

  This brings a smile to my face as I look at childhood pictures of Jeremy and Jake working on the car with Reggie standing over them, and little Drake looking up to his brothers with pride in his eyes. As well as pictures of Darcie when she was younger, during Christmas, all of them together around a decorated tree. Mia is also covering the inside of the closet door. Many snapshots are of her when we spent the month taking care of her before Presley overdosed and went to rehab.

  My favorite is the picture of Mia at her birthday. She’s tucked in her daddy’s arms with her mommy on the other side. Both Drake and Presley are looking adoringly at their baby girl and her face is covered in cake. More tears fall down my cheeks when I think how this little girl will never know how wonderful her mama was. How much she really loved her. I wipe the loose tears with the back of my hand, taking in large breaths to contain the onslaught of sobbing that is sure to follow.

  I turn my attention back to the closet door. Within the collage are pictures of me and Jake taken the first summer I spent in Sulfur Heights. One in particular I hate. The sheer terror written all over my face when Jake took me drag racing the first time. He must have snapped a picture when we did the turn around because my eyes are shut tight and I look hideously scared. Of course the pictures in Las Vegas with all of us are present as well. Man, it was a fun night. Other than the lake, it’s probably one of the best nights of my life.

  A knock on the door takes my attention away from the pictures as Jake slowly walks in the room, changed and only wearing a pair of jeans. The tattoos covering his arms and chest dance with every movement of his body. I bite my lip obliviously as I study his every move and really look at how sexy his body is. My face flushes, and I immediately snap my eyes to somewhere else on his body and focus on the newest tattoo on his upper right arm—the 1950’s pinup girl with my body and face struck in a classically seductive pose.

  When he gets closer, I can’t help but touch it. My fingers linger over his colorful skin and it’s causing my heart to race, accelerating at a rapid speed. His eyes follow my fingers, but his face is unreadable. I quickly retract my fingers, tucking them under my arms as I fold them across my chest.

  “I still can’t believe you did that,” I say, trying to distract myself from the intense feeling thriving inside me after I touched his skin.

  “When you sent me that picture, it was fate that you were dressed like that and I knew it was exactly what I needed to complete my sleeve.” Jake rubs his arm, lost in thought and looking like he wants to tell me something.

  I turn my attention back to the door when I notice a picture of a woman located in the bottom of the collage. She looks young; her brown hair is brushing her shoulders and her deep, brown eyes look familiar. I move closer to the picture and really look at the woman’s eyes and recognize them immediately. Those are Jake’s eyes.

  “Is this your mother?” I ask, craning my neck so I can see his face.

  He rubs his hand over the top of his short brown hair and releases a deep breath. “Yeah.”

  She was very beautiful. Nothing like I’ve pictured. Her face does not have the signs a typical drug-addicted person would have; she appears put together and happy. Jake doesn’t talk much about her and I know by the sound of his voice and distance in his eyes that this was once a woman he loved, but all of it was destroyed somehow.

  “Well, she’s very pretty.”

  “Yeah, she was. This was taken before I was born, when she’d just had Reggie and his dad was still in her life.” His voice is quiet and laced with slight resentment. I knew he and his mother had a tumultuous relationship, but the details as to why… I’m still left in the dark.

  “What happened with your mother, Jake?”

  He pulls the shirt out of my hand and grabs an em
pty hanger from the rod. “I don’t think this is the time to hear about my fucked up childhood.” Then he pulls another shirt from my suitcase and drapes it over the hanger, and with that, Jake and I finish hanging my clothes in the closet, not speaking a word to each other. I stand in a comfortable silence only Jake can bring to my life as I allow a small sentiment of peace to trickle back into my aching heart.

  Chapter 21

  Jake

  I cringe the moment Delilah recognizes the picture of my mother, knowing her curious nature will start asking me questions about my past, and then the floodgates of hell will surely open up. I hate talking about my mother. It’s a subject I’m not prepared to ever discuss with anyone. The true feelings I have toward my mother, maybe someday Delilah will be privileged enough to know, but then again, maybe she won’t.

  My mind seems to make plans, yet my mouth can never keep shut when she’s around, and sooner or later she will wear me down. She always does.

  “Reggie’s made an appointment at the funeral home this afternoon. I think we’re supposed to be there around four. Did you want to come?” Tears bubble up in her eyes, making them truly look like I’m staring at the crystal-blue ocean. She only nods in agreement as a few drops of water leak from her eyes.

  It’s nearing early afternoon and the exhaustion of the last day is finally settling in. I look in Delilah’s eyes and they mirror mine—swollen and tired. She still looks as beautiful as the day I met her; her blonde hair is flowing down her back, the faint smell of lavender lingers from her hair and her sun-kissed skin is glowing in the light.

  I can’t help myself. Crossing the short distance of my room, I wrap my arms around her and tuck her securely into my body, holding her. She instantly falls in close, linking her arms around my waist and releasing a deep sigh of contentment. A few tears fall onto my chest as the skin of her cheek presses against the skin of my chest. I love her here. She’s wrapped protectively in my arms and my soul fills with its own contentment, knowing this is where she belongs; this is where Delilah needs to be.