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Pulling down the comforter and sheets, I slip between them. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply. I’ve never forgotten the smell of Chance, but being surrounded by it is more than I can take.
Tears I’ve held back for a long time fall, but instead of hurting, they’re cathartic and for the first time in two years, I feel like I’m starting to heal. Hopefully Chance can too.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Chance
The living roomis quieter than normal, I can hear every single tick of the clock as it makes its way around the dial. Fluffing the pillow behind my head, my mind begins wandering, back to those days after my injury and following the surgery.
I hate this. The fact I can’t move my arm, and do basic shit on my own. I’ve always been the type of person who can handle everything on his own. Even as a teenager, I knew I wanted to be a paramedic. I took extra classes so that I’d be able to graduate early. My home life was about like Delia’s. It wasn’t great. I wanted to get out from under my parents as soon as I could.
Since then, I’ve never had to ask for help.
Until now. It’s not sitting well with my pride, or my ego.
I know I’m being an asshole, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Here, let me help you,” Delia comes to my aid as I try to open the bottle of water.
Instead of getting the lid off, I end up dumping it in the floor. It rolls away from me. “I don’t need your help. I can do this on my own.” I bend over, getting slightly off balance and over-correcting so that I stumble. When she reaches out to steady me, I move so that she’s not touching me.
She throws her hands up in frustration. “You’ve been an asshole since you came home from the hospital, and I’m sick of dealing with it,” she bites out in an annoyed tone.
“Because I don’t need you hovering over me like I’m going to break into a million pieces. There was an accident, I got hurt, and now I’m recovering. End of story. You don’t have to treat me like I almost died. I’m not your dad.”
Tears appear in her eyes. She blinks quickly, pushing them back. I wish I wasn’t such a jerk right now, but I can’t seem to get out of my own head, or out of my own way. Everything annoys me, and the things that don’t, fucking piss me off.
She tightens her jaw. “While I’m extremely glad you didn’t die, and I’m definitely not comparing you to my dad, I’ll leave you to your own devices. If by any chance you do need me for anything, I’ll be out back in my garden.”
I hate that fucking garden. It gets more attention than I do. Which isn’t to say my thought process is fair, but I’ve never been more frustrated than I am right now.
Walking over to the window, I watch as she kneels down, yanking out weeds with the force of a woman who’s beyond pissed. I’ve never seen her this way, and although I know I did this to her, I can’t seem to be the one to apologize. Apologizing feels too much like I’m admitting this is all my fault, and I’m not ready for that.
There’s something different about her. I can’t seem to put my finger on it, but since I came back from the hospital she’s been closed off, and quicker to anger. I know part of it is me and how I’m reacting to the injury.
But there’s another part that wonders what she’s hiding. Delia’s never been the best at keeping secrets, but I’m also not on my game when it comes to trying to get whatever it is that’s bothering her, out.
Frustrated, I turn back from the window, and vow I’ll try to be nicer.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Delia
“I think today,I might look for a job,” I announce at breakfast a week after Gavin and I moved back in.
It’s been status quo around here. Chance leaves for work every morning, and then he comes home. In the middle of it, I make sure he comes home to a clean house, spend the day with Gavin, and try not to lose my mind. But over the course of the last couple of years, I’ve learned to take care of myself. I haven’t had a ton of time to just sit in my feelings. In this house, I have way too much time to do it. I can’t sit around anymore, because I start thinking about the mistakes I’ve made and how I can prevent repeating them.
“A job?” Chance asks, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth.
“Yeah, I’m bored sitting around here, I need to get him in daycare,” I motion to Gavin with a tilt of my chin. “He’s used to being around kids his age.”
“I can take care of both of you.” He insists, taking a drink from his coffee cup.
“I have no doubt about that, but there’s only so much housework I can do.” I sigh. “Back when we thought about having a kid, I know I expressed interest in being a stay at home mom. Now? I know that life isn’t for me. I like earning my own money and having a place to go to every day that knows me as Delia, and not Gavin’s mom or Chance’s wife. I need my own identity.”
“You don’t have to do that. I have a housekeeper who comes in once every two weeks. She’ll be here in a couple days.” He continues, almost as if he didn’t hear a word I said.
“It’s not that,” I argue. “I’m used to making my own way, need to make my own way. We didn’t get by the last two years by me sitting around, complaining about the decisions I made. Like I said, I want to be Delia.”
