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It’s my turn to seize up.
I want to tell her I’m crashing, going down, falling madly in love with her.
I want to tell her I’d never hurt her.
I want to tell her everything, including why I broke my promise until I can give Emma’s folks real peace with concrete answers that tell the truth.
I want to tell her how it makes my heart bash my ribs like an angry caged-up bird to see her in my shirt with her eyes all lit with emotion.
I want to tell her I need her.
That I’ll protect her.
That it was just due diligence.
That I never ever seriously thought she could hurt anyone.
Only, I’m all thorns and edges right now, too hung up on fighting words and the blue razors in her eyes that are still aimed at me.
Maybe you think I went back in time and hurt her, too.
Before I can stop it, my temper leaps ahead of my brain.
“You can’t fucking blame anyone but yourself for what you find when you go digging around in other people’s shit, Delilah. You were never meant to see that. That’s confidential police material,” I snap.
She stares at me, then lets out an incredulous laugh. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? ‘If you’re upset because I lied to you, it’s your own fault for finding out about it. Next time, sit down and shut up like a good little girl.’”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Growling, I grind a hand against my forehead, struggling to keep my head on. “I told you, this case is complicated as hell. You know that. I had my reasons, but I didn’t fucking lie for nothing. Emma’s family will know. It’s just not the right time yet, not when there’s still loose ends to tie up and assholes standing by with scissors, waiting to cut the truth out forever. Fuck, I didn’t tell you because I was trying to protect you.”
“Did I ask to be protected?” Delilah’s eyes are hard, but the shimmer of impending tears darkens them. She folds her arms around herself in that defensive stance she has that aches so much, walling herself off. “And I sure as hell never asked you to lie to me and stalk me like I’m your property.” She swallows, looking away from me pointedly. “I don’t want to stay here with you. I want my things, and I want you to take me home.”
I reach toward her helplessly. “Delilah—”
“I said I want to go home!” She pivots on her heel, stalking toward my door in nothing but my shirt. “Fuck it, I’ll walk.”
“No—shit, no.” Sagging, I scrub my fingers over my face, wishing I could climb out of my own damn skin. “Let me get your clothes. I’ll drive you. It’s not safe alone at night.”
Delilah doesn’t say anything, and thank God she doesn’t fight me over that.
She won’t even look at me now.
I can’t stop staring at her.
I don’t know how the hell this shit blew up so violently so fast, with me and my clumsy fucking mouth.
I tried to explain and it came out all wrong, making everything a hundred times worse.
That’s called life when you’re tromping around with enough grief and frustration in your heart to trip up ten good men.
I guess she doesn’t want anything to do with me now. So I turn away and trudge upstairs to fetch her clothing.
Guess that’s it.
We’re over before we had a chance to find out what we could ever be.
17
Red As A Beet (Delilah)
There are few things more mortifying than being driven home like a kid from soccer practice by the man you just dumped, still sore from him fucking the life out of you, with your mouth still bruised and tender from his kiss.
Before Lucas turns down my street, I stop him, sitting stiff as a board in the passenger seat. “Just let me out here.”
He eases his truck to a halt at the corner, a block from my house.
God, this sucks.
I won’t look at him, but I can feel his gaze crushing me like it weighs a thousand pounds. “Delilah, it’s only—”
“I’m fine right here.”
Yes, I’m holding back tears.
I’m so not fine.
I don’t want him to see me cry.
So I fumble for the door handle and tear it open, practically falling out onto the sidewalk.
“Delilah!” he growls after me.
“I’m fine,” I snap back, stalking away. “Go home, Lucas.”
I half expect him to follow me, giant overprotective idiot that he is.
But there’s only the rumble of his idling engine, growing quieter with every step I take. Louder then softer as he does a probably illegal U-turn at the corner.
His headlights sweep over me one more time, spilling down the darkened street before dimming.
Then he’s gone.
Leaving me standing there on the sidewalk, digging my fingers into my sides as I hug myself until it hurts. Like maybe I can hold myself together by sheer force until I can get inside, lock the doors, and ugly cry myself to sleep.
