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 again during the last few months 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 a little in fear. But now he is 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. 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 right now.” We stare at each other for what feels like minutes. It’s seconds, but time with him always did drag. I repeat, “Leave.”

He stands, the veins in his neck prominent in his anger.

Stage two.

I remember the stages well. They were ticking time bombs leading to the finale.

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 is 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 trembles, 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. This is not your home. Leave.”

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

His questions are all leading, and I don’t have to respond. He never expects an answer. 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.”

“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. I see the dent in the metal before it slams closed after him.

I grab my keys from the hook, the only weapon I have within reach. His truck roars down the drive 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, tears spring to my eyes. I no longer have a dessert to take tonight. As much as that should worry me more, it’s not my biggest concern. We can live without dessert.

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 formed in my throat. He’s not worth shedding another tear over. The plate yes, but there’s no point. I pick up the pieces and the tip of my finger is sliced. “Oh.” I lift it up as blood pools. It’s a deep enough cut for me to worry. Fuck. Fuck him. Once again he hurt me, but I refuse to cry. I rinse it under cold water and then wrap it in a paper towel while going to the bathroom to bandage it up.

And then that’s when anger takes over.

Anger dominates 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 pooled 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 up 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. I take it and dial the only number I know will keep this a secret.

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

“Billy?”

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

“I need help.”

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

Wanting to check on the gun, 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 back bedroom closet after he died. I know how to shoot, but I hope I don’t have to.

My body shakes involuntarily every time I see Cole, but now minutes later, I’m much calmer. I 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 one breath after the other, pulling myself slowly back together.

With a clearer head, I think about grabbing something pre-made at the market, but I’d rather be on time than take something that feels last minute.

* * *

I knock on the door and Meredith answers quickly. “Delilah, come in. Come in.”

We hug and she takes my hand. I’m quick to retreat when the motion hurts my finger. She asks, “What happened?”

“Kitchen accident. Nothing to worry to about.”

“Of course I worry, but I’ll leave it be. Looks like you did a good job of wrapping it. Jason’s grilling out back. We’re having fish. Hope you’re hungry. He bought a ton of food today.”

I smile. “Starved. I’m sorry I don’t have a dessert like I promised. I burned it.”

We go into the kitchen and she pulls out a bottle of white wine. “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 came by. “I was sidetracked doing something else and didn’t hear the timer go off.”

“No worries, dear.” She hands me a glass of wine. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Can I help with anything?”

“Yes. Head on out and enjoy the evening. The lightning bugs are out tonight. There’s something about them that’s so magical, don’t you think?”

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

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

Giggling, I reply, “I’m not sure how entertaining I am, but I’ll try.”

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

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

He takes me by the waist and swings me into his arms, and I don’t spill a drop of my wine. We make a good team. With my back to his chest, I look over my shoulder and he kisses me. “You don’t mind a little PDA in front of my mom, do you?”

I see her looking through the window. When I catch her, she busies herself, turning away. “I adore your mom.”

Coming around in front of me, he says, “I told her about us. That I stayed the night with you. I didn’t want to lie.”

“What did she say?”

“She smiled and said I told you so.”

“What had she told you, Jason?”

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

“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 are amazing to me.” Sliding our hands into the air, his other holds my waist, 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. Let me clean it up for you.” He turns and closes the grill lid and leads me inside by the hand. “Ma, check on the fish, will you?”

“Got it handled. You’re not going to be too long?”

He laughs, but I don’t. “She thinks we’re going to have sex.”

“And you noticed she didn’t stop us?”

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

“This will take five minutes. No respectful man can make love to his woman in that amount of time.”

“You sure do give me a lot of credit,” I tease.

“I’m going to clean up Delilah’s cut. We’ll be right out.”

She doesn’t reply, but I’m laughing too hard to know for sure. I sit on the toilet lid, and he digs out a first aid kit from under the sink. “Hold up your finger.” He carefully unwraps the white bandage. “How’d you do this? It’s a deep cut. You don’t need stitches but it will leave a scar.”

“I have plenty of them 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 that, but Cole’s earlier visit has knocked me off balance a bit. When it’s rewrapped with clean cotton and tape, he kisses it. “All better?”

Not able to take my eyes off him and the care he’s giving me, I whisper, “Yes.”

Touching my chin, he lifts it. “It’s okay. It’s just a bandage. I didn’t perform surgery.” I stand and lean my head against him. The fear I felt earlier had unnerved me, but here I’m reminded that I’m safe now, safe in Jason’s arms. He whispers, “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 creases his lips. “Me too.” Kissing my forehead, he whispers against it, “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.”

“How about some wine and dinner?”

“I think that sounds like a good idea.”

* * *

Sitting around the fire pit, I have my feet kicked up on the stones surrounding the flame. Jason’s not usually very talkative, but he is tonight.

We’ve covered the fixes he’s made around the house.

His trip to the hardware store, which I promptly steered him clear of since his mother doesn’t owe him an explanation.

We even covered a little about the motorcycle parked to the side of the garage hidden from the street. That one he guided us away from fairly fast after the topic was broached. I did get him to promise me a ride on it soon though. It’s a side of him I’m completely fascinated by. And find sexy as hell.

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

He looks at me. Jason takes my hand, not shy about it at all in front of his mom, and replies, “I’m thinking I might.”

My tongue curls around the front of my teeth as I hold back revealing my feelings. Too soon, I remind myself. I grasp his hand in one of mine and the wine glass in the other. I can hide my feelings, but I can’t hide my smile. His mother giggles in drunken delight and I finish off my wine, feeling tipsy myself.

Jason changes the subject, something I’m learning he’s very skilled at doing, and asks, “Are we ready for dessert?” Rubbing his belly, he adds, “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.

“What?” He looks to me.

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

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

“I’ll make you one tomorrow and not burn it. Promise.”

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

Two bottles 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 bit of that wine, but it’s hard.

Jason hugs his mom. “I’ll finish up in here, Ma. You can go to bed.”

“You’re the best.” 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.”

“You’re a wonderful person, Delilah. It’s good to see you smiling again.” She embraces me before she retires for the night.

Meredith has always been a loving woman, but tonight I feel closer to her than ever. “Thank you for having me over.”

“My pleasure, dear.” She glances to her son. “Jason, you’re seeing her home, right?”

“Yes, Ma. I’ll drive her home.”

“Good. Good night then.”

“Good night,” we say in unison as she slips out of the kitchen.

After cleaning the dishes, Jason comes over and takes my hand. “You ready?”

“Born ready for you.”

His chuckle is deep, but he keeps it under wraps by his hand so it doesn’t travel through the house. “You’re drunk, Delilah.”

“Not drunk . . .” I waver. “Okay, maybe a little tipsy, but you make me feel the same way.”

“You get drunk on me?”

“Being near you, I lose my better judgment and inhibitions. You’re a very dangerous man to my self-control.”

A thumb runs over his bottom lip while he looks at me. “What am I going to do with you?”

Throwing myself at him, I wrap my arms around his neck. “Take me home and have your way with me?” I hear the hope in my voice when I was going for sultry.

“Who needs dessert when I have other ways of satisfying my sweet tooth? C’mon. I’m taking you home.”

“You’re staying though, right?”

He holds the door open for me. “You couldn’t keep me away, honeysuckle.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes me think he might be right. Luckily for me, I don’t want to keep him away. I sure do like having him around again.

He grabs a backpack by the door and adds, “Change of clothes.”

“I like that you’re prepared.”

“Always, baby.”

We walk to my car and I toss him the keys. In the country, when it gets dark, it’s pitch black. I’m glad he’s driving to handle the curvy road we have to drive to get to the farm. It’s not a long drive, but it’s long enough for the wine to settle my mind and lull me.

When we arrive, he parks the car out front, comes around, and picks me up. “You don’t have to carry me,” I lamely protest by relaxing in his arms.

“I like to.”

Just that simple.

Jason Koster never put on a show for anyone or hid his feelings. I’d once believed I knew exactly where I stood with him. If I hadn’t been blinded by feelings of betrayal and hurt, I would have realized he hadn’t changed. He just opens up and tells it like it is. He says what he likes and what he wants, and I like that.

Making our way to the couch, he sets me down, but I quickly crawl onto his lap as he turns on the TV—some manhunt show that is way too boring to keep my eyes open. “Stay with me.”

“I never left you. Not really,” are the last words I hear before I fall asleep in his arms.