Thirty minutes, three more texts and a phone call later,
Jon still hadn’t received an answer.
The hired car braked to a halt behind Petra’s Mercedes,
and he slipped out with a quiet thanks for the driver, realizing that a watch
didn’t do Delaney any good if she wasn’t going to wear it. The damn
thing was probably sitting on top of her phone someplace, he speculated with a
smile and paused on the front steps.
Did he check here first or the beach?
The boys were all still at the Surf Lodge and there were
at least two lights shining from the first floor of the house, making it the
likeliest starting place. Maybe she and Petra were whipping up the
obscene chocolate dessert they’d been talking about earlier.
It didn’t cross his mind to ask why they wouldn’t do that
in the guesthouse, especially once he stepped inside and heard noise in the
kitchen. All he did was follow his instincts and the dark hardwood
hall in that direction, calling out, “Delaney, I swear to God, I’m going to
staple that watch to your arm.”
It wasn’t a tiny purple-haired florist who looked up at
him from the steaming bag of microwave popcorn with a smile,
though. It was his daughter.
The daughter Delaney said she wasn’t ready to meet.
The one she’d been assured wouldn’t be here this weekend.
Fuuuck.
“Stephie,” he greeted, reminding himself to smile and
hoping like hell Delaney was ignorant of this change in plans. “I
wasn’t expecting you until Monday.”
“Hi, Daddy.” Jon’s eldest child stepped into
his arms, asymmetrical hair sliding down her back when she angled a kiss
against his jaw. “My plans changed. Hope that isn’t a
problem.”
Cinching a hug around narrow shoulders, he pressed a kiss
to her temple and assured, “Of course not.”
The day when his kids weren’t welcome in his house –
their house – would never come. He wanted them whenever and however
he could get them. It was just unfortunate that what should be a
welcome surprise filled Jon with a sick feeling of trepidation.
“Delaney went to the guesthouse right after I got here.”
Dammit all to hell.
Delaney met Steph.
It was the only thing she wanted to avoid, and Jon had
promised her it wouldn’t happen. So much for that. He had
a serious apology to deliver after finishing this conversation.
“Oh?” It was a struggle to maintain an air of
nonchalance as his little girl went back to the popcorn bag, dumping it into a
bowl. “You met her?”
“Mhm. She was borrowing a book when I got
here.” Blue eyes that matched his for color and shape peered from
behind a curtain of chestnut hair. “She’s the florist Jesse and Jake
told me about?”
“Yeah.”
The popcorn bowl was extended in silent offer that he
shook off before his darling daughter casually inquired, “You’re dating her,
aren’t you?”
The neutral tone of voice was one that she’d learned from
Dorothea. It revealed nothing as she held herself in check,
contentedly munching while waiting to either praise or eviscerate him.
She could do either she wanted, because while Jon's kids were the center of his
life, they didn't run it.
"Yes, but the boys don't officially know that yet.”
"Is she aware why you and Mom split
up?” His affirmation was nothing more than a nod this time, which
Stephanie returned. “I’m still pissed at you for screwing everything
up, so don’t expect me to fall all over myself with excitement that you found a
girlfriend in under a week.”
“You can be pissed all you want,
Stephanie. You and your brothers are entitled to your pound of
flesh, and I’ll give it to you as long as you need it. Delaney isn’t
at fault here, though. Don’t take it out on her.”
“I’d never do that. She actually seems very nice,
despite her eagerness to hook up at the drop of a hat.”
Jon sighed, pushing the open sides of his leather jacket
back to hook hands on hips and swearing to himself.
“You realize I don’t owe you an explanation for this,
right? As the parent, I get the privilege of making my own
decisions, no matter how bad you think they are.”
“Totally,” came the easy agreement around a handful of
popcorn. “But I know you, old man. You’re going to give
me one, anyway.”
Jon couldn’t help but laugh at his daughter’s look of
utter confidence, and he wearily rubbed his forehead before fulfilling her
prediction.
“Fine, wise ass. We met a few weeks ago, but I
didn’t do anything other than get to know her – out of respect to your
mom. Also out of respect, I didn’t even tell Delaney the divorce was
coming. She found out the same time and way as the rest of the world
– and then I asked her out.”
It was mostly accurate anyway. A “few” weeks
was an exaggeration, as was “asking her out”, but they captured the essence of
the facts.
“So, you legit like this woman, then.”
“I really do.” This time the variation of hard
cold facts wasn’t an exaggeration but an understatement.
Stephanie shifted her weight from the kitchen island to
stand on both feet and scoop up the half-eaten bowl of
popcorn. “Then I’ll be nice to her. Which I would’ve done
either way. My mother taught me manners.”
The insult came with the wink of a twinkling blue eye,
but he still swatted her ass as she walked by. “You’re a
smart-mouthed brat, yanno that?”
“That’s what my father taught
me. ‘Night, Dad.”
He didn’t have a doubt about the truth of that statement,
but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it at this
stage. “Hey Steph?”
She paused in the kitchen doorway, turning to look over
her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“When you met Delaney earlier. How did she
seem?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a contemplative
frown. “Little freaked out, I guess. She obviously wasn’t
expecting anybody to come in, and I think I startled her. Other than
that, she was nice. Polite. We only talked for a hot
second before she went to the guesthouse. Why do you ask?”
Pasting on a confident smile, Jon shook his
head. “Just curious. I’m going out to say goodnight to
her.”
“Jeez. You’ve screwed up something
already? You’d better get used to the single life.”
“Goodnight, Stephanie,” he enunciated, twisting the knob
on the back door and slipping out to the sound of her muted laughter.
Jon crammed both hands in his pockets for the short walk
back to the guesthouse and noted that the front, right window – Delaney’s
bedroom for the weekend – was dark. Had she already gone to bed or
was she down on the beach? There were no new text messages on his
phone to offer him any clues, but this was closer than the beach and there
were lights on in the living room, so he lifted a fist to knock.
“Dude.” It was Pearl in a pair of black
pajamas that opened the door. “Wasn’t expecting to see you again so
soon. Good news, though. Delaney wasn’t even jealous over
the pics I took of you with Christie Brinkley.”
He hadn’t expected to see her again this soon
either. She and Petra had left the club before he did, but it still
couldn’t have been much more than an hour ago.
He also hadn’t expected Delaney to be
jealous. Mou was neither lacking in confidence nor stupid, and
intuition told him she didn’t waste time with such
shallowness. She’d better not, because he had no patience for petty
bullshit like unfounded jealousy.
“Where is she?” he asked, accepting her step back as an
unspoken invitation to enter the house.
Searching eyes found that the living/dining room revealed
no signs of life beyond an open laptop showing Surf Lodge photos on the
screen. Pearl must be looking over her night's work, but that gave him no
clue about the other two occupants.
“Bed,” she told him, confirming his belief that the
computer was hers by settling onto the couch and hauling it onto her
lap. “Said she spent the evening walking the beach and was tired, so
she wussed out on us about five minutes ago.”
“She mention anything else about her evening?”
Yes, it was a shitty way to glean information, but before
he went into her bedroom, Jon wanted to see what kind of ass kissing he needed
to pucker up for. There was a chance that Delaney had taken it all
in stride and a simple, “I’m sorry” would do the trick. In fact, considering
Pearl’s state of relaxation, that’s probably all it would be.
I hope.
“I don’t remember her saying. Pet, did Laney
do anything besides walk on the beach?”
“Took a bath and started a book. Hello, Jon.
Can I offer you some hot tea?”
Petra’s smile was understated but genuine as she entered from
the kitchen with a mug in her hand. He would've laughed at her
silk leopard pajamas if he hadn't been so focused on Delaney's state of
mind. Ripped jeans didn't make the Hamptons cut, but those were
appropriate. Go figure.
“No, thanks. I came to see Mou.”
“Mm.” Her throat moved with a
swallow. “She looked worn out, but only went to her room a few
minutes ago. I’m sure she’s still awake.”
Neither of the women had said anything to give him reason
for concern. He should be calm and reassured that Delaney was fine
after meeting his daughter. If only his churning gut didn’t tell him
differently, he might be.
“Petra, can I ask you something?”
Clear eyes lifted from where she sat in the comfortably
stuffed recliner. “Certainly.”
“Has she…” There was no way to ask this other
than to just do it, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Is she really okay
about what happened with her daughters?”
“Uh, no. She’s a fucking con-artist,” Pearl
answered on her behalf without looking up from the computer screen.
When Jon flicked back to Delaney’s twin for confirmation,
she lifted a philosophical shoulder under her shiny, spotted top.
“That pretty much covers it. She shed a few
tears at Violet’s wake, but nothing like you’d think a mother losing her child
would mourn. Hell, I cried more than she did, and no matter how many
times we tried to get her to talk about it, she refused. Always with
the ‘I’m fine’, even when she clearly wasn’t. Then
Poppy….” She inhaled deeply through her nose, auburn waves shaking
with disgust.
“It’s going to be seriously ugly when Laney finally loses
it,” was Pearl’s blasé prediction. “I just wish it would happen
already. Girl’s a ticking time bomb and it makes me nervous.”
Without acknowledging that dire prophesy, Petra locked
eyes with Jon. “Is there a reason you ask?”
Only because I believe the seconds might be ticking
down on that time bomb.
“Just curious. Thanks. Now if
you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go say goodnight to her.” He
disregarded the look she and Pearl exchanged and went to lightly tap on
Delaney’s door before cracking it open. “Mou? You awake?”
Within seconds, she’d flicked on the blue milk glass lamp
and was pushing up in bed with a smile. “Hey. I wasn’t
expecting you. Did you get my text?”
She didn’t appear to want his head on a
platter. That was a positive, Jon decided while closing the door
behind him. “Not unless it came in the last couple of minutes.”
“It did,” she confirmed with a grimace, scooting over to
make room for him on the bed. “Sorry. I left the watch in
the house to protect it from the salty air.”
“No big deal.”
When he sat beside her, it was easier for Jon to see
beyond the dimples. Eyes that normally met his with naked honesty
were veiled tonight, and he could only assume there was pain behind that
shield. Pain that he was responsible for.
“I heard you met Steph.” Jon reached over
Delaney to plant a hand on the other side of her hips, leaning in and
whispering against her lips, “I’m sorry, Mou.”
Inky eyelashes fluttered and then fell shut as his mouth
sought to right the wrong. He covered her pliant lips with a lazy
flurry of kisses while sliding gentle fingers into her hair, fisting lightly as
she opened to him.
The first thing his imagination tasted in the softness of
her mouth was deep-buried sorrow, and Jon impulsively tried to rid her of
it. He sucked at the bitterness like poisonous venom, hoping like
hell it wasn’t too late to prevent her from infection, but Delaney wouldn’t
tolerate it.
Tiny fingers gripped his hair so that she could wrench
free, showing him that the veil concealing her thoughts was now shredded. Naked
pain telegraphed from the depths of irises that rumbled with the thunder of a
coming storm.
“Don’t. I don’t want an apology or any
freeping pity. That’s not what I need from you.”
“What do you need, baby?”
“Gamíseis.” He spotted evidence of a
hundred secrets swimming in tumultuous pools of gray before she hid them away
to give his bottom lip a stinging bite. “Hurt me. Hurt me
like only you can.”
Jon was forced to admit he’d been
wrong. Incredibly wrong, and it was a game-changing moment to
realize Delaney didn’t like rough and tumble sex for the simple thrill of
victory, as he’d first thought. She chose this particular pain –
with its finite and happy ending – as distraction from an agony that would
never truly go away. One that could never have a happy ending.
His beautiful fighter was actually a wounded warrior,
distracting everyone from her life-threatening injuries with dented armor and a
fierce show of bravado.
It was a good show. A great one, in
fact. She fearlessly conquered whatever came her way, except for the
unconquerable devastation of loss. It was impossible to triumph over
loss. The best-case scenario was to find a sliver of peace to use as a
bandage over the gaping hole left behind.
Delaney would never find that peace in her perpetual
state of denial, and it left Jon with a big problem. Did he let her
go on with the show or force the confrontation?
His heart ached with indecision.
No comments:
Post a Comment