Delilah's Tears

Chapter Eleven

Delilah

He's avoiding me.

The damned man's lips burned into me. He knew it was wrong. I knew it was wrong. The whole universe knew it was wrong. But, holy cow, I loved it. Every inch of my skin was scorched from his touch.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

That was days ago. James claims he's been busy with his new job. Maybe, but also maybe not so much as he wants me to believe. Yesterday, he dipped quickly into his room to avoid my scrutiny. I saw the blood on his fingers, his shirt. He's doing a whole lot more than following cheating spouses. Either that or he's joined a fight club. Or both.

All of this tumbled around in my head as I drove home. Unlocking the door to the condo, I see a light on in the bathroom. After tossing my purse and keys on the sofa, I head there, determined to settle this tension between JD and I. I'm not prepared for what I see when I push the partially closed door open.

"What the hell is that?" I grip the door jamb to steady myself. James glances up from the wound he tending on his shoulder and meets my eyes in the mirror, but doesn't answer.

"James...tell me that's not a gunshot wound." It is. No matter how you slice it. The neat little gash is proof perfect.

"It's not a gunshot wound." His voice is flat as he returns to dabbing antibacterial ointment on it and ignoring my presence. Without thinking, I grab his elbow to make him face me. He grunts in pain and glares.

"Jesus, woman. Do you see I have a little boo-boo going on here? Take it easy." He turns away from me, but he's not getting off that easy. I slide into the narrow space between him and the vanity, forcing him to give me his attention.

"What the hell happened to you?" Fear crawls up my spine as I point at his shoulder. "You promised you weren't doing anything dangerous. This isn't chasing cheating husbands, is it?" For a long moment, he studies me, his jaw clenching rhythmically.

"No."

"You can't do this. Do something else." James snorts out a chuckle at my demand, but doesn't relax.

"No."

"James. You can't. This...this is dangerous. This job is dangerous. You could get killed. You can't get killed." I'm practically choking on the words. As I say them, I realize how devastated I'd be if I lost James, too. My second worst fear. I've already lived my first one. He sees that.

"Not gonna get killed D-doll." James relaxes and rests both hands on my shoulders. "But, I'm also not gonna sit behind a desk and bang on a keyboard, babe. I like this job. If I can't be in the Army, this is the next best thing."

"Best thing? Seriously? Coming home with a bullet hole in your shoulder on the first job is a good thing?" James reaches around me for a large bandage and slaps it over the wound.

"Come on." He threads his fingers through mine and leads me into the living room. The warmth and strength of his hand is comforting. "Sit down." We're silent for a few moments.

"Babe. D-doll. I get you don't like this, but this is what I do. I may get shot at. I may get injured. I may even get killed." All the blood drains out of me. He runs his fingers down the side of my face and tucks strands of hair behind my ears. "Who's to say I wouldn't get killed tomorrow in a car accident? Or that you will? There are no guarantees in this life. As much as I hate to say it, John was proof of that."

Hell. James might as well sock me in the stomach. I double over. Even though logically I know he's right, it hurts. So much. All I can think about is how I can't lose James too.