Delilah's Tears

Chapter Seventeen

James

If I hadn't seen the light on through the window when I pulled up, I'd have turned around and left. Instead, here I am at the door running through any number of scenarios, and working up enough balls to actually knock. Taking a deep breath, I tap three times. It's not too late. Maybe nine-thirty at most. Tomorrow's a work day, though, so Delilah might be ready to call it a night. The door slowly opens.

"James. You're back." I nod and take her in. Plain adorable with her golden hair swept up into a messy ponytail, her favorite yoga pants, and a ratty Army T-shirt many sizes to big for her that I must have left behind. There's no bra happening underneath it, either, if the rock hard tips are any indication.

"Yeah. If it's too late I can come back another time." I back away from the door, as she shakes her head.

"No. Come in. Want a beer?"

"Water, if you don't mind. Had a little too much beer the last few days. Need to dry out." I follow her to the small kitchen.

"I thought you were working." She eyes me more closely. "Nice tan. Must've been a cushy job this time." She doesn't believe me. Hell.

"Not supposed to talk about it, but Jax and Demetri and I were sent to a high-end Caribbean resort. Had to extract a certain person from a bad situation. It required us to be three guys on a last-ditch bachelor trip before one of us got hitched. So, yeah, parts were actually fun." I almost choke on those words. The memory of what I did and almost did with Roxanne plaguing me. "It set us up as high-rollers, which got us into a private club."

"And, did you complete the mission?" She slides a glass toward me, and gives me a once over, presumably checking for bullet holes.

"Yeah. Got a little sketchy for a few minutes, but we got it done." I grin at her and wink. "Not a scratch on me, babe."

"Good to hear." An awkward silence takes over as we sit in the living room. Delilah draws her legs up against her, holding a pillow as another layer of armor. This is it. I run a hand over my face and through my hair—which has grown since I returned.

"D-doll, I know you were upset to see me on a date. Honestly, that guy you were with? I wanted to break his arm. The question is, what do we do about this?" Delilah stares at me, but doesn't answer right away. After a few moments, she shakes her head and dips it down to rest on the pillow.

"JD, I am confused by everything. You have every right to date women and do...whatever you want with them. I'm not your wife or your girlfriend and I have no claim over you."

"But..." I see where she's going, but I have to hear her say it.

"But...I hate it." The words spill out and her face turns a pretty pink. "The idea of you with a woman eats at me. It hurts. It shouldn't. It does, though." She can't even look me in the eye. I take one hand in mine, resting them on my thigh.

"D-doll, I get it." My stomach churns. What I'm about to do is a hundred shades of wrong. I send a silent apology up to my brother and pray I'm not struck by lightning. With my other hand, I tilt her chin up until our eyes meet. It takes every ounce of effort to refrain from kissing her like I want to. "I may be wrong about this. But, I think there's something going on between us that's moved beyond comforting each other. Whether or not it's real? Who's to say? Maybe we got too comfortable. Maybe I'm a convenient substitute for John." Delilah gasps and I can tell she's mortified I would think she's using me. I hold up a hand and smile gently. "If that's the case, babe, I don't think you did it on purpose. It's probably natural. It's also why I moved out. I'm not John."

Delilah furrows her brow and frowns. "Wait a minute. What about you? John was your brother. How do you fit into this theory of yours?" She actually sounds angry and offended. I study her, trying to decide how much to reveal. The devil on my shoulder says spill it all, every last sordid longing I've been filled with since the day John first showed me her picture. The angel on the other one says don't be an idiot and keep your damned trap shut. I suspect the answer is partway in between.