Solace (The Kingwood Series Book 4)

by S. L. Scott

  It’s bedtime. I lift her into my arms and carry her up the stairs to her room. As soon as I lay her down, she rolls to the side away from me. I take her shoes off and work the covers over her. I’m not that tired so I go back downstairs. I turn off the TV and the living room lamp, wanting to head out on the front porch to enjoy the quiet night.

  Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I twist the cap off and flick it into the sink, landing it exactly where I wanted. Amused with my minor achievement, I go to retrieve it but stop when I look down. A full cobbler dish is angled in the sink with a big scoop taken out. The remains of that scoop are splattered across a broken dish.

  When I pick a piece of the shattered plate up, I notice the blood that has seeped into it through the jagged edges. I recognize the pattern of the plate as one Delilah always cherished. We were never allowed to use these floral-trimmed plates because they were her mother’s. They’re on display above the cabinets. Looking up, it’s easy to find the vacant spot. She had to make quite the effort to eat off it. Wonder what spurred her to use that plate, and why did it end up broken in the sink with what looks to be not burned, but perfectly cooked cobbler?

  But what I find odd is why Delilah lied about dessert. I can guess all night, but I’m not getting any answers until morning from the snoring beauty upstairs. I find myself smiling, thinking about her. I pull the pieces of the plate out of the sink and put them in a brown lunch sack I find in the pantry.

  On the porch, I sit down on the steps and set the bag next to me so I remember it on the way out tomorrow. I hear the bugs and see the fireflies in the field. The light above Paloma and Ricardo’s front door shines in the distance. I should probably go by tomorrow and say hello. I’m sure they know I’m in town so it’s rude not to stop by.

  A car drives down the main road, coming toward the curve just past the farm. If they keep driving that speed they could end up in the ditch. I watch, keeping my eyes on the car just in case. But the car slows down so much so that it comes to a stop at the end of the long drive that leads to the house. When the lights are cut, I stand up. What the fuck are they up to?

  I maneuver off the porch from the other side and duck behind a tree in the yard. Making my way to the edge of the fence, I stare. The driver remains in the car, but the inside’s too dark to tell who it is from here. I’m about to sneak through the field and approach from behind, but the lights flick back on and the car drives off. But not before I get the make and model—white BMW 3 Series.

  I’ve not seen many BMWs around the county. It’s a rich man’s car when most here live mortgage payment to payment. Trucks are much more practical. Was that a wrong turn, ending on this road, or more?

  With no sign of the car returning, I go back inside the house. All doors and windows are double-checked on the first floor before I go upstairs to Delilah’s bedroom.

  She’s still sleeping soundly, which relieves me. Knowing she’s comfortable gives me peace of mind. I hope she feels the same from me, that I can bring back the same confidence she once had, the confidence the motherfucker ex of hers took.

  Cole Cutler is lucky I let him go with a minor takedown outside Red River. I’m not sure how or when, but he better hope we don’t meet in a dark alley anytime soon. I go through my nighttime routine like I live here, which makes me wonder if I eventually will.

  I’d never considered it since Delilah never thought she’d be living here after college, but plans change, life happens, and sometimes we end up exactly where we were always meant to be. Standing over the bed, staring at this stunning woman—snuffle-snorts and tattoos from drunken nights—I’m starting to feel this might be where I was meant to be all along.

  Shifting the covers on the free side of the bed, I slide her over. Her skirt scrunches up around her thighs and I let my eyes follow the long lines of her legs. Reaching down, I toss the blanket to the end of the bed and slide down the zipper on her hip and shimmy the skirt off. I work her sweater from her shoulders and down one arm and then the other, leaving her hopefully a little more comfortable in a tank top and underwear. Pulling the covers over her, I lean down and kiss her head before slipping in next to her.

  I don’t worry about macho pride. I get right in, bumping up against her, and then spoon the hell out this woman. My woman.

  Sleep evades me.

  Headlights. A BMW. Stopping on the road in front of her property isn’t normal in the country. Not that spot. Not this time of night. It feels off. My instincts are on high alert. The problem is I’m not sure if I’m dealing with a threat from my past or a present danger.

  I kiss the back of her head and tighten my hold on this angel of mine. Have I put her at risk by being here? What about my mom? Was it a mistake to come home?

  It’s hard to think I made a mistake when I’m currently holding the one reason I survived through the last few years. I can continue the lie that she wasn’t on my mind, but I’m tired of lying to myself.

  “Jason . . .”

  My name breaks through the stormy clouds of my thoughts. “Yeah?” I reply softly.

  “Please . . .”

  That’s when I realize she’s still asleep. Sitting up, I hover over her, and watch her face as it contorts in pain. Shit. I don’t want to hurt her. I hurt her once, which I’ll regret forever. If I had only told her, but that damn surprise backfired before I could fix the damage my secret caused. Her dreams should be filled with the good memories, not the bad.

  I run my hand over her arm, trying to comfort her.

  “No. Please. Please, Cole. Don’t hit—” She balls up, her words choking in her throat as she starts to cry. “Jason. Help . . .”

  What the fuck? “Delilah?” My voice is louder than I intend, firmer. I want to wake her up. Need to.

  Air whooshes from between her lips and her chest lowers just as her eyes open. Her throat must be dry by how she takes a moment to swallow and coat it, hopefully drowning the bad dreams along with it. “You awake?”

  A hand covers her head, and her gaze finds me in the dark. “What’s wrong?”

  “You were having a bad dream.”

  “Oh.” Her reply is flat, and she looks at the ceiling. “Sorry if I woke you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  Glancing back to me, sadness comes over her expression, sinking into the corners of her eyes. “Can’t sleep?”

  “No.” I lie back.

  “What is it?”

  “I hate that you have bad dreams.”

  “They’re just nightmares. They’re not real.”

  “But they were.”

  She sighs. “Yeah. Not anymore though.”

  “Can I ask you something that’s rattled me for years?”

  “Sure,” she replies, unsure of where this is going by the way she extends the word, dragging it out.

  “I remember this one time after I transferred, after we broke up. I made a touchdown, winning the game my junior year after transferring. The team piled onto the field, tackling me with cheers and congrats. I knew you weren’t there.”

  Her body tenses, but I keep going. “I knew you weren’t there, but I looked up into those stands anyway like a bad habit I couldn’t break. You know what happened?”

  Hesitating at first, she finally replies, “What?”

  “You know what happened. Tell me.”

  Her body molds to mine, but she keeps her head down. “I watched you score that touchdown. I watched your team lift you onto their shoulders. I watched the crowd cheer for you. I watched you.”

  “I saw you. I ran as fast as I could, jumping a wall to get into those stands, and work my way to the section where you were, but you were gone.”

  “I shouldn’t have been there.”

  “But you were.” I sit abruptly and she lies down. “You were there like you were supposed to be. And then you weren’t. Why?”

  “Because Cole was playing, and I left his game to come to yours. I only needed to see you to breathe again, to feel whole, to feel what I’
d missed. It was always so much better with you.”

  I keep my back to her and move to the end of the bed. I have no energy, the emotional toll wiping away all my strength. “Then why’d you stay in this town?”

  When she doesn’t answer, I turn back. She’s leaning her head on the mattress, the pillow pushed behind her. The covers expose her shoulders, but she seems exposed in other ways—vulnerable—even in the dark. I want to help her, to fill in the space where her words can heal, but something tells me they won’t heal but hurt us both if spoken. I’m about to end the pain she’s reliving in her mind by the distance that’s taken over her gaze, but she finally says, “He didn’t just hurt me after we got married.”

  Fuck.

  “At first I stayed to help my dad, but he said I was meant to fly. I was going to move to Chicago with my sister. Cole didn’t like that idea, and always knew just the right thing to terrorize me with. He threatened to set fire to the fields, and then he threatened to set fire to me, to ruin me for all others.”

  I drop my head into my hands. The pads of my palms dig into my eyes before standing and walking to the window. I hate these damn blinds. They’re useless, making me want to rip them from the frame. I don’t, but I want to. Instead, I yank the cord, the metal slats slamming together.

  “Jason! What are you doing?”

  I open the glass and climb out, my muscle memory strong from all the times I came and went through this window. Pacing the roof above the porch, I don’t know how to make this right. I don’t know how she can even allow me back into her life. I didn’t protect her. I’ve proven I can’t protect her. I didn’t when she needed me most.

  How can she look at me?

  How can she act like she forgives me?

  My feet stop, and I look back at the window as she climbs out. Standing there, she says, “Why are you upset?”

  Sitting down near the corner where the trellis hangs, I look over the property, too ashamed to look at her. “I’ll never fucking forgive myself for letting him put his hands on you.”

  “Is that what you think?” I glance at her while she comes closer and sits, keeping a foot or so between us. “You think you let any of that happen?”

  “I didn’t stop it—”

  “You couldn’t stop it.” She reaches over, stretching across the distance that seems wider than the visible space. “Don’t go blaming yourself for something you had nothing to do with and no control over.”

  “I loved you.”

  “And I loved you,” she replies easily. “But it wasn’t love keeping us apart. It wasn’t you transferring schools either. It wasn’t a lack of want on my part. I wanted you. Mostly, I needed you. You meant so much to me that I struggled to live life without you in it.”

  “But you stayed with him. Why?”

  “Like you, I didn’t feel I had much choice in the matter. I tried to leave once. He dragged me from the truck before I could stick the key in the ignition. It didn’t matter how hard I fought, his hands tightened around my neck, forcing me to the lake.” She stops talking. I’m so tempted to fill in the space. I want to take away her pain, tell her it’s okay, but I can’t. I wasn’t here for her when she needed me most. I have to let her work through this now. “We stood on the dock. While I gasped for air, he looked into my eyes and told me he would drown me before he let me leave him. He would kill me before I embarrassed him in front of the whole town like that.”

  I don’t think she realizes her hands are on her neck, rubbing lightly as if she’s soothing her throat.

  I say, “He knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “He knew I was going to ask you to marry me.”

  A scoff-sob escapes her as she looks at her lap, her chest denting in momentarily. When she turns her eyes toward the sky, I can see how they shine, a layer of tears ready to fall. “Of course he did. Cole had his eyes set on the prize long before that argument between us.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?”

  “I believed him.” She turns to me, her arms wrapped around her knees. “I believed him when he said you transferred because you didn’t have the nerve to break up with me. I believed him when he told me you had been bragging about how many girls you’d been with. I believed everything because he was my friend and your best friend and surely everything he was telling me was true.”

  “Delilah, you have to believe me. None of that was true. I never, never slept with any other girls. You were my everything. I knew what I had, how special you were. Are. I’ve been so fucking angry with you. Through miles of travel and years apart, I never understood why you left me without another word, without giving me something I could hold on to enough to let you go. Or how you could be with him.”

  And that’s the most honest we’ve been for some time. Now I know the truth. Now I know why. Years late, but knowing allows so much of my anger to evaporate.

  He had lied to her.

  “I’m so sorry, Jason. So, so sorry. I—”

  “No. Don’t apologize. I’m sorry you believed him then, and I’m angry because of that you were hurt. But you need to believe me now. I love you.”

  Her eyes flash to mine. “Loved. You loved me like I loved you.”

  I never stopped loving her, even when I wanted to hate her. My pretty girl has simply owned my heart forever.

  “What about me?” I didn’t mean to step up the second after the pretty girl turned Cole down. But my thoughts were voiced before I knew what I was doing.

  I may have been used to throwing a ball in the spotlight, but I wasn’t used to being the spotlight. The guys looked at me. Cole stood up, offense defining his face.

  The girls turned around and stared at me. Delilah smiled when she looked my way. “We barely know each other, Jason.” That’s not a no.

  She had cheered for me for years, but for some reason, hearing her say my name that day was different. It was personal and made my throat thick, causing me to clear it before speaking again. “I’d like to get to know you.”

  With the tilt of her head, her ponytail swung to the side. “I’d like to get to know you, too.”

  That was the last day I walked home with the guys. Starting the very next day, I carried Delilah’s backpack home for her—two miles out of the way. I got my truck three months later and started driving her and her sister. I think I loved her from the minute we saw each other, but I knew I was a goner not long after the day she said she wanted to get to know me. By the end of that school year, I wanted her for my forever.

  . . . “No, Delilah. I love you. Present tense. Hearts and flowers. Kisses over morning coffee and poetry down by the lake in the afternoon love.”

  Tears spill over her bottom lids, but her joy isn’t contained. She giggles and says, “That’s intense.”

  I scoot over until our hips are bumped together. Wrapping my arm around her, I hug her close. Her arm sneaks around my back. I say, “That is intense and so honest that I don’t even think I can look at you right now.”

  “What?” She squeezes me. “Why can’t you look at me?”

  “Because then I’m going to see that look in your eyes that tells me I told you too much.”

  “It wasn’t too much.”

  “I meant that you’re going to have hearts in your eyes and a goofy grin on your face, because I’ve given you ammo to hang over me like a carrot teasing a rabbit.”

  Her head leans on the top of my bicep. I tighten because now I want to impress her even more than I did before, and I didn’t think I was holding back before. “You know me so well, Jason Koster. I love a good blackmail, and you’ve given me a doozy.”

  It’s all fun and games, good-natured teasing, but she’s still over there laughing while my stomach gets tied up in knots. Apparently she notices because she adds, “If it makes a difference, you can hang something over me too.”

  “What?”

  “I love you.” Fuck yeah.

  Free and easy.
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  Without stipulations.

  She just lays it out there without fear.

  “Are you saying it because I did?”

  “No. I’m saying it because I know it’s true. I never stopped.”

  “Me too.” I point to the sky. “Look. A shooting star.”

  “You sure that wasn’t a spaceship?”

  “Oh, ye of little faith. That was a star receiving our message and sending it into the cosmos.”

  “What does our star say?”

  “Nothing heals a broken soul like the love of a true heart.”

  Looking back up at the sky, she says, “You should write poetry.”

  “Most people think poetry has to be lines of words strung together. That’s not poetry to me.”

  “What’s poetry to you?”

  “One word. Delilah.”

  17

  Jason

  “Why do you sleep in your old room?”

  Floating on her back with her eyes closed and her body still, Delilah replies, “I feel safe in that corner of the house.”

  I wade through the water, mentally running through the floor plan of the farmhouse. Her room is the farthest from the front door, the back door, and the common areas. “You never wanted to take over the master bedroom downstairs?”

  As if an unforeseen force pushes her down into the water, she loses her balance when she loses her concentration. She pops up.

  Glorious in the mid-morning sun shining on her wet lashes and water droplets covering her skin, she swims away from me. After being here practically every day and night for over a week, I’ve discovered when she turns away from me she’s either avoiding a question or hiding her eyes from me. She can’t lie when looking into my eyes. Either way it’s avoidance. Simple as that.

  Swimming after her, I catch her twenty yards from the dock, but keep swimming to give her the space I know she needs. “I can dog-paddle all day long.”