Finding Solace: A Small Town Second Chance Romance

by S. L. Scott

  I may have been used to throwing a ball in the spotlight, but at fifteen, I wasn’t as confident off the field.

  The guys looked at me. Cole stood up, offense defining his face.

  The girls turned around and stared at me, except for Delilah Noelle, who smiled when she looked my way. “We barely know each other, Jason.”

  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, she swung her ponytail to the side. “I’d like to get to know you, too.”

  That was the last day I walked home with the guys after school. Starting the next day, I walked two miles out of my way after our practices just to carry Delilah’s backpack home for her. 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, and 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 kind of love.”

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

  I scoot over until we’re sitting together. Wrapping my arm around her, I hug her close. “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.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I add, “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 against my arm. “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 is tied up in knots. Apparently, she notices because she adds, “If it makes a difference, you can hang something over me, too.”

  “What is that?”

  “I love you.” Fuck yeah.

  Free and easy.

  Without stipulations.

  She just lays it out there without fear . . .Wait a minute. “Are you saying it just because I did?”

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

  “Me either.” I point at 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.”

  Her happiness bubbles over, and a giggle escapes. “What does our star say?”

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

  Looking back up at the sky, she teases, “Our star should write poetry.” Poking me in the shoulder, she adds, “So should you, Koster. You’re such a romantic.”

  I hold her close again, soaking in the aura of her beautiful soul. “I’m not that romantic. I just say what I feel. So, to me, poetry isn’t lines strung together or words with the perfectly crafted iambic pentameter. No, that’s not poetry to me.”

  “What’s poetry to you?”

  “One word. Delilah.”

  18

  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 primary bedroom downstairs?”

  As if an unforeseen force pushes her down into the lake, she loses her balance when she loses her concentration. She pops back up before I have a chance to worry.

  Glorious in the midmorning 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 more than a week, I’ve discovered when she turns away from me that she’s either avoiding a question or hiding 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.”

  She giggles. “You’re being ridiculous. Why do you want to know all the stuff that doesn’t matter now anyway?”

  “Because it matters to me.”

  “Fine. I’ll make you a deal.” She splashes me. “If you get to ask questions and I have to answer, same goes for you. We take turns and when one doesn’t answer, the game is over. How’s that?”

  She may be good at avoiding those grenades of questions I drop, but I’m the king of keeping secrets. So this proposition gives me pause. Logically, though, for us to be together, she needs to know about the life I’ve been leading. As much as I hate admitting the bad stuff, good things came from it.

  What if this is my chance to redeem myself?

  What if she thinks I’m a monster?

  What if she loves me more because I survived when I didn’t know if I would at times?

  What if she can’t forgive my past?

  What if she hates me?

  What if . . . letting her in will free my soul from the burden of the sins I’ve carried with me? I swallow my pride. “Okay,” I whisper. “Deal.”

  She swims closer but stops ten or so feet away. “When my dad died, Cole moved us straight into my parents’ bedroom. I didn’t want to sleep in there. I was still grieving, and it felt disrespectful. It hurt to be in that room at all, much less take it over.”

  “Why’d he do that?”

  Smiling gently, she reminds me, “My turn, remember?” I swim a few feet closer. “Where have you been for the past four years?”

  Easy. “Alaska for a brief stint on a fishing boat.”

  “I knew about Alaska from your mom.”

  She’s on to me. “The money was great, but the work was hard.”

  “You never minded hard work from what I remember.”

  It’s not a question, but a statement I feel the need to address. “It wasn’t the work I wanted to do. Also, it sucked being on that boat for weeks at a time. Limited booze. Horrible sleeping conditions. Fish every meal.” The left side of my mouth quirks up. No women. “After that, I was up and down the West Coast and then crossed the country to New England. I’ve traveled all over between jobs and sometimes for the job.”

  Rolling her eyes, she retreats a few feet, which makes me laugh. “To answer your earlier question, I’m not sure. I have theories that Cole wanted to control me, and when he didn’t feel he had enough power, he’d hurt me. At first, it was emotional, but then it escalated.” Wading closer, she asks, “What did you do, or do now, for work and for money?”

  She’s tricky, that glint in her eyes reflecting her more devious side. Diving forward, I swim until I reach her legs. Her scream can be heard underwater it’s so loud. Pulling her under, I kiss her before we pop back up for air together. “Ah.” She sounds so satisfied my cock awakens despite the cool water.

  Keeping us close, I say, “C’mere.” Her limbs wrap around me, and I swim back to the dock.

  “You still have to answer, Jason.”

  “I will, but it may take a while.”

  While she climbs up the ladder, I watch that fine ass. Rubbing over my dick, I try to remind it that now is not the time. It clearly has other plans, though.

  We sit on a towel with our legs dangling over the edge. I’m not going to make her ask again, but it’s hard to start this conversation from a place of truth when I’m so used to hiding the details. I exhale. “I wasn
’t a hitman.”

  “What? Good God!” she exclaims, angling back as if I have cooties. “I didn’t expect that. What the hell do you mean you weren’t a hitman? And if that’s what you weren’t, what were you?”

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen her eyes both wide with curiosity while also narrowed in shock, but that’s what I’m seeing, and I feel an explanation rushing to ease the lines digging into her forehead. “I was a hired gun, a soldier, or maybe a mercenary is more accurate. Not for the military, but for private citizens who needed help righting wrongs.” Daring to peek over at her, I find her mouth hanging open. “Are we still playing?”

  “Jason . . .”

  That’s all she says and turns away from me to stare ahead at the lake. Troubling her lip, she rounds down her shoulders, and the battle in her thoughts is waging a war in her body language. It’s a lot to process, and I’m willing to give her time to do so, but damn, am I squirming in my skin. My heart’s racing, and I’m sweating even though I’m still wet from swimming.

  Sitting here is torture of a different kind than any form I’ve endured, and the fears I hold inside of losing her again or her never looking at me the way she did this morning in bed have become palpable. She finally speaks. “When you say hitman, did you kill people?”

  Not what I wanted to hear. How do I justify what I’ve done to someone who has no idea of the evil that resides outside this town? “I said I wasn’t a hitman.” One way or the other, our pasts were going to dampen our time together. I can only hope it’s temporary.

  “I need you to be serious with me, Jason. Have you killed someone?”

  “Yes.”

  On her feet, she’s pacing the dock. As if her mind is spinning, her stride picks up. “You’ve killed someone?” she asks as if the answer will be different this time, as if she misheard me.

  “It’s my turn,” I say, silently begging her to give me this chance. I need to bring back some of the lightness from before.

  She stops, too far for me to grab her ankles and beg for mercy. “Jason.”

  “Delilah.”

  “This isn’t funny. You’ve murdered somebody, or you killed them?”

  She’s right. There’s nothing funny about it. Not then or now. That’s why I’ll spend this life and eternity in hell in misery. “Is there a difference?”

  Her hands go to her head, her expression crumpled in disbelief, and she starts pacing again. When she stops, she says, “There’s a difference. Killing someone accidentally is very different than murdering somebody.”

  “What if they murdered your friend or someone you loved? Hurt them. Tried to kill them. Then is it okay?”

  “It’s never okay.”

  I put my back to her. This will be the end of what I hoped was a beginning. The sun is high in the sky, morning turning to midday. I can feel the heat on my skin, the burning, but I don’t move. A sunburn I can handle. What I can’t live with is her disappointment in me, her disgust in me.

  Closing my eyes, I remember how that bastard slept beside his wife. I remember the weight of the metal and the wood grain of the gun handle. It’s slower in my memories, like a lot of things. Except Delilah. All my time with her has always been too short, gone by too fast.

  I’m not sure when Delilah sat down, but her body presses to my back, her words softly spoken, “When I said I love you, I meant it. I love you, Jason. I won’t stop because you’re honest with me. I’ll only stop if you’re bad for me.”

  “I’m bad for you, babe. So bad you don’t even know it.” I hate how true those words are.

  The wind blows, and the song of the birds is carried with it. I’m not sure what to say, but I confess anyway, “I hate what I’ve done, but I can’t take it back, and I wouldn’t if I could.”

  “Why? How can you not regret taking a life?”

  “Because he took many lives, and he tried to take the life of someone I cared about, someone who deserved better than to be shot on the side of the road and left for dead. That’s what he did.”

  She rests the back of her head against mine and sighs. I try to end her internal debate. “I’m charred inside, burned from the hell I’ve been living. It’s probably best you know now. Save yourself, Delilah. No good can come from being with me.”

  “But—”

  “No.” I stand, moving out of her heat, her love, her misunderstanding of what needed to be done versus what we all wish we could have done if the world was a better place. As I stare at the farmland surrounding me, it’s easy to believe only good exists. Even when we struggle to pay bills or crops don’t produce. This place, this land, it’s magical—like time stands still here—and I’m not judged as harshly as I am beyond this property line. “I can’t turn back time, and I can’t take back the sins I’ve committed.”

  “You can be redeemed. You just have to believe—”

  “I don’t regret what I’ve done. It was either take him out or allow him to kill a dozen innocent people. I’ll burn in hell like I’ve been burning here on earth, but I’ll face that fire with a clear conscience.”

  “Jason?” She stands, her little pink bikini so damn distracting to the conversation we’re having.

  Grabbing my alma mater snapback, I pull it on and lower the bill. “What?”

  “I meant what I said. I love you.”

  “I know you do, but love isn’t going to be enough this time.” And it’s those words I now hate the most. The truth. She doesn’t need the shit that is my life in her world.

  She doesn’t need me.

  She’s brave and bold, stepping right up to me with no fear of consequences. She knows I could never hurt her, even if I’ve hurt others. “It wasn’t last time, but here we are faced with a second chance to get it right.”

  “We didn’t survive last time, honeysuckle. What makes you think this time will be different?”

  “Because we’re different. We’ve seen what life is like without each other, and it’s not pretty. We only get blue skies when we’re together.”

  “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

  “That’s just it, Jason. It sounds like everyone has wanted something from you. They’ve trained you to believe that no one can be trusted. Whoever they are did quite the job on you, and for what? Their benefit or yours?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Then tell me what it’s like because our memories may bind us, but it’s who we are now that will carry us forward. And I want that, Jason. I want to move forward with you.” She slips a little dress over her head. It’s ill-fitting, hiding the shape of her body, but she still looks so gorgeous.

  The gravity of this conversation strikes my heart when I see the depth of concern for my soul residing in her eyes. “This is hard to process,” she says. “I’m trying to understand what would turn the man I used to know into somebody who could harm someone, instead of saving him.”

  “Save him?” I walk to the end of the dock and spin the hat around. When I turn around, she’s on the other end, and once again, I feel the distance between us. “You’re not understanding. This is not a man you can save by taking him to church or introducing him to the Bible. This was a monster that would hurt you if it hurt me. He killed an innocent kid just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A kid who came to help out his friend. He was shot without a chance to plead for his life. Killed only to hurt other people.”

  This is the most I’ve talked in forever, and it’s taking a toll. My patience is gone. I shouldn’t have to justify what I’ve done, but I will because it’s her. “I needed money. I came off the ships in Alaska and was robbed, gun to my head, by one of the other crewmembers. I thought I was going to die.” I scoff, shaking my head as I scan the horizon. “We didn’t get along on the boat. He taunted me the whole time, calling me too good-looking to be working a real man’s job and accused me of being pampered in life. First night off the boat, we walked to the closest brothel. We got drunk. So fucking drunk.” I don’t turn back bec
ause her silence is telling. Fuck it. She wants to hear the ugly side of my life, so I give it to her in the details she’s seeking. “I left when the guys started going to the back with the girls. I made it outside to the alley before I was hit from behind and knocked to my knees. Ten thousand stolen right from my jacket pocket with the barrel of a gun pressed to my head.”

  “Oh, Jason,” she says. I need to see her reaction, so I finally brace myself for the expected disgust. But that’s not what I get. Sympathy is woven into the lines of her expression. That’s not what I want.

  No one has ever loved me the way she has. I can’t lose her—not again—and that gives me the strength I need. “I will tell you anything you want to know. I just don’t want to lose you in the process.”

  “I don’t either, but I can’t handle secrets. Tell me what happened.”

  “They said, ‘Say a prayer, pretty boy.’” But what I thought were the last words I’d ever hear didn’t bother me. Neither did the money. I didn’t care about anything at that moment because all I could think of was how I would never get to see you again and tell you how much I loved you. So tell me what can I say that will keep you here, and by here, I mean in my arms at night and waking up to you in the morning? I want to talk about our day in the evenings and swim in the lake at noon. I want you. I want this life with you. I want whatever life you want, Delilah. I just want you in mine. Any part of you that you’re willing to give, I’ll take like a greedy thief in the night.”

  She runs into my arms, wrapping her body around mine. Her tears run down my bare chest, and I embrace her fully, never wanting to let her go. “I love you. I love you so much.” When her blue eyes look into mine, she asks, “Why didn’t you come back for me?”

  “Because the next day, I called my mom and found out you were getting married before I could catch a flight. I was too fucking hurt. Too angry. Too disappointed. I’d lost you, Delilah. You were no longer mine. And my heart broke that day.”

  “I didn’t owe it to me, but I wish so much that you would have called.” I didn’t see the point. She was marrying another man, for fuck’s sake.