Discovering Delilah (Harborside Nights, Book 2) (24 page)

“Hey, you okay tonight?” Livi sidles up to me, and we both push through the double doors and head for the kitchen to place our customers’ orders.

I shrug.

“Worried about going back home this
weekend?” Livi asks.

“A little.” Maybe that is why I’m so upset over this.
Nope
. I can’t even lie to myself about why I’m upset. I feel like Ash lied to me.

We give Dutch our orders, and before walking back into the bar, Livi touches my arm.

“Sometimes what you find out about your parents after they die can have as big of an impact as their death did. You know, secrets and stuff. So
take my number in case you want to talk.” She scrawls her number on an order pad and slips it into my pocket. “I’ve been there, so if you want to talk, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks.”  I shove it in my pocket, though I know my parents aren’t causing my angst at the moment.

She smiles. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, lessening the impact our parents leave behind.”

You wouldn’t believe
the shit they left behind…
I’m not sure anything can lessen the impact of what my parents left behind.

On my way to the counseling session, I drive by Ashley’s apartment complex. I debate going in to talk to her, but then I remember she’s at work, and I have no idea what I’d say. I’m still stuck between feeling like she lied and feeling like a complete idiot for thinking she would.

I turn
back toward the YMCA and crank the music. Ashley’s iPod is plugged into the stereo—with all my favorite songs on her playlist.

I drive the rest of the way holding back tears.

~Ashley~

THE DAY FROM hell plowed into the night from hell. I texted Delilah a million times, and I tried calling, but she was at work all day, and I know she can’t talk when she’s working. She texted me back
a number of times, but always with the same message. She’s sorry, but she needs space and time.

Brent and I are the last two in the shop, finishing the inventory that should have been done hours ago, but we got so busy that there wasn’t time. As it gets later into the season, everyone wants to pick up the end-of-summer sale items. It’s great for business, but on a day when everything makes
me want to either punch something or cry, the business is the last thing on my mind.

“I think that just about does it.” Brent rises to his feet with a groan. “The worst part about inventory is crouching for so long.” His hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Brent’s big brown eyes are serious, his strong jaw is set tight, and he’s looking at me like he’s worried. I know it’s because I’ve been
a royal bitch all day, barely talking or acknowledging his efforts at small talk. I don’t mean to be that way, but it’s not like I can help it after what happened this morning with Delilah.

“The worst part about inventory is
doing
the inventory,” I say to lighten the mood. Brent smiles, but worry lingers in his eyes. When I first started working at the surf shop, it took me a few weeks to
open up to him. He’s a friendly guy, and he tried to reach out multiple times, to try to get me to let him in on why I was so moody. Having just broken up with Sandy, I was in no mood to share my romantic woes. But he asked enough times that I finally gave in. We walked along the boardwalk eating ice cream and talking about breakups, not that he had much experience with them. By the end of the evening
we’d become friends. He has the same worried look in his eyes now that he did back then. Like he’s going to get me to talk whether I like it or not.

Brent pulls me to my feet. “Thanks for your help. I know you weren’t in the mood to do inventory for twelve hours.”

“I didn’t really mind.”

We walk up front and go through the normal closing routine of straightening up the shop, sweeping,
closing out the register. As I go through the motions, I wonder what Delilah’s doing in group. Is she sitting next to Janessa, telling her what happened between us?

“How did you do with Drake?” Brent asked.

I shrug. “He’s a good instructor, but I think I need about a dozen more lessons before I’m any good. He said he’d help me as long as I want.”
But I’d rather get help from Delilah.

“Any fun plans for the weekend?” Brent asks as he locks up behind us.

“No. Delilah’s going out of town, so…”

He smiles down at me. “So, it’s true, then, the rumor about you and Delilah?”

“There’s a rumor about us?” Delilah will hate that.

“Well, not like a Harborside rumor or anything. Jesse mentioned it to me. I’ve known Delilah for a long time. She’s a sweet gal.”

“Yeah.
She is.”
And I want my sweet girl back.

“Where you headed? Wanna grab a soda?” Brent asks.

“A soda? Wow, you’re a real party animal tonight.” I smile with the tease.

“Yeah, well, when Delilah and Wyatt’s parents were killed, it was a wakeup call.” We walk a few feet toward the pier. “You game? We can grab a drink at Brooke’s.”

Going to Brooke’s will make me think of Delilah, which
will make me sad. “How about we just grab a can from the machine and sit on the beach? We’ve been in the shop all day.”

He furrows his brow. “Okay. Is today’s mood caused by trouble in paradise or just a bad mood in general?”

I shrug, but I’ve worked for Brent since I first came to Harborside, and he knows my moods too well to let me off that easily.

“Okay, so we have girlfriend problems.”
He slips money into the soda machine and steps aside for me to make a selection. I press a button for Mello Yello, and he gets a Coke. We take our drinks across the boardwalk and sink down into the sand near a night volleyball game. It should probably feel weird sitting with my boss, talking about this kind of stuff, but Brent doesn’t feel like a boss. He feels like a big brother, like Wyatt,
Jesse, Tristan, and Brandon. I have a lot of
brothers
around here, but I’d trade them all to have Delilah back by my side.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure you and Delilah will figure it out, but it’s a good reminder why I don’t do the whole girlfriend thing.” He chugs his Coke.

“I hope so, but I don’t think this is that easy.”

He nods, looking out over the water. “Want to talk about it?”

I shrug again. “Yes. No. I have no idea. How’s that for indecisive?”

“About as good as it gets, I suppose. If you weren’t into her, you wouldn’t care, right? So at least you have that part figured out.”

“Oh, I’m into her. I’m so into her I don’t want to find my way out.” I sip my soda and close my eyes as the cold liquid slips down my throat. Liquid. That’s what I feel like right now.
Like I’m slipping through each minute without any idea of how to become solid again.

“Wow, that’s pretty into her. So, have you called her, tried to talk?”

“Mm-hm. She needs space.”

“Ouch.” He finishes his soda and crushes the can, then sets it beside him. “Space. That’s not a good sign. You must have done something pretty harsh.”

“Why do you assume
I
did something?”

The side
of his mouth quirks up. “Because she’s the one asking for space.”

“Oh. Right.” We sit in silence for a while. “So, you don’t do the whole
girlfriend thing
because it’s too hard? That seems lonely.”
Relationships are hard, but Delilah’s worth whatever it takes.

“No. Not because it’s too hard. I just…don’t. There are too many things that can be misconstrued, and when you’re a guy, you get
blamed for everything, even when you don’t do anything.”

I know what you mean.
“Then maybe you’re picking the wrong girls.” I can’t imagine him doing the wrong things very often. The way he and Jesse watch out for everyone else, it seems like they were brought up doing all the right things.

He shrugs. “Maybe you did, too.”

“No. I have no doubt that Delilah is the right girl for me.”

He slides me an arched-eyebrow look that reads,
Then why’d you do something wrong?

“It wasn’t what I did. It was what I didn’t do.”

“Been there, too. It’s all the same.”

“Well, some girls aren’t worth taking those extra steps for, but Delilah is. I was just stupid.” I don’t really know why I didn’t tell Delilah about Sandy’s texts. I’d like to believe that I thought so little of
them I didn’t want her to worry. But the truth is, I think I might have been keeping them as a reminder of what I
didn’t
want to repeat. The problem is, I
am
with Delilah, and although she’s not anything like Sandy, she isn’t
out
. She isn’t openly affectionate in public, and
that
was what those reminders were supposed to keep me from repeating.

But all the texts and reminders in the world
couldn’t make me walk away from Delilah.

“You’re not a stupid girl, Ash. I’m not buying it.”

I’m not either
.

We walk back toward the parking lot. “Where’s your car?”

“I walked. Needed the fresh air.”

“At seven thirty this morning?” He takes me by the elbow and leads me to his Harley. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“You don’t have to.” Although the idea of walking home
alone is not at all appealing. I don’t live far, but I feel lonely with the fissure that’s formed between me and Dee.

“I know.” He lifts a helmet from his bike. “Can you tie your hair back?”

I slip an elastic band from my wrist and secure my hair at the nape of my neck. Then he puts the helmet on me and smiles. “Cute.”

“Thanks. I feel like one of those bobblehead dolls we sell.”

He puts on his helmet and helps me onto the bike, then straddles the bike. “Hold on tight.”

Minutes later we’re at my apartment complex. I give Brent the helmet and thank him for the ride. He takes off his helmet and holds it under his arm as he reaches for my arm.

“Ashley, I’m sure that Delilah will come around. Just don’t shove whatever you did or didn’t do to the side. If there’s one
thing I’ve learned, it’s that owning our mistakes can help us heal. Unless, of course, the reason we made them in the first place was to give ourselves an out. And if that’s the case, cut your losses and walk away, because if you wanted out once, you’ll want out again.”

As his taillights fade into the distance, I know one thing for sure. I
do not
want an out from being with Delilah.

~Delilah~

I DRIVE OVER to group, but I don’t want to talk about grieving and depression and moving past our pain when another type of pain is sinking its claws into my heart. A pain that feels worse than the lingering pain of losing my parents, and
that
makes me feel guilty, too. I should go back to work and help out, but I can’t. I just fucking can’t. I turn
my Jeep around and drive home, adding another layer of guilt to my already guilt-laden shoulders.

I park in the driveway behind Brandon’s motorcycle and head inside, cringing when the door slams behind me.

Brandon sits up from where he’s sprawled on the couch with his laptop perched on his stomach.

“Whoa. You okay?” He sets the laptop on the coffee table.

“No.” I take the stairs
two at a time and stomp into my room. I grab a duffel bag from the closet and pack my stuff—realizing too late that I left my hairbrush at Ashley’s.
Damn it
.

I snag my shampoo from the bathroom, and when I come back out Brandon is sitting on my bed, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded behind his head.

“Skipping group?”

“Yup.”

“Been there, done that. Anything I can do to help?”
Brandon’s parents had put him into a peer counseling group when he was a teenager because they thought he was too…everything. Rebellious, different, uninterested in schoolwork, despite his excellent grades. 

“Nope.” I toss shorts and tank tops into my bag, then go back to my dresser for underwear. When I open the drawer, I see Ashley’s underwear and bra and stare at them for a few seconds
while my throat thickens.

“Thought you were leaving tomorrow.”

I grab my underwear and slam the drawer shut. “Changed my mind.” I stuff it into the bag, throw in a pair of flip-flops, and zip it up.

Brandon sits up as I grab the handles and he clutches my wrist. “Delilah, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry
.

He nods at the bag. “This is not nothing.
Wyatt will freak if he finds out you’re driving home at night.”

I shrug and pull my wrist from his grip. “Wyatt can’t control everything I do.”

Brandon follows me out of the room and down the stairs. “Want me to come with you so you have company in the car?”

I sigh loudly as I stalk out the door. “No. You have a gig this weekend with your band. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe
you should call Wyatt so that he doesn’t tear me a new one when I tell him I let you go.” Brandon opens the passenger door and takes my bag, throws it in, then closes the door. “You sure you’re not too upset to drive?”

“You’re a good friend, Brandon. I’m too upset not to drive. I’ll call Wyatt in a little while.”

“Once you’re out of Harborside?”

“A smart friend, too. If you talk to
Wyatt, don’t let him tell you that you let me do anything. I don’t need permission to leave.” I climb into the Jeep and put my phone on the passenger seat. The message light is blinking.
Why can’t everyone just leave me alone
?

I start the Jeep and scroll through the messages.
Janessa. Wyatt. Ashley
.

Tossing the phone back on the passenger seat, I wave to Brandon and pull out of the driveway.
I’m in no mood to answer to anyone, and I know what Ashley’s text is going to say. The same thing she’s been texting all day. She’s sorry. She wasn’t thinking. She loves me.

I drive toward the highway with my head swimming in too many thoughts to try to decipher them. Traffic on the highway is light, and I drive for an hour, listening to Ashley’s iPod. As I near the site of my parents’ accident,
I become consumed with thoughts of them.

What were they thinking right before it happened? Were they arguing about me? Were they thinking about how much I disappointed them? Were they wishing that I didn’t exist?