My Heart for Yours (14 page)

I helped her into bed the night before her grandmother’s funeral. I fluffed the pillows like I’d seen my mom do when we were having company and pulled the thick down comforter up over her. It was the first time that I’d actually taken care of someone. The first time that someone needed me.

“
I love you, Delia Gentry,” I told her. My heart raced, I’d never said the words to a woman before.

“
So, what, your love for mine? Another trade?” she asked. It was her first smile in days.

“
Nope, I love you. That’s it.” I said.

“
Well, Tobin LeJeune, it just so happens that I love you, too.”

***

“
You know in all the time we were together, this is the first time I’ve ever driven your truck,” she says.

“
Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. It’s never going to happen again,” I mumble. She grinds the gears as she slows down to stop at a stop sign. I feel like I’m going to be sick. It has little to do with Delia’s poor driving of a standard, but that isn’t helping either.

“
It’s this one up here on the left,” I say smugly.

“
I know which—” she stops and looks at me, “Oh, I see. You’re trying to be funny.”

She pulls the truck into the driveway and then starts toward the front door.

“
Okay, so, I’m going to call Weston, and then get you inside.”

The mention of his name makes me fume with anger. She speaks softly into the phone like it’s too private for me to hear. I wonder what she’s telling him. I can’t focus enough on anything to concentrate on her voice right now.

“
I don’t need your help,” I say after she hangs up.

She’s wearing that same damn pair of cut off’s that she always did, the ones that always drove me a little crazy. I want to run my finger along the frayed edges. I shouldn’t be thinking about things like that right now, but I am. “Tobin, I’m not leaving you out here.”

“
Whatever,” I say. “So, isn’t your boyfriend going to be pissed that you’re with me?”

Delia lightly tiptoes up the stairs.

“
And where are you going?” I ask.

“
I’m going to make sure you get settled in bed. You really need to get some rest. Oh, and for the record, Weston isn’t your concern,” she says.

“
Ah, that’s sweet. I didn’t think you had it in you to stand up for anything,” I say. She turns around with eyes narrowed; she opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but lets it snap shut. The thought of getting her all riled up is so damn hot. I take my time going up the stairs, because I’m not entirely sure that they aren’t going to slip out from under me.

“
Tobin, don’t do this, I’m just trying to help,” she says. She holds the bedroom door open for me. I should be worried about waking my parents, but Dad would never interfere and waking Mom would be like waking the dead with all of the medication she’s taking.

“
So, when exactly did you decide you were over me and start sleeping with the captain of the polo team?” I ask.

She drops the pillow that she had been fluffing onto my bed and grits her teeth. I sort of love seeing her pissed off.

“
That’s not how it was and you know it,” she says through clenched teeth.

I close the bedroom door behind me. The fact that she doesn’t deny that they are sleeping together tears at me.

“
Then tell me how it
was
, Delia. Here’s your chance. You’re free to say it all. Shit, I won’t even remember it in the morning!” I laugh.

“
We can talk about this when you’re sober, Tobin.”

I hear a car idling down on the street. That was fast. He must have one of those fancy GPS things to have found the house so quick. And maybe he doesn’t like the idea of her here with me.

“
So, I’m gonna go. Get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says. She stares at me briefly then just turns and leaves. Like it’s so easy for her. Why can’t it be that easy for me?

I hear the front door open downstairs and I just can’t let it go like that. I haul ass down the stairs, slipping on the last three and almost break my neck.

“
D!” I call out the door.

She spins on her heels and I notice the Ralph Lauren model is standing at the passenger side door, ready to open it for her. He looks up at me, and I can’t tell from his expression what he does or doesn’t know about me. I really don’t care at this point.

“
Why?” I demand.

She raises her finger to Weston to signal that she’ll just be a minute and starts back toward me, hands on her hips, shaking her head.

“
Why what, Tobin?”

“
Why did you leave me like that? Why did you run off with someone else so fucking fast?” I’m slurring my words a little. I can hear it, but I can’t stop.

“
I didn’t leave you, Tobin. Don’t be absurd. You know what, I can’t do this right now, and
you
shouldn’t want to. It doesn’t matter anymore,” she says.

And I wish to God that it didn’t, but it does. Because the last time anything was okay was when Delia was in my life and at our house for Sunday dinner and Eamon was there and my mom was awake and it just
all
matters.

“
Everything okay, sweets?” Weston is here now and I don’t want him this close to her. Or me.

“
Everything is fine. You can go back to your car,” I tell him.

“
It’s fine, Weston, I can take care of myself,” she says.

I snort. “Since when?”

Weston hasn’t moved. Instead, he holds Delia’s hand and I want to pummel him for it.

“
Why don’t I just get you home,” he says to her.

She nods and starts to walk away with him.
Your hand in mine.

And I snap.

“
Okay, D. I hope you find whatever it is that you’re looking for. Or whatever it is that your dad is looking for, for you. You’re a fucking mess!” I yell after her.

I expect Ralph Lauren to come back after me, but he doesn’t. Instead, Delia is in my face. Staring at me with intensity I’ve never seen in her before. Even in my drunken haze, I can see the anger ignite in her eyes

“
I know you’re drunk. And grieving. But fuck you, Tobin.”

I’ve never heard her swear like that. I’ve never seen her
passionate
about something like that.

“
Shit, I want to kiss you right now,” I say.

“
Don’t you dare. Go to bed. I’m leaving.
With my boyfriend.
You go and sober up.” She’s leaving again.

And this time, I have to let her go.

WHAT IS SAFE?

Is safe the hands that hold you no matter what?

Or is safe someone hurting enough to fight?

Is safe the one who is strong as a pillar?

Or is safe who wants to use the strength of two, not one?

Is love safe?

Or is it better to find comfort?

Can there be comfort without love?

Can passion come from warmth?

Or does it need to come from fire?

Fourteen
Delia

I rest my head against the cold window as I count the bright street lights on the way back to my house. I know exactly how many there are. Fifty-two between his house and mine. I know because the last time I drove away from Tobin’s house, concentrating on counting them was the only thing that kept me from crumbling. I’m in the car with Weston. It’s over. We’re gone, and Tobin’s hopefully sleeping it off. Damn him.

Shit, I want to kiss you right now
. What the hell!

The scariest thing is that if Weston hadn’t been there…I might…no. Not Tobin. Too late.
Way
too late.

It’s a relief to not be in that house anymore—weighed down with grief. There are too many memories, and too many of them good. How many times did I sit with him, his parents and Eamon playing cards at the kitchen table? How many pitchers of sweet tea did his mom and I share on the front porch while I waited for Tobin to get home from work? Too many to just forget, that’s for sure.

I sigh and slump even lower in the seat. It feels like I had to call Weston to come rescue me, which sucks because that’s what he’s always done for me. I knew he wouldn’t be mad, because he loves the role. I did lie and tell him I got lost when I stumbled onto Tobin—like I could get lost in these woods.

“
I’m sorry. I know this is totally awkward.” I let my eyes find Weston’s profile in the dim light of the car. There’s no way for me to not be completely embarrassed by Tobin’s outburst, and I’m wondering if Weston’s getting too good of a look at the little country girl making her way in D.C. Will he start to wonder who I am? ‘Cause that one’s hitting me right now. I’m waiting for some lecture, or for him to say how weird this is, or how totally inappropriate it was of me to help Tobin home.

Weston’s hand reaches across the car to take mine. ”It
is
awkward, but I understand, at least a little.”

I’m shocked. “You’re not mad?”

“
The way he talked to you upset me, and I was a little surprised at how you answered.” He sounds a little like my dad, but I let it slide because I can’t believe that he isn’t pissed.

“
But you’re not mad at me?” I realize as I ask that I almost want him to be. I want him to be mad that instead of sneaking into his room, I snuck outside. Tobin would have been pissed—well, because he’d have been hurt.

“
Did you sneak out and plan to meet with him?” Even a corner of his mouth pulls up. He is actually, really, seriously, not mad.

“
No.”

“
Did you kiss him?”

“
No.”

“
He’s your friend, Delia. You have history. You helped him out. I’m not mad.” His thumb brushes the top of my hand, and his eyes are all sincerity.

Grandma’s words slip into my head—make love with the same passion as you argue. But what if you don’t argue? Even over the big things? This seems pretty big.