CHAPTER 20 DELILAH
DELILAH
Jackson was right about the wind surges.
Each gust rolls into the next, making me feel like I’m standing in front of a turbine.
I’ve never felt wind like this before. The kind that burrows in between any crack it can find, stinging at my cheeks and stealing my breath.
It whips at us where we’re huddled together on my little bunny hill before howling through the trees, a dull roar that builds and builds the longer we’re out here.
The sky feels alive, heavy clouds hiding the moon and all the stars but holding their light, seeming to glow.
And right next to me is Jackson, his big body wedged in the middle of a doughnut inner tube.
I can’t stop laughing long enough to get a good grip on the handle, bent in half behind him as the storm twists around us.
“Pull yourself together,” Jackson yells, his head angled back so he can see me. His eyes are unreal out here beneath a sky that’s not truly dark. Snowflakes spin wild out of the endless, yawning sky above us, falling in thick clumps.
Jackson’s patience is wearing thin.
And I’m having the time of my life.
“Okay, okay.” I grip the handle with both hands and take a bracing breath, snickering at the look on his face.
I had to do some coaxing to get him into the sled, but not as much as anticipated.
I took three solo trips down the hill before he finally agreed, reluctantly climbing into the center of it with his knees tucked to his chest.
I wish I brought my phone. I want this as my wallpaper.
“Delilah!” Jackson snaps again.
“All right!” I rock back and then use the momentum to push forward, moving him approximately two inches. “Are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready. You’re the one back there having a moment.”
The wind howls, the snow screams, and I smile so wide my face hurts.
“On the count of three, okay?” Jackson gives a single, sharp nod. “One, two, th—”
I mean to push him over the edge that leads to the shallow slope, but I lose my footing right as I shout “three!” I fall forward with a shriek, my knees digging into the back of the tube, my arms across Jackson’s shoulders.
He immediately grips both of my forearms as the added weight and sudden momentum move us forward, and together we go rocketing down the hill; me shrieking in delight in Jackson’s ear, him holding on for dear life.
With both of us on the sled, we go so much faster.
We barrel down the hill on the side of the parking lot and everything blurs around us.
Snow, sky, snow, sky. I curl my arms around Jackson’s shoulders as we go bumping along and burrow my face in his neck, laughing like a madwoman with every rough bounce of the sled.
With my other attempts, I slowed to an anticlimactic stop at the bottom of the hill.
With Jackson’s added weight, we skid right past my previous finish line and over the two smaller hills at the bottom.
At the crest of the first, I go airborne, landing with another scream directly in Jackson’s ear, my knees hugging his sides.
At the second, Jackson loses his grip and we both go flying off.
Jackson does his best to take the brunt of it as we hit the ground, but we’re going too fast and our position is too awkward.
We land and roll, the force of it crushing at my lungs, a dull pain somewhere near my hip.
Jackson’s fuck is low and rough in my ear and then we’re still, my body splayed above his in the snow.
We lie there, silent, two victims in a horrible doughnut sled accident.
“Are you okay?” I wheeze, patting at his chest where I can reach, one hand still fisted in the material of his jacket, the other wedged somewhere under his ass. I don’t know what it says about me that in a crisis, I immediately reached for his very solid backside.
I suppose subconsciously, I was looking for support.
Jackson’s chest trembles under my cheek and I go still. My god, I’ve killed him. I forced him outside in the middle of a storm, forced him into the sled, forced him down the hill, and now I’ve killed him.
Or possibly maimed him for life. It’s not clear.
I try to leverage myself up on my elbows to get a good look at him, but we’re pressed together neck to knee and my legs keep slipping in the snow.
Two hands grip my hips and squeeze.
“Delilah,” Jackson grunts, his voice thin. He can barely manage my name. “Stop moving.”
“Are you okay?” I ask again, feeling frantic. I don’t want him hurt. I don’t want to be the reason he hurts. His hands on my hips lift and pull, setting me firmly across his body. He holds me still.
“Delilah,” he says again.
Jackson is splayed out in the snow, his hat gone, his blond hair a mess against the fluffy white behind him. There are snowflakes on his coat, across his crooked glasses that I think I might have broken for a second time, and he’s—
He’s laughing.
Jackson is laughing so hard his eyes are scrunched shut, his body trembling beneath mine.
I stare at him, stupefied.
He lifts his head and cracks one eye open. He sees the look on my face and laughs harder.
My heart turns over in my chest. Like this, he looks so much younger. Happier. Unburdened by all the weight he carries around with him.
I cup his face in my hands, wanting to hold on to this moment.
On to him. His laughter slows but his smile stays, settling into something heartbreakingly tender while his head drops back in the snow.
I rub my thumbs over his cheeks and feel the rush of it.
The magic. Snow and sky and us smack-dab in the middle of it, cold slipping through the tops of my boots and prickling at my skin.
Jackson looking at me like maybe it feels like magic for him too.
Another gust of wind torpedoes around us and I burrow closer.
My lips are numb, my fingertips tingling in my gloves.
Jackson’s gaze slips over my face, settling on my mouth and holding there.
That boundless, weightless feeling in my chest amplifies.
Like hitting that second hill but wilder. Unrestrained.
The storm, and the snow, and Jackson. Jackson. Always looking right at me.
“You feel it, right?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. “Whatever this is. You feel it?”
I need to be careful with this. Jackson wants a vacation from who he is in the real world. He wants to prove to himself that he can let go of all the rigid structures that hold him in place. Nothing good comes from pretending to be someone else for a little while.
But I nod, because I do feel it. This boundless, yearning impossible thing. Glowing, glowing, glowing like all the hidden stars behind the clouds.
I can’t lie. Not about this. Not to him.
His hand slips to the back of my neck.
“Kiss me,” he rasps.
I want to. I want to so bad. But I can’t.
I shake my head and try to slip off of him.
But Jackson holds me tighter, his other hand rising to tuck against the small of my back. He’s a brick of warmth beneath me, watching me patiently, his head haloed in white.
“Tell me,” he whispers, his voice cracking down the middle. He looks confused. Worse, he looks hurt. My heart pounds, a zip of awareness up my spine. “If you feel it, too, then tell me why. It’s only us here.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer, Delilah.”
“It is to me.”
His hands tighten. “Don’t hide,” he says, still with all his impossible patience. Ever since we were caught in that tiny alcove, he’s been the calm one. He’s been the one with the plan. It’s infuriating. “Is it because of what happened?”
“No, it’s—”
“You said Keith didn’t give you a hard time.”
“He didn’t, but—”
“Are you embarrassed?” His mouth twists down at the corners. “Did I embarrass you?” he asks, softer this time, and oh. My breath splinters. A sharp, tingling ache.
I shake my head, throat thick.
“Then what is it?”
The truth rattles out of me. “You need to do it,” I blurt. “You need to be the brave one. If that’s what you want, then you need to kiss me. I can’t always be the one taking charge, Jackson. I need to know it’s—”
His mouth is on mine before I finish my sentence, bruising and certain. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t go slow. It’s an exclamation point at the end of a sentence.
He shifts his hand until he’s cupping my face, his thumb under my chin, the rest of his fingers spread wide against my jaw.
We’ve done this before. Our mouths pressed together, exchanging easy breaths.
But Jackson so quickly drags us into something darker, more ferocious, his mouth urging mine to keep up.
I asked him to show me he wants it, and he does.
With every rough slant of his mouth against mine.
With his fingers pressed tight at the base of my skull.
He adjusts me just the way he needs to kiss me best, then bites down against my bottom lip with a pained groan.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Delilah.”
I kiss him again and settle my weight more firmly against him, letting myself go pliant, my hands inching up to press over his shoulders.
We’re wearing too many layers. This is a kiss meant for barely lit hotel rooms and fireplaces, not the bottom of a snow-covered hill edging an abandoned parking lot.
But I can’t stop. I want everything that Jackson keeps buttoned up and tucked away.
I shimmy up his body until my knees are at his hips. He makes another rough sound, scooping me closer, kissing me harder. He licks into my mouth and I meet him there, my hands pushing up to his snow-damp hair, jostling his fogged-up glasses.
“Delilah,” he says between our panting mouths, and I hold on to him tighter. “Next time, just tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
I’m mindless, selfish. A heavy drumbeat of desire. I want so many things, but I want him most of all. This silly, ridiculous man who kisses me like I’m something precious. Like he’s snapped all the strings holding him back.
“What you want from me.” He nudges my nose with his. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”