47. Chapter 46
Chapter 46
Keaton
Las Vegas was bustling as always, only this time I didn’t enjoy myself. I just wanted to get back to Layne. Marry her. Make her mine.
That kiss in the pool . . .
Maybe that’s why I now found myself on the patio of the hotel I’d booked on the outskirts of Vegas, making my way to the hot tub. The darkness of the night, the water, the smell of chlorine . . . All of it made me feel close to her. The meeting was at ten p.m.—in an hour—but I just had to be here right now. Talk to God for a bit.
“Hey, handsome.” A woman wearing a Bay-Watch-red one piece intercepted me before I could climb into the hot tub. Apart from us, no one was around, the only sounds coming from the bubbling water and the occasional honking from the Strip far away. The stone slabs were still warm under my feet from a sunny day, and so was the air.
“Evening, ma’am.” I gave her a polite nod, then eased past her and climbed into the hot tub.
“Mind if I join?” she asked, leaning against the edge. Wavy black hair framed a beautiful face.
“It’s a free country. But I gotta warn you—I’ll talk your ear off about my amazing wife if you get in here.”
Her expression softened. “She’s a lucky woman.”
“Nah, I’m the lucky one.” I meant it. Layne was . . . No words could describe how incredible she was. What she meant to me.
The woman smiled. “Then I wish you a nice evening.”
“You too.” Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes. Warm water bubbled around me, the jets kneading the taut muscles in my back. Taking care of a sick loved one was more mentally exhausting than I’d anticipated. I had mad respect for every caretaker, even more for those who had to look after someone who was fully bed-ridden.
God, I’m still not sure if I can be the man Layne needs. What if I’m not good enough for her? What if she . . . rejects me?
My stomach heaved. It would kill me.
And what if I failed as a Christian? I couldn’t do life without God anymore. Sure had been an idiot for thinking I didn’t need Him.
It had taken me a while to realize that my primary fear wasn’t breaking Layne’s heart, but that she would break mine. That she would reject me, like so many other people had in my life. Heck, I was scared God would reject me, even though the Bible made it clear that He wouldn’t.
Water splashed, and for a second I thought the woman had changed her mind. But it wasn’t her.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Delilah settling next to me.
“Hey, Keaton.” She gave me a sweet smile.
“Lilah, what are you doing here?” Disbelief clung to my words, and I sat up straighter.
She shrugged. “I’m here with Kimball. We needed to get off the island.”
Plausible. They did that all the time. And that they stayed at this hotel made sense, too. All of us always did because Tatum owned it.
Still, what were the chances that we were here at the same time?
“I saw you down here from the balcony and thought I’d join you,” Delilah said.
“What for? You know I’m married.”
“To talk.”
I sniffed. “We don’t talk, Delilah.”
“You talk with Layne.” Her statement dripped envy. Weird. She wasn’t the jealous type. She’d never complained when I’d had other women around, just like I never had when she’d been with other men. Nothing connected us on an emotional level.
“Because she’s my wife,” I said.
“You really changed.”
Yeah, I’d noticed that, too. And I didn’t miss my old self or my old life one bit. “Hard not to, when you spend time with a woman like Layne.”
Delilah looked away, then back at me. “Why did you choose a woman you barely know over me? We’ve known each other since childhood. We could have made it work.”
There went my peaceful evening. “No, we couldn’t. I know that, you know that. Just drop it, Lilah.”
“But I love you, Keaton.”
I froze. “What?” Blood rushed in my ears.
“I realized it after you got married. I love you. I think I always have. Please give us a chance.”
Delilah Thorne loved me? Fat chance.
I shook my head. “No, Delilah. You don’t love me. You love the idea of me. My lifestyle, my money, my looks. That you can pose on social media with me. I’m as much an object to you as you are to me.”
Her expression morphed into something I’d never seen on her before—hurt.
Stellar, now I felt like a total jerk.
Layne had been right all along with her assessment at Uncle Marten’s funeral. Delilah Thorne was in love with me.
“Give us a chance, Keaton,” she pleaded. “Please.”