Chapter 12
brOOKS
A part from my mother and sister when I was a child, I’ve never lived with a woman before.
Asking her to move in wasn’t exactly planned, and in the ensuing scramble to get it organized, I had a few moments of worry.
My routines are well-cemented and haven’t changed much in the two years since I got the dogs.
I expected that having Delta in my space would mean becoming tolerant to a certain degree of disruption and I was determined to be accommodating to her living requirements.
Just because it’s my house doesn’t mean she shouldn’t feel at home, or comfortable, and I hated the thought of her walking on eggshells, afraid of upsetting me for using the wrong napkins.
I was wrong. Yes, things have changed, but somehow she fits .
I’m not sure if it’s because we were friends first, or simply compatible as roommates, but I find the first few days of sharing space with her surprisingly easy.
She might be a walking, talking temptation that makes me hard as a rock just from breathing, but she also cleans up after herself, dotes on the dogs, and her cooking “experiments” are all incredible.
Within a week, we’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm.
I strategically get up early to sneak in some time in the basement gym, a necessity considering I’m no longer exclusively subsisting on pre-made salads and leftover rotisserie chicken.
When I’m done, showered, and ready for work, Delta is usually up feeding the dogs and making breakfast.
She sends me off with lunch in a brown paper bag, a thermos of coffee, and a kiss on the cheek that lingers on my skin for hours afterward.
Evenings are spent taking walks through the snowy woods with the dogs, finishing up work at the kitchen island while Delta cooks dinner, and sitting a careful distance away from her on the couch while we read or watch a movie.
Then I made an excuse to go upstairs early and spend half an hour in the shower, viciously fisting my cock to the memory of her doing something completely innocent, like bending over to pick up the fork she dropped.
I can’t stop thinking about the incident in the exam room.
So much has happened since that day that it feels like another lifetime, but in reality, it’s been just over a week.
Things were so intense for so long. I was worried about her hip, then terrified I might lose her, and now everything is…
normal . She’s out from under River’s thumb.
She’s healthy, she’s safe, and she’s living in my house.
Just as suddenly as I realized my attraction to her months ago, it hit me her first night here, how utterly fucked I am.
I’ve backed myself into a corner, eliminating all my usual routes of escape, and I’d done it all with a smile on my face. Hell, I’d pushed for it.
She isn’t my patient anymore, either. River saw to that in the aftermath of her medical suspension, and now I’m scrambling for new reasons why being with Delta Jacobs is impossible.
The more, the better. At present, my defenses are looking staggeringly weak after the removal of the ethics code violation.
Then there’s the touching.
I don’t make it a habit to put my hands on anyone in an interpersonal setting.
My lack of physical affection was a major issue in my few failed relationships, but making a conscious effort to do it felt forced and awkward.
Touching Delta is almost unconscious. I find myself taking her hand to help her over fallen logs when we go for walks, brushing her back when I pass her in the kitchen, and wrapping my arms around her to hold her close on those rare instances when I see a shadow of sadness cross her face.
Aside from my brother, nobody knows she’s living with me, though I doubt I’ll be able to keep that up for long.
Sure enough, I’m on my way home from work exactly one week after Delta moved in—pretending it’s completely normal for me to be leaving thirty minutes before the office closes rather than staying two hours late—when the phone rings.
I have no reason to be suspicious, my mother doesn’t stick to a particular time or day to call me, and yet I’m prickling with unease as I hit ‘accept’ and Mom’s voice fills the car.
“You need to bring your girlfriend to Christmas.”
Fucking Elliot.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I stop at a red light. I was foolish for not seeing this coming. My mother is the sweetest steamroller on the planet, and even after thirty-eight years, I’m completely helpless to derail her when she decides what she wants.
I’m desperately trying to maintain some control over this situation, and bringing Delta home to meet my family sounds like a recipe for further complications.
I’m not worried they’re going to dislike her, I’m worried they’re going to love her, and the last thing I need is one more reason why Delta Jacobs is the most perfect woman on the face of the planet.
“Mom, she’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends,” I attempt to argue, not expecting it to work. To the best of my mother’s knowledge, I’m a monk, and discovering I now live with a woman has undoubtedly reignited her long-dormant hopes for more grandchildren.
On the other end of the line, I hear a deep sigh. “Brooks, sweetheart . I promise we won’t embarrass you in front of your new girlfriend?—”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I just communicated that, and I can’t tell if she’s ignoring me or somehow missed it. “Do you need your hearing checked, Mom? Jenna’s brother is an audiologist. I can make a call.”
Another sigh, this one longer and steeped with disappointment. “Your friend then. Phoebe told me she is absolutely lovely, and Elliot says she’s very nice and pretty .”
My brother noticing how pretty Delta is, puts my teeth on edge, and it’s yet another reason to keep her well away from my family.
I don’t for a second believe Elliot would try anything. He’s a good brother, and he’s pieced together enough of the situation to understand I have feelings for her. He must understand that I can’t do anything about them. What if Delta likes him, though?
She asked him to stay for dinner the other night.
Was she disappointed when I practically shoved him out the door?
Elliot is single, he owns his own business, he has long hair and tattoos, and none of the complications that would come from her having feelings for me—a possibility that has been steadily growing in likelihood, even as I resolutely attempt to ignore it.
How many times did I say the wrong thing at the wrong time and hurt her unintentionally with my bluntness?
How many times have I shown I was interested, only to return to cold professionalism moments later?
If I were her, I would probably prefer my brother.
A sour taste fills my mouth at the thought.
“Mom, please. You’ll meet her another time.
” I grip the wheel tighter than is strictly necessary as I make the final turn into our driveway and park beside Delta’s jeep.
Apart from the windshield and hood which I cleaned off this morning, the car is still dusted with last night’s snow and hasn’t been moved all day.
“It’s very hurtful, Brooks. I won’t pretend it isn’t. I can’t believe I had to find out you’re finally seeing someone through your brother, of all people, and I swear he only told me to take attention from that dreadfulnew mark he got on his neck?—”
Elliot has a lot to answer for, but telling Mom about Delta to distract her from his neck tattoo is a new low.
“I’m not seeing anyone, Mom, and Christmas is…
a lot. Delta was hospitalized for a head injury recently.
Can you guarantee that the boys aren’t going to knock her down a flight of stairs or something?
Because I can’t.” Holidays in the Harrison household are chaotic at best and bedlam at worst. My nephews behave more like wolverines than children, my parents always fight over whether the turkey is done, and Elliot gets so drunk someone—me—needs to drive him home.
“Phoebe has promised to have words with them. They’re much better now, and Delta can wear a bike helmet if it makes you happy. Brooks, sweetheart, you struggle with this kind of thing, but even if she’s just your friend, it’s polite to invite her.”
I stare up at the warmly lit house, itching to open my car door and go inside, but I force myself to stay where I am. This isn’t a conversation I want to have in front of Delta. “I understand manners, Mother. I’m autistic, not a child.”
The way my mother gasps at this, anyone would think I just swore at her.
Despite keeping it quiet, I’m not ashamed of my diagnosis.
If anything, it was a relief to have an explanation for some of my more frustrating idiosyncrasies, but Mom has always tried to dismiss it as much as possible.
She means well. She’s trying to protect me from the stigma, but it’s tiring.
“Brooks William Harrison, I don’t appreciate the attitude. I’m only trying to include your friend and welcome her into our lives. However, if you’re so embarrassed by us?—”
God damnit. I knew I couldn’t win this, yet I fought her on it, anyway.
I can only imagine how much extra energy and free time I would have if I accepted my mother’s will without argument.
“I’ll ask ,” I grit out, annoyed beyond belief.
“That’s it, Mom. Ask . I don’t know what her plans are.
Listen, I’m just getting home and I need to walk the dogs. I’ll call you this week to discuss it.”
I refuse to let her long, suffering sigh make me feel guilty as I hang up and step out onto the snowy driveway.