Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Delilah
I t’s not what I want but it’s what I need to do.
His message has been on repeat in my head for the past week.
Wilder and I originally had plans last Saturday to go on a trail ride, but he never showed up. I assume he had to go to the shelter, but I somewhat expected him to text me and let me know. It was a long shot after what he said, but I still held out hope he would.
My feelings for him are complicated and not black and white. There’s a huge gray area of our past that we’ve never discussed. On top of everything else that concerns me about us being more than friends, I can’t forget the countless one-night stands he’s had over the years.
He’s never shown any interest in having a relationship. That night at the bar, he even said he had another twenty years before he’d settle down. Even though he’d been drinking and talking shit, there’s some truth to his words that he can’t see himself being happy with one woman for the rest of his life.
So why would I assume I’m any different?
My attraction to him goes deeper than his looks. Even further than his ability to be charming and seductive. It’s been there since before we met in person.
I should’ve said something years ago. But he was savoring his youth and clearly didn’t want anything more than a booty call.
And I was fine with waiting if I had to. Trick riding consumed most of my free time and that was enough for me at the moment.
I figured when something finally happened between us, the timing would be right. Everything would fall into place and it’d feel as natural as it was talking on the phone for those six months.
But then Dad died and nothing’s felt right since then.
The grief and pain of losing him hit me in random bursts. Seemingly out of nowhere and often inconvenient when it does.
It’s why there are days I can barely get out of bed or clean my apartment and other days where I feel great and can finally catch up on laundry. If it gives me emotional whiplash, no doubt it’d do the same to a partner.
I’ll never get over how he died or feel less guilty about it, but I’d like to be in a better headspace before I make another life change.
It doesn’t help that he seems to want answers from me that I can’t give him. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to discuss the elephant in the room. Even when we do, I’m hesitant to believe he’s willing to give up his lifestyle permanently.
I’m proud of the work he’s put in, and I can tell he’s trying hard.
But that’s why I think we both need to work through our personal shit before we’re in a good place for someone else.
It’s one of the things I’ve discussed with my grief counselor during my appointment yesterday. She can tell I’ve been struggling and when I mention Wilder and what happened between us, she doesn’t immediately agree with my take.
However, she said if I’m not ready, then I need to listen to my gut and follow it.
After Wilder’s message about wanting time apart to get over his feelings, my gut has been twisted in knots.
Feeling lost and needing fresh air, I drive to Dad’s gravesite that’s located behind the ranch hand quarters. Even though he was cremated, Mom wanted someplace special for us to visit him.
Waylon made a private garden and buried the leftover ashes we kept after spreading them on the farm he worked on for years before his accident.
There’s a memorial bench, a Cherry blossom tree, and tons of flowers. Wilder found some old tractor tires and made a decorative display with straw bales, wildflowers, and some other old farm equipment.
I appreciate how much care and love they put into it, especially now when I could use my dad’s advice more than ever.
“Hi, Daddy. I really miss you.” I kneel in front of his gravestone, feeling guilty it’s been a few weeks since I’ve been here. “Mom, Harlow, and I got through our first Thanksgiving without you. We ordered Chinese food and watched old Christmas movies, as usual, but it wasn’t the same. Without realizing it, we ordered your favorite dish and ended up sharin’ it so it didn’t go to waste.” I smile, remembering how confused we were when our order arrived and there was extra orange chicken and rice.
I pick one of the flowers and fidget with the stem between my fingers. My gaze lowers to the ground, remorse and grief hitting me hard in the chest.
“I’ve decided to officially retire from trick riding,” I confess, wondering if he’d be disappointed in me for giving up something I love. “Still tryin’ to figure out what I wanna do at thirty-one is kinda embarrassing, but I can’t work at the lingerie shop forever. I mean…who’s gonna buy a lacy teddy from a sixty-year-old?”
I smile to myself at the thought. Lacey, the owner, is in her fifties and mostly works behind the scenes. She does all the ordering and makes the schedules on top of all the business duties. She’s nice, but I don’t see her much.
“I think I’d enjoy helping people like when I volunteered at Haven Grace. That gave me a purpose.” A very specific purpose.
If Harlow’s accident hadn’t happened when it did, I would’ve continued working there until it closed down two years ago.
“But I feel like I’m running out of time to decide. I never went to college at eighteen and thinkin’ about going thirteen years later sounds so dauntin’. But I need to figure it out soon before it’s too late, and I’m stuck. I’m not myself without a passion to focus on, and I’m afraid I’ve lost my spark for anything at this point.”
Leaning back on my haunches, I look up at the sky and inhale the crisp air. Although the sun is brightly shining down on me, there’s a chilly breeze that causes my cheeks to burn.
“It sucks not gettin’ your input on this. You always gave the best advice and pep talks, and I took that for granted. I thought I’d always get to talk to you whenever I wanted. Now I’m stuck listenin’ to my counselor, who’s more of a tough love parent than I’m used to.”
Admittedly, maybe that’s what I need at this point.
Someone to keep me accountable so I don’t become complacent and then never go after what I want in life.
Not everything can be easy and living with that mindset will only make me stumble longer. But fuck, some days I just don’t have the mental or physical capacity to do anything more than getting out of bed.
Before I leave, I decide to tell him one more thing.
“Wilder knows, Daddy. He knows I’m the girl from the crisis hotline and he knows that I know. He keeps hintin’ at wanting to talk about it and us being more than just friends , but I’m scared to relive that part of my life. It was a dark time for our family. He’ll wanna know why I never said anything about it and discuss how he told me some of his deepest, darkest secrets. But more than that…” I inhale deeply, then close my eyes as I blow it out. “He wants more than I can give him right now. Even though I’m the one who’s been waitin’ this whole time, the timing is all wrong. How can I give someone my heart when it still feels like parts of it are missin’?”
I haven’t stopped crying for the past five days. Unfortunately, I can’t blame it on getting my period either.
But ever since I went to visit my dad and word vomited everything that’s been on my mind, I’ve been sad, anxious, and lost.
Last night, I had dinner at Mom’s with Waylon and Harlow. It’s become a tradition since Dad died. Every Saturday, Mom makes a feast and then we play a few board games.
It’s always a fun time and distracts me for a few hours. Even funnier when Harlow loses and pouts about it. When she’d play with our parents as a kid, they always let her win, but now as an adult, she has no idea how to strategize to win on her own.
She’ll get there, eventually .
Mom could tell I’d been crying by my bloodshot and sunken eyes. Well, first she asked if I was high, and after reassuring her that I wasn’t, she sat me down after they left.
I don’t care how old I am, I’ll never be too old to cry on my mom’s shoulder until I’m a blubbering, snotty mess.
At the very least, it was therapeutic in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. Crying into my pillow just isn’t the same.
When I woke up this morning, I felt a hundred times better—like the dark cloud hovering above me had finally moved.
I showered for the first time in three days, put on makeup, and blew out my hair.
But then, as luck and my life would have it, one phone call ruined all of it.
“This is a collect call from Cocke County Jail…”