Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Wilder
Istretch out my fist, feeling the ache in my fingers from punching Wesley in the face after I’d already hit the drunken idiot from the bar.
Tonight might be a new record for how much trouble I’ve gotten myself into in recent years.
Admittedly, I shouldn’t have hit the bastard while he was in uniform, but he made my blood white-hot the moment he called Delilah a whore.
Fucker deserved it.
It’s one thing to retaliate against me, but he knew what he was doing by setting me off at that moment.
He wanted me to hit him.
Once they take my fingerprints and mugshot, Sheriff Wagner has me writing down my full statement since Wesley isn’t innocent in this either. Apparently, this is his third strike, so I’m not taking all the blame.
Still, considering what I did, I’m lucky the sheriff doesn’t make me rot in a cell all weekend.
Perks of him knowing my family helps. My parents are charitable when it comes to police fundraisers and to small businesses in town.
Our ranch and retreat attract tourists, which helps bring in a lot of business to the local shops.
Even in small towns, it comes down to politics and money.
I’ll see the judge on Monday, he’ll give me a fine, and then tell me what the charges will be. Sheriff Wagner warned me to bring a lawyer, so now I have to tell my dad so he can call the family attorney and make sure he shows up on time.
That’s going to be super fun.
Wesley could push for an assault and battery charge, but all they have to do is watch his body cam to know I’m telling the truth about his inappropriate name-calling.
The sheriff let it slip that their policy for field sobriety tests is to call for backup. And since he wasn’t even supposed to be on duty, he never called it in or followed protocol.
So if he’s smart, he won’t dig himself into a deeper grave, but Wesley’s proved he’s not.
Either way, I’m not worrying about that now when I have Delilah in my bed.
“I woulda been fine to drive you and go back home so I could sleep in my own room,” she mumbles when I tuck her underneath the covers.
With one eye open and the other fighting not to close, I snort at her delusion.
“But then we wouldn’t be able to talk about that kiss,” I taunt, sitting next to her.
Groaning, she buries her head in the pillow. “How about you tell me why you have beef with Wesley instead?”
I blow out a breath because I knew she’d eventually bring that up. “I slept with his wife.”
Her eyes pop open, as does her mouth. “Jesus Christ. Why’d you do that?”
“I didn’t know she was married!” I throw my arm up. “She’s not from here and wasn’t wearin’ a ring. Plus, it was like two years ago. Dude needs to let it go.”
She rolls her eyes. “Would you be able to let it go if someone fucked your wife?”
I raise a brow at her question because did she not witness my response to someone calling her a horrible name? Or someone spilling beer on her? My reaction to someone sleeping with my wife would be ten times worse.
The guy would be in a coma needing a machine to push air into his lungs.
“We’re not talkin’ about hypotheticals here. Wesley puts the blame on me instead of where it should be.” I smirk, then add, “Himself for not being able to properly please his woman.”
“Just when I thought you were gonna say somethin’ smart.”
“Oh, c’mon. You can’t tell me I’m wrong. Wesley’s an arrogant douche and his wife pickin’ me to cheat on him knocked his ego six feet under. Trust me, if she had slept with some average Joe from a coffee shop, he wouldn’t be so pissed.”
“Wow…the humbleness just floats off you.”
“I am humble. But I’m also honest.”
“Interestin’ way to describe your ego but okay.” She turns toward me on her side, folding her hands underneath her cheek. I can’t resist grabbing the loose strand of hair that falls over her face and tucking it behind her ear.
“Now it’s your turn to be honest. Why’d you kiss me and then freak out about me not wantin’ to fuck you in the front seat of your truck?”
She squeezes her eyes and releases a deep sigh. “Considerin’ everythin’ that’s happened tonight and how I waited four hours for you to get released, I’m gonna plead the fifth. I’m also not in the mood to talk about that right now.”
Grinning, I nod. “Fair enough. Will you at least listen to what I have to say then? You don’t have to respond, just hear me out.”
She lifts her shoulder. “Make it quick. You have two minutes before I fall asleep.”
“I’m anythin’ but quick, Delly…” Her nickname slips for the second time tonight and her gaze lowers to my lips when I say it.
I think she likes it.
“I’m not sure what enticed you to kiss me tonight or why you felt weird about it afterward, but I just wanna make it clear in case your brain is confused that I was in no way rejectin’ you. But public sex ain’t somethin’ I’m tryin’ to add to my rap sheet. I’m in enough trouble as it is…”
And no random hookups is what I promised my therapist.
Not that Delilah would ever be a random hookup, but it wouldn’t have ended the way I’d want because she would’ve felt remorseful and ashamed as soon as it was over. And I know that because I’d feel those same things when I used sex as an outlet.
Dr. Branson wants me to challenge myself on making real connections with women before falling into bed with them. Instead of using sex as a distraction, he wants me to focus on getting to know someone and only getting intimate if feelings are involved.
So far, I’ve gone twelve months without it—a record since I started being sexually active back in high school.
Delilah giggles with a little snort and it’s the cutest thing ever. I can tell she’s exhausted and fighting sleep.
“It’s good that you stopped us. I kissed you for the wrong reasons. I’ve not been myself lately, or rather, since my dad died. Between not ridin’ as much as I used to and the grief suffocatin’ me, I haven’t been managin’ my emotions in a healthy way.”
“I know a thing or two about that.” I lick my lips, wishing I could lean down and brush mine against hers. “Looks like we both need an outlet.”
She arches a suspicious brow.
“A healthy one,” I correct. Perhaps kickboxing would be a good activity to take up.
For her too.
I noticed a shift after her dad’s death and should’ve figured that was the reason for her mood and behavior changes. There’s no saying how I’d act out if I lost one of my parents or siblings. I’d probably lose my damn mind.
Delilah’s close to her family and after watching her dad suffer for years, I’m sure she’s feeling a mixture of emotions.
“I miss ridin’, but I don’t think I wanna trick ride professionally anymore. It’s all I’ve known for the past seven years, and it kept my mind busy, but now I need to figure out who I am without it.”
“I’m sure you will. That shit takes time, so give yourself some grace. You’re allowed to grieve and just be in your feelings for a while. There’s no rush.”
“Yeah, but I feel guilty, too,” she confesses.
“Guilty that I wasn’t home to help more or there to keep my dad company.
Guilty that I feel so angry at him even though I knew he was sufferin’ and is in a better place now.
But mostly guilty that I’m still alive but not really livin’ because of how lost and empty I feel.
The hole in my heart gets bigger every day. ”
Tears fall down her cheeks and when she closes her eyes, I swipe the pad of my thumb underneath to catch them.
“I find some peace knowin’ he’s no longer in pain, but that doesn’t always take away mine,” she adds just above a whisper.
Mr. Fanning was in a wheelchair for the past eight years after a tractor accident took one of his legs.
He suffered from chronic phantom limb pain.
There’s no cure, only temporary treatments, and he dealt with it daily.
It fucked with his mental health. He spiraled into a deep depression and severe anxiety.
As the years went on, he didn’t even want to leave his house anymore.
One day, he couldn’t bear it anymore and overdosed on pain meds.
By the time he got to the hospital, it was too late.
It was the wake-up call I needed to take my mental health seriously and seek therapy. After witnessing how distraught their family was and the aftereffects of his death, I knew I needed to make a change. Waylon begged me for years to get help, and I knew he was right but never wanted to admit it.
I didn’t want my family to go through that kind of pain and grieve my self-inflicted death in the event I couldn’t stop myself from cutting or taking an alternate way out.
There’s been a couple instances where I cut too deep and nearly bled out.
I’ve had to get blood transfusions to save my life.
When I get to that point, there’s almost nothing to pull me out of it until I pass out.
Doing that to my family feels worse than horrific thoughts battling for my attention and I don’t want them to have to go through that again.
I especially didn’t want my twin brother to feel like he lost half his soul because that’s exactly how I’d feel if I lost him.
Going to therapy and trying antidepressants is something I can control when for years I felt like I had none. It’s not easy and doesn’t “fix” everything, but it’s helping me take the right steps to restrain from unhealthy coping mechanisms.
Tonight I’ve learned Delilah getting messed with or spoken to badly is a trigger for my anger.
Not that I’ll apologize for reacting, but I can work on how fast my temper blows up and think about the consequences before I do something stupid.
Leaning down, I press my lips to her forehead and then rest mine against hers.
I love that she feels safe enough with me to let out her emotions and I want to keep it that way.
I have a feeling being the oldest child, like me, she doesn’t have many opportunities for someone to be there for her the way she’s always there for others.