Chapter 7 Delaney
DELANEY
I’m sorry you think I’m rude.
Be glad you can’t hear the voices in my head.
They’re absolutely unhinged.
—Delaney’s Secret Thoughts
Ashton
So?
Delaney
So what?
Ashton
How’d it go?
Delaney
Well, I’m getting married, and apparently it needs to be a huge event. Like the kind with a photographer and bridesmaids and flowers and about a million other things.
Ashton
Okay. We can handle that.
Delaney
I was hoping you’d say that. Want to be my bridesmaid?
Ashton
I’m pregnant.
Delaney
Yup. I’m sure Ryker’s mom can find you a dress. She seems like she’s not exactly used to being told no.
Ashton
Yeah. That whole crew is pretty capable. But I promise you they’re pretty amazing. Is she helping you plan the wedding?
Delaney
More like planning it for me and including me as little as possible.
Ashton
Is that what you want?
Delaney
I mean, I’d rather have my nails plucked from my fingertips while being waterboarded than stand in front of two hundred and fifty people, knowing they’re all looking at me.
But according to Olivia, that’s what I have to do.
So I’d say it’s not really about what I want as much as it’s about what I have to do.
Ashton
Are you sure you want to do this?
Delaney
Want and need are two very different things. I need to do this for him, Ash.
Ashton
Is Ryker there now?
Delaney
No. He’s not back yet.
Ashton
Well he packed his bags and left thirty minutes ago. So I’m thinking he’ll be there soon.
Delaney
Great.
Ashton
You’re not exactly doing a bang-up job of selling the whole in love and getting married thing.
Delaney
Do I need to sell it to you? You’re my sister, and you already know we’re full of shit.
Ashton
No. But maybe don’t say that to anyone else.
I glance up when Tori bolts for the door, dropping back on her haunches just as a knock echoes throughout the apartment.
Delaney
Gotta go, Ash. I think Ryker’s back.
Ashton
Are you working tomorrow?
Delaney
Yeah. Shop opens at ten.
Ashton
Okay. I’ll stop by in the morning.
Tori chuffs, clearly unimpressed with how long it’s taking me to cross the room. Tough luck, smalls. Walking still hurts . . . and breathing isn’t much easier. A quick check through the peephole shows Ryker standing on the other side, freshly showered and holding bags in both hands.
I swing it open and stand back, making room for him as he holds up what looks and smells like another bag of food. “You hungry?”
“No, thanks.”
“You’ve gotta eat, Lane.” He moves past me like he belongs here, his duffels slung over his shoulders, and black to-go bags with the word Nonna’s written in gold in each hand. The smell of garlic and onions hits me instantly, and my stomach betrays me with a low growl.
Okay. Maybe I’m a little hungry.
“You sure you’re good with me staying here?” he asks as he places the Nonna’s bags on the small, round table in my kitchen and swings both duffels to the couch.
This is going to be a disaster.
“It’s more like are you sure?” I counter, glancing away and wondering if I’m making a massive mistake because suddenly this feels real.
Too real.
Ryker grips my chin with gentle hands and moves my face back to his.
Well . . . okay.
Was that supposed to be hot?
Because it was.
I’m too tired for this.
I run my teeth gently over the cut on my lower lip but force myself to hold his eyes.
“I’m sure. This is the first place that’s my own.
I feel safe here, and I don’t want to leave.
I don’t want to move in with my sister and Jamie.
I don’t want to ever depend on anyone again. I’m sorry I’m forcing you to move.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, Bambi. You okay if I drop these in your room?”
I want to have Ryker’s confidence when I grow up.
“Sure.” He disappears down the short hallway, and I exhale slowly.
If this is a nightmare, I’d really love to wake up now.
There’s no way it is though. My nightmares never smell as good as this food does.
I hover above the bags for a second before deciding a peek wouldn’t hurt.
Two to-go containers are stacked next to two salads, and a container of garlic bread in one bag, with two slices of some kind of dessert in the other.
My mouth is watering by the time I take everything out and sit it on the table.
Definitely hungry.
“Where’s your silverware,” Ryker asks as he walks into the kitchen and helps himself to a glass sitting on my drying rack. His moves, smooth and confident, like he’s been here dozens of times instead of once.
He looks around the room before I have a chance to answer and pulls open one of the two drawers in the small space, a brilliant smile pulling at his full lips when he finds what he’s looking for.
“Come on, Delaney. You’ve got to eat something.
It’s not good to take painkillers on an empty stomach. It’ll rip your stomach up.”
“I haven’t taken the pain pills,” I admit as I take the offered fork and knife and stand like an outsider in my own kitchen.
“Delaney,” he says my name like he’s denouncing it. “You need to get ahead of the pain.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Ryker hands me a to-go container, shaking his head. “You need—”
“I don’t do pain pills.” I crack open the container of what I think is penne vodka with grilled chicken, and my stomach growls. “Ever.”
He stares at me for a beat as my words set in, and I watch as realization dawns. He knows a little about my family and our history from what happened to Ashton over the summer. But I haven’t offered more than that to anyone, not even Ashton. Not yet.
Sharing isn’t something I’m used to, and it’s not something I embrace.
Luckily, I think he respects that because he doesn’t push harder.
I follow his lead and sit at the table, ready to change the conversation. “So . . . what do I need to know about you, Ryker Beneventi?”
His grin is devilish. “Why do I feel like this is dangerous?”
“I don’t know.” I cock a brow. “I feel like we should know a little about each other if people are going to believe we’re getting married. Like . . . am I your first wife?”
“Yeah, Bambi. You’re my first wife.” He nods. “I have one older brother, Maverick. He plays for the Kings with me. His wife, Emmie, is probably going to be dropping by soon. She’s one of those people who loves to welcome people into the fold. The more the merrier, you know.”
“Emmie. Got it. How long have they been married?” I vaguely remember him mentioning his brother before.
“Two years, I think. My niece Rosie is eight going on twenty-eight. She’s going to love Tori. She has a laundry list of allergies. Bad ones. We’ll have to go over them before she comes over.” He stuffs a piece of chicken parm in his mouth and groans. Legit groans.
Noted. This man likes food, and his face lights up when he talks about his niece.
Well, that’s endearing.
“How about you? Do you have any family you talk to? Besides Ashton?”
“Not anymore,” I tell him, surprised he didn’t already know that, and immediately feel uncomfortable talking about my own family, even though I’m the one who started with questions about his. “What’s your favorite food?”
Ryker stares at me, like he knows I just pivoted on purpose but he’s going to let me get away with it this time.
He holds up his fork. “We’re eating it. Well, kind of.
Nonna’s is my uncle’s restaurant. Most of the recipes are my great-grandmother’s.
” I watch his throat work as he takes another bite of food.
“Her soup cures all ailments. All her food is the best. But the restaurant is a close second when you can’t get it straight from the source. ”
“Wow. You’re so lucky to still have her.” I mean, Ryker’s in his late twenties. I can only imagine how old his great-grandmother must be.
“Oh, just wait. She’s going to love you too. Although she may try to fatten you up. Her words, not mine, so don’t shoot the messenger. She’s always giving Mav’s wife a hard time about that.”
The hand holding my fork freezes as a thought paralyzes me. “Ryker . . . How big is your family?”
“Uh . . .” He looks like he’s unsure how to answer. “Family, like Sunday night dinners, or family, like Christmas dinner?”
“Both.” Why do I think however he answers, this is going to be bad?
“My immediate family is the seven of us. My parents, who you met, Nonna, my brother’s family, and me.
And I guess soon, you too.” His grin falls, and I’m not sure if it’s from including me in that equation or— “Christmas dinner is probably closer to fifty people. Maybe more at this point. My mom’s side of the family is massive. ”
“Did you say fifteen?” That’s not that massive. Bigger than mine ever was. But not—
“Fif-ty,” he emphasizes, and a little piece of me dies inside. “And that’s not counting the babies.”
I’ve heard of the Kingstons. You don’t grow up as close to Philadelphia as I did and not know of them. But seriously. “Fifty?”
“They’re great though. And you already know Lexie and Dillan.
Lex is married to one cousin, and Dillan is engaged to another.
So . . .” He breaks off a piece of garlic bread and pops it in his mouth.
“They won’t all be strangers. And we’re rarely all together these days.
Everybody is busy with their own things. ”
When I don’t say anything, he sits back in his chair and watches me, contemplating. “You change your mind yet?”
I slowly shake my head, wondering how I’m going to navigate this world.
“You’re looking a little pale, Lane.”
“It’s a lot to take in.” Understatement of the day.
Ryker twirls a strand of pasta around a fork, and my eyes catch on his split knuckles.
“How bout we ask each other one question a day. It might not be as overwhelming that way.”