Chapter 58 Lachlan
Lachlan
The entire way home, Lachlan had cursed the rain. It was typical for him, really. A moment so close to perfect—gone before it arrived.
As he paced behind the bar, trying not to think about Deli in his bedroom—Deli slipping out of the black tights stretched sheer against her thighs, slipping into something that was his—he considered his life so far.
He’d spent most of it trying to stay out of people’s way.
He’d tried to be helpful. He’d swallowed a lot of things he probably should have said.
Lachlan sometimes wished things were different but accepted that life was what was handed to you.
He did his best with what was offered, and he never asked for more.
Even when the thing he wanted most in the world was pressed against his forehead, a hairbreadth from his lips—the rain had come. And he’d accepted it.
When Deli burst through the swinging door in his flannel and socks, sliding into the room the way she’d slid into his world, Lachlan reconsidered.
She’d stoked the fight, the want, the passion in his heart from cold ash to roaring flame.
Deli was bright and vibrant and brave. She was who she was—born knowing.
What sort of man would let the woman who’d proven his heart was a phoenix believe she was unworthy when he could do something about it? Or, at the very least, try?
So, as he watched her eyes glass with the hurt of realizing the people she loved hadn’t loved her well, Lachlan gathered his courage. He listened to her tell him she was brave enough to let her heart break if it was the cost of knowing she deserved more.
He lifted her to the bar top, poured her whisky, and decided it was time.
He was done wishing things were different.
In the moment before their lips touched, Lachlan Scott had never been more terrified.