Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Delaney
It’s not until we’re all the way down to the main road that Harrison’s breathing slows to a normal rate.
“Please stop here,” I say.
He twists his head to glance at me for a split second before returning his eyes to the road. “I’m not letting you get out here.”
“No, that’s not why. Please pull over and look at me.” He does as I ask, and when I have his attention, I reach out and put my hand on his upper arm.
“I’m fine, just shaken. I’m not angry at you, but I am coming down from the rage I felt when I saw him pounding on your door and…” He turns his gaze to peer out the front window.
“And what?” I keep my tone quiet, hoping it’s soothing to him.
“And the fear I felt when I thought he was going to hurt you. I can’t stand the thought of anybody hurting you.”
“I’m all right. I was just about to call the police when I heard you outside. I’m sure I would have been fine until they got there. I had my baseball bat—”
Harrison whips his head toward me, and his eyes are open so wide I swear they might pop right out of their sockets.
“Christ, Delaney! I don’t want you to rely on a baseball bat to keep you safe from your landlord.” His trembling worsens.
I don’t care how stupid it is of me—what lines it crosses—I raise my hands to his face and cup his cheeks.
“Harrison, I’m okay. I promise.” He holds eye contact with me for several seconds, then turns his face into my right hand and inhales deeply, then slowly breathes out.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.” He whispers it against my hand, then kisses my palm before he pulls away.
That’s when it strikes me that I don’t know how he knew what was happening.
“What made you come back?” Harrison doesn’t answer, but his jaw clenches and his shoulders tense. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, not you. Him. I came back because he made some rude comments before I left, and at the end, he said that you weren’t going to ‘put out.’ I was almost to the county road before it registered that he’s said more than that.
He said you wouldn’t do it willingly. I swear, as soon as I realized it, I flew back to you.
I never would have forgiven myself if he hurt you.
What kind of man implies that there’s any other option except willingly when it comes to sleeping with a woman? ”
I have no words to say, but I place my hand on his forearm, hoping to calm the frenetic energy still coming off of him in waves. Maybe also to calm myself after hearing what made him return.
Harrison puts the car in drive and pulls back onto the road. He heads in the direction of their property, and I relax back into my seat for the few minutes it takes to get there. When we’re almost to where my car is parked, I straighten.
“Thank you for everything, Harrison. Would you drop me off at my car, if that’s okay?”
Harrison releases a dark chuckle, then says, “I hope you’re joking.”
I watch through the passenger window, confused, as he drives right past my car and continues toward his house.
It’s only after we’ve made it there, and he’s parked in his garage, shut the door, and turned off the car, that I fully understand.
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. He thinks he has to take care of me.
“Delaney? Are you okay?” His voice is gentle, nurturing. God, the woman he ends up with one day is going to be so lucky to have him. A twinge of jealousy hits me at the thought of his hypothetical future lover.
Jesus, get a hold of yourself.
I shift my body to face him.
“I’m so grateful for what you’ve done, but it’s more than enough. You’re my boss, and you already rescued me from my creepy landlord. I don’t want to take advantage of you. I need to take care of myself, so I’m going to sit outside and look for a hotel. I’ll call a ride share—”
Something flashes in his eyes that looks an awful lot like anxiety, maybe even fear.
“No. Please, Delaney. Don’t. Not tonight. I can’t tell you how afraid I was when I thought you were in danger. I need to know exactly where you are tonight, and I need to be nearby. I’m never going to rest, otherwise. I don’t want to force anything on you, but I’m just asking for tonight.”
“Harrison—”
“We’ll sleep in different rooms. I swear it’s not some ulterior motive driving me here, but I need to know you’re okay. Please, Bets.”
I stare at him for a few seconds, and though everything in me tells me that I can’t afford to let myself come to depend on someone else, even a little, it would be so much easier to stay here tonight. I’d be able to get a good night’s sleep, then get my things situated tomorrow with a rested brain.
“All right,” I whisper.
He leans closer to me and rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you.” The relief in his voice is palpable. He pulls back and looks at me. “Do you want me to carry your basket in?”
“No, I’ll just get what I need for tonight.
” I climb out of the car, open the back door, and rifle through my stuff.
I get some shorts and a T-shirt—my usual sleep attire—and a new outfit for tomorrow, then I grab my toiletry bag with my toothbrush and the essentials.
At the last minute, I reach back into the basket and pull Mom’s journal out.
After the night I’ve had, I need to feel close to her.
Over the next twenty minutes or so, Harrison shows me to the guest bedroom, which is right across from his. I leave my things there while he takes me downstairs and shows me where the glasses are, if I need water. Then he double-checks the locks on the doors, and we walk back upstairs.
We say an awkward goodnight and go into our separate rooms. A few minutes later, I’ve brushed my teeth, washed my face, and changed into my pajamas.
I’m exhausted as I climb into bed, but I can’t relax yet.
I lift Mom’s journal off the nightstand where I left it and open it to the last page that I read.
I make sure I didn’t miss anything, and I flip to the next entry.
Dear Delaney,
I wish I could tell you that things are slowing down, but I can’t.
I worry more and more I’ll forget the important things that I want to say to you before I get a chance.
My goal is to talk about them, but I never know when I’ll have a good day.
So, writing them here is my insurance policy in case my memory gets worse before I can give you all my motherly talks.
Today, I think we should talk about family.
I know that probably seems like a weird thing to bring up, given that it’s only you and me, but I need you to remember that shared blood doesn't decide who is family. Some biological families are large, others are not. Ours is small, but it’s always been perfect for me.
Other people in our lives have become like family to us.
I mean Pat, of course, and Mrs. Nicker. They care about you and love you very much, but I want you to promise me you’ll take some time and build a support system of friends who are all yours—ones that will become your chosen family, a found family.
You’ll know them when they come along, I promise.
They’ll be the ones who recognize how lucky they are to have you in their lives.
Those are the kind of friends I want you to find.
I know that as I worsen, you’re going to be prone to focus all of your attention on me. I’m telling you now, as your mom, I don’t want you to do that. I want to know that you’ll go out and enjoy your life, experience things, and fall in love.
I’m going to change a lot in the next few years, and I want you to visit some, but not spend all your free time wherever I’m receiving care.
I’ve told Pat that I want her to try to force you to have a social life, so don’t give her a hard time.
I know you’re probably shaking your head, but you might need some pushing, and Pat’s my best friend, so she knows that’s what I want.
I want someone to press you to live your life.
That’s the best way you can show me you love me, because you promising to do that relieves a burden from my heart.
I love you, sweet girl. No matter what happens to my memory, that will never go away.
Love, Mom
I guess I haven’t really kept that promise to her.
That’s one talk she was able to have with me before things got really bad.
I mean, I’m trying to make some friends, but I’ve definitely not been overly engaged.
I know what she said, but just the idea of spending less time with her so that I can meet new people is so hard for me to wrap my head around.
My heart aches imagining how difficult it must have been for Mom to write these notes. It pains me that she’s not able to talk to me anymore. That I’ve lost so much of her. Warm tears fall from my eyes and roll down my face.
I close the journal, turn off the lamp on the nightstand, and lay my head on a pillow that smells fresh and clean, like laundry hung to dry on a clothesline.
I tuck the blankets around me. The bed is comfortable, the air in the room is sufficiently cool, and I’m absolutely exhausted, but I still cannot fall asleep.
My mind races.
I don’t know how I can go back to living in the trailer at this point.
I already knew Brandon was escalating. This has happened several times, but tonight was, by far, the worst. It was only a matter of time until I had a confrontation with him.
Heck, if Harrison hadn’t come back tonight, who knows what would’ve happened. I shudder at the thought.
I’m going to have to find somewhere else to live, and I’m going to have to get the car straightened out.
The idea of tackling those two things makes me nauseous and causes a tightness to wrap around my chest. Any progress I’ve made stashing away money for Mom’s future care since I’ve had the new job is probably going to end up eaten in handling those things.
In life, I try not to dwell on the negative, but right now, I’m finding it very difficult to imagine how all this can end well.
I don’t know how to keep up with everything that I must do for Mom to stay at the facility.
And I can’t take her away from there, not after seeing how much better the care she’s been getting is and the attention that the staff pay her. How can I take that away from her?
Maybe I can ask for more hours with catering. I could effectively work the equivalent of two full-time jobs. If I do, though, I know that I won’t see Mom much. The thought of that makes my heart hurt, but at the same time, it’s for her benefit.
Somewhere in the last couple of minutes, the tears have increased, and there’s no sign of them slowing down.
I flip to my other side, my back to the door, and I decide I’ll let myself cry tonight, and then tomorrow I will pick myself back up and regroup.
I can pivot my plan then, but tonight, I’ll allow myself to be sad.
I can be tired. I can be a girl who wants her mom.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been lying here in the dark, hoping sleep will come—maybe it won’t.
Yes, I’m upset and strained by everything going on, but also, just feet away on the other side of the hall sleeps the man I can’t get off my mind, no matter how hard I try.
Every time I think that there’s no way he’s still the man he was that night at the hotel, he shows me pieces and parts of his heart that tell me I’m wrong.
I wish we could be more, but it’s just not in the cards for us.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and it startles me. I say nothing. Mortification hits when I realize my slow trailing tears from a few moments ago have turned into grief-filled weeping. Harrison probably thinks some animal is getting slaughtered in his guest room.
He doesn’t speak, but I can tell by the shift in the lighting of the room that he’s entered. The bed dips when he sits on the edge. He brushes my hair off my forehead, and I turn to face him, scooting closer to his body, not wanting him to see my face.
“Bets? Can I please hold you tonight? I promise I’m not going to push you for anything else, but I hear you in here, and I know that you can take care of yourself, but I’m asking you to let me do it.
For one night, let me take care of you a little bit.
” He pauses, but I don’t respond. Then, with the gentlest voice, he asks again. “Can I do that?”
I say nothing. I’ve managed to slow my crying some. I sniffle a few times, and then eventually I nod my head. I expect him to crawl into bed next to me. Instead, he leans down and slides one hand under my knees and the other under my upper body, then picks me up.
He effortlessly carries me across the hall to his room. I don’t resist, and I rest my head on his chest. He lays me on his bed with such care, like a treasured possession, then shuts the door, turns off the lights, and climbs in behind me. He pulls the blankets up over both of us.
The room is the perfect temperature—cool enough to sleep, but not cold. As his body covers mine, my muscles relax. My tears slow and eventually stop. He somehow knows not to ask about them. I couldn’t talk about them tonight if I wanted to.
After several minutes, I realize that I feel more at peace, more settled, than I have in months. I know precisely when the last time was. It was on the worst day of my life—so far, anyway—in the suite of a fancy hotel with a stranger who made me feel wanted, alive, and safe.