5. Delaney
DELANEY
“It was honestly so bizarre, Matty.” The late evening sun is putting on a show, casting an amber glow across my bedspread as I fill my best friend in on details from the day.
“Feels like I’m a kid again, following a class schedule, asking permission to leave my seat. Mrs. Crane had me doing little errands all day. I don’t know. It’s so dumb. And being around Connor is…” I search for the right word.
I missed him, more than I care to admit, but seeing him again has opened a whole messy can of worms and I really don’t want to get my hands dirty sifting through it all.
“Being around Connor is tedious.”
“Just gotta play it cool and not run that big mouth of yours, then you’ll be back home with me. Pookie misses you by the way.” As if on cue, I hear a loud yap through the phone, Matty’s miniature poodle.
“Miss you, too, Pooks.” I mumble.
I’ve done plenty of things I didn’t want to do in my career.
Early morning media appearances, commercials for a hemorrhoid cream, performing in the rain–those things come with the territory.
But weeks stuck in the middle of nowhere, working as a glorified errand girl, and taking endless pictures?
This takes the cake. And being back in this town, in this house…
it’s oppressive. My skin feels too tight and the urge to tuck my tail and run is high.
The setting sun on the horizon teases me. It gets to leave, to disappear, at least for the night. Never thought I’d be jealous of a fucking ball of hot gas, but then again, I never thought I’d be back in Ridgecrest for an extended amount of time.
“I gotta go, Matty. That post looks great, thank you.” He uploaded a few of the pictures I took today with a sweet little caption that makes the return to my hometown seem entirely like it was my idea. The fans will eat it up, as will the tabloids.
Good girl image still intact.
I shimmy out of my jeans and riffle through my drawers for some running shorts and a sports bra.
The August sun has almost disappeared behind the tree line, but I haven’t been away from Tennessee for so long that I’ve forgotten that it’s still hot as hell.
And humid, so miserably humid. Tugging my hair up into a tight bun, I inspect my roots.
Gotta find a decent salon out here. And I probably should get my extensions redone too.
It takes a lot of effort to maintain my girl-next-door look.
If I had my way, I’d cut my hair short. Or hell, buzz it all off.
But that would never be allowed. I’d be stuck wearing wigs for the rest of time. I can picture my dad shaking with rage.
On second thought, maybe I ought to shave it for his reaction alone.
Making a mental note to book a hair appointment, I meander down the back stairs to the kitchen.
The sound of my dad on the phone has me slowing to a stop.
I figured after he saw me off this morning, he’d be on a plane, chasing after one of his other business ventures.
He’s an entrepreneur through and through, and he’s got his hands on a little bit of everything.
A few local businesses, a candy company that never seems to be turning a profit, and of course, micromanaging my career.
Plus, I’m pretty sure he just bought a minor league soccer team.
“Yeah, I saw the post.” He sounds pissed, talking to someone on my management team, I presume, but anger is generally his baseline emotion, so hard to say if something is actually wrong. That’s the game I’ve played my whole life with my dad: Is he normal angry or extra angry?
He sighs. “It’s good enough.”
Alright, looks like we’re going with normal angry today.
“Tells a good story. Let me know what rumblings you hear across the internet.”
A wait a moment to hear some kind of ending to the call, but of course he doesn’t say goodbye. Typical.
Taking a big inhale to prepare for the inevitable battle, I step into the kitchen “Hey, dad. The first day went well, I think. The principal took a bunch of pictures of me working.”
Grunting in response, he hardly lifts his eyes from his phone. “Going for a run?”
“Yeah, I gotta shake off some energy from the day.” I say with a nervous laugh.
“Smart. Don’t want to let your physique slip while you’re here.” Finally peeling his eyes from the glowing screen in his hands, he assesses the setting sun. “It’s getting dark. Stay on our property.”
I head out the back door wordlessly. I don’t need this run for my damn physique. I need it because I feel like I’m crawling out of my own skin. I need it to burn off some of the electricity coursing in my veins. I need it so I can breathe again.
The air is still thick with humidity but the heat isn’t nearly as oppressive now that the sun has disappeared behind the tree line.
I take off running down the familiar path that leads to the back pastures.
They used to hold cattle, back before my parents bought the land, but now they’re just wide, open fields.
The closest I’ve ever felt to home is out in this back pasture, running.
Not a single soul in sight, just me, my music blasting, and the delicious ache in my chest, my breath feeling more like fire than air.
I logged hundreds of miles out here as a teen, running as far as the property line would allow.
The spotty glow of fireflies catches my attention.
I might not miss much about Tennessee, but I do miss the simple magic of lightning bugs.
With the sun all but gone now, I let myself stop and take in the show the fireflies are putting on.
They zip and flicker, seemingly with no direction. It’s captivating. And humbling.
Do I have that same magic, the kind to stop people in their tracks? I used to. At least, that’s what everyone said. But now the shine feels like it might be wearing off. All year, I’ve been running from one scandal to the next, every misstep and embarrassing moment on display.
It pains me to admit, but maybe my banishment to Ridgecrest will turn out to be a good PR move after all. And I really can’t risk any more dents in my shiny image. Because the reality is, if I’m not playing the game—my dad’s, my publicist’s, my fans’—I don’t know what the hell I’ll do.
Probably fade out like the lightning bugs.
“What are you doing on my property?” A winded voice jerks me from my downward spiral.
Pretty sure my heart fully stops then restarts as I see Connor emerge from the apple trees to my right. Shirtless and chest heaving a little as he catches his breath, his body is slick with sweat, and damn it, the sight of him makes me go a little weak in the knees.
“I’m squarely on my land,” I say, hands on my hips in defiance even as a wide grin creeps onto my face. He’s always had that effect on me. I can’t stay stuck in my head for too long around him.
And possibly, this toned, half-naked version of him is increasing his disarming effect.
Connor takes a similar stance, mirroring my playful smile. “I dunno, Delaney. Those toes are right on the line.” The evening darkness settles around us, but I can still see his brown eyes dance with mischief. “Might need a good old-fashioned foot race to decide who’s right.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out. “How many fucking arguments did we settle with a race as kids?”
“Lots of them. Until I got faster than you and you decided it was unfair.”
“Because it WAS unfair!” I emphasize with a swat to his muscular chest. “And when did all this happen?” I gesture vaguely around his body, letting my eyes linger a little bit in the cover of darkness.
Connor is built. Every inch of his dark skin is defined with taut muscles.
A far cry from the gangly kid I used to know.
Connor pops a shoulder in an innocent shrug. “Sometime between binge drinking in college and running marathons in my spare time.”
“That’s such a you answer.”
“How so?” He takes a step closer, into the little swarm of fireflies still dancing around me.
My pulse quickens at the change in proximity.
I blink once, twice, three times, trying to conjure up the image of him at eleven, all long limbs and crooked teeth, but all I can see is the ridiculously hot version of Connor standing in front of me.
Clearly I need to get laid if standing one foot away from a shirtless guy is messing with my head this much. Especially considering the shirtless guy in question is Connor.
I take a step back, desperate to get some distance between us.
“College parties, running marathons, teaching English at the high school you went to.” I dig at a little patch of dirt with my toe, “You’re living the life I always pictured for you.”
He drops his eyes to the ground. “You’re only seeing one part of the picture. What about you? Are you living the life you pictured?”
His question is a gut punch. Because the answer isn’t so easy.
At one point, we’d been close enough that I could explain it–the way my hopes and dreams got caught up in everyone else’s expectations of me until I didn’t know which way was up, the way I chose to numb it all out for years, the way nothing numbs it out anymore.
But that closeness isn’t there anymore, and I can’t begin to explain all that to a virtual stranger.
So I lie.
“Yes.”
Connor’s eyes burn into mine, and it sends a shiver through my body.
“I hear lying makes you cold.” Connor says, with a shit-eating grin.
“Not cold,” I lie again. “Just that icky, shivery feeling you get when your sweat starts to dry. Which means that’s my cue to get back home. Sorry I interrupted your run.”
Another lie. I’m not sorry at all.
As I turn to leave, Connor catches my arm. “No big deal. I’m glad I saw you out here. Reminds me of being kids, chasing the fireflies until we were too tired to move.”
“I loved being a kid with you.” The words tumble out before I have a chance to stop them, but they’re the truest words I’ve uttered all evening.
“We didn’t know how good we had it.”
A beat passes, and I know he’s picturing those simple times, too.
“Let me run back with you,” Connor says, worry sweeping over his features.
“I could do this run with my eyes closed, but I appreciate the chivalry, Prince Charming.”
He leans in, his hand reaching out towards me for the briefest moment before he lets it fall to his side.
“Anything for you, Lanie Lou.”
A wave of anger crashes over me at the casual way he tosses out my nickname.
I want to give in to Connor’s pull—the concern in his eyes, the genuine affection in his voice, the comfort of having my best friend at my side again.
But the urge to run far and fast is just as strong.
The years of unreturned calls, unread texts, all the accumulated hurt.
“You don’t get to call me that anymore. And you don’t get to promise me anything when there’s so many years of nothing hanging between us. I don’t need you to swoop in now and save me.”
With that, I turn and break into a sprint, letting the familiar burn return to my chest to numb out all the feelings. This damn orchard is haunted with ghosts that we have no business resurrecting.
If I’m gonna survive this semester in Ridgecrest, I’m gonna have to get better at avoiding Connor. I need to focus on playing the part, cleaning up my image, and getting the hell out of town as soon as possible.