Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bennett
I’m just dropping off the damn pillow and getting out of here.
Wren insisted on the phone that she couldn’t sleep without it and begged me to bring it over to Delaney’s for her sleepover.
I pull into Delaney’s driveway, pillow in the passenger seat, and give myself the same pep talk I do every time we do these drop-offs.
Don’t linger. Don’t look at Delaney as if you still want her to belong to you. Don’t remember how many nights you dreamed about her coming back in your life. Don’t forget what she kept from you.
No one comes out to get the pillow, so I climb out of my truck and make my way up to the door.
I rap my knuckles on the screen door, but there’s no answer.
Delaney mentioned that her parents were out of town this week, so maybe she and the girls are out back or something.
I could easily toss the pillow inside then leave Delaney a text message and get the hell out of here.
But then I hear laughter coming from the kitchen.
Wren’s giggle, Leia’s quieter laugh, and Delaney’s soft voice in the mix.
It slides under my skin, and fear of missing out pulls me toward them.
I knock again. This time louder.
“In here!” Delaney calls.
I open the door and step inside.
The scent of burned marshmallow, chocolate, and something vaguely smoky fills the air.
There’s a bag of marshmallows half-spilled on the counter, chocolate bars broken up on a plate, with graham crackers scattered in little broken pieces mixed in.
The three of them are huddled around the gas stovetop.
You have got to be kidding me.
Wren’s holding a skewer over the gas burner, her arm tucked in tightly, the flame licking the edges of a marshmallow already burned on one side.
“What are you guys doing?” I ask, or maybe more demand.
Delaney straightens up from behind Leia, her eyes going wide. “We’re making s’mores.”
“Over a gas flame?” I stare at the burner. “Jesus, that’s not safe.”
“We’ve always done it this way,” Leia says, lifting her skewer. “Mine’s on fire.”
Delaney leans over and blows it out. “Perfect.”
“This is fun, Daddy, want to do one?” Wren glances over her shoulder briefly before concentrating on her marshmallow.
“You’re only inches from catching your hair on fire.” I set the pillow on a chair and take the skewer from Wren’s hand, turning off the burner with a click.
“Boo,” Delaney says. The girls groan their agreement. “Why build a whole fire for a few s’mores? Leia and I have always done it this way.” Delaney looks at Leia, and they both shrug.
I shake my head. “Where is your parents’ fire pit and wood?”
Delaney tilts her head. “Outside. Wood is on the side of the garage. But—”
I walk out of the house, and Delaney tells the girls to sit tight.
She follows me out of the house. “I can make a fire, you know. I’m just choosing to do it over the stovetop.”
“And burn off the girls’ hair?”
She scoffs, and when I turn around, her hands are on her hips, and her mouth is set in a rigid line. “It’s funny, you know. I’ve been a mom the same amount of time you’ve been a dad. Leia’s gorgeous hair has never been singed once.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” I say, going around to the garage and returning with wood.
She walks over and takes the wood from me. “You are not going to undermine me here. This is my night for a sleepover, and we were having fun. You should try it sometime.” She circles and stomps back toward the house.
Right as her hand is on the handle of the screen door, I say, “Delaney.”
She stops and glances over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I overreacted.”
She circles back and keeps her arms crossed. “Want to tell me what this is really about?”
“Not really.” I kick at the grass.
It used to come so easy with Delaney, telling her about my vulnerabilities, insecurities, but now we’re lifetimes away from that, and I’m struggling.
“Okay then.” She eyes the wood. “Build your little fire, and the girls and I will get the s’mores stuff together.”
The door shuts behind her, and whatever she tells the girls has them screaming with excitement. She returns with a lighter.
I want to be mad at her. I should be. She let me miss seven years of my daughter’s life. Seven. That’s every scraped knee, every bedtime story, every moment Leia needed someone and went to him.
I watch her situating the girls. Both my daughters, even though only one of them is hers. Wren represents everything that took me away from Delaney, and still, she treats Wren as if she’s hers. Not that I’m surprised.
Damn it, I still want her.
That’s the problem. Delaney still feels like home. Even when I’m furious with her, I want her.
I teach the girls how to stack the wood to get the best fire. They put the kindling on the bottom, the two of them working together better than Delaney and I do.
She sits in the chair, a silent observer, but it’s too dark outside to read her expression.
“Gotta love a cowboy,” Delaney says after a while, when the flames are crackling and the logs are just starting to catch.
The girls get comfortable under a blanket, sitting side by side, pointing as the flames increase.
I glance over at Delaney. Her hair’s pulled into a messy bun, and she’s wearing one of those threadbare sweatshirts that somehow is sexier than if she wore something tight. I want to know if she’s wearing a bra or if my hands ventured under that hem, would I feel her bare breasts?
“I’m far from a cowboy.”
She smiles, flames dancing in her eyes. “You might not corral cattle, but you’re a cowboy at heart.”
I scoff. “My cousins would disagree.”
The fire casts a warm orange glow over her face. Makes her look softer. Younger. As though she could be seventeen again, when we were stupid and brave and thought love was gonna get us through. Such simple times.
“What do they know?”
The four of us are silent for a beat.
“Looks great. Sit down and relax. You wanna make a s’more?” She sits up to grab the stuff.
“I got it. Girls?” I grab two sticks and hand them each one with a marshmallow on it. I kneel by each of them, showing them how to keep it off the flames enough to not catch on fire. Wren is more familiar, though I’ve usually taken control of it for her, so she doesn’t get hurt.
Delaney gets the graham crackers and chocolate ready, and between the two of us, we get them both assembled. They sit back in their chairs, eating over the small plates Delaney brought out.
“Want me to make you one?” I ask her.
“I can make my own s’more, thank you very much.” She smiles. “Maybe in a bit. Sit.”
I take the empty chair, and we all stare at the fire.
“I might be a tad overprotective,” I admit in a quiet voice so only she can hear. The girls are busy laughing about something.
“You think so?”
I glance over, and she’s got that joking smile. I shake my head.
“This is fun, girls, right? Do you have anything to say?” She changes topics, and I wonder if it’s because she’s scared by this dynamic between us.
“Thank you,” they say in unison except Wren adds Daddy, and Leia doesn’t.
As much as I want her to think of me as her dad, I know I can’t push this. I tell myself it will come in time.
“You’re welcome.”
Leia takes off her blanket, picks up her skewer, and walks over to me. “Can you help me make another one?”
I swallow back tears, and I swear Delaney makes a noise.
“Of course. Let’s go.”
She puts the marshmallow on the stick, and she stands in front of me, both my arms around her, adjusting how she holds it over the fire.
Wren says something to Delaney about her grandpa and how he uses peanut butter cups and how Uncle Brooks does three-stack ones.
“I wanna see,” Leia says.
I look at Delaney, and she’s not smiling, but she does nod as if she’s suggesting that’s the next step. Leia needs to get to know my family.
After a half hour, Wren has to go to the bathroom, and Leia goes inside with her.
“Are you really okay with me bringing her around the family?” I ask.
“They’re her family too. She should get to know them and vice versa.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Later, when the s’mores are done and the girls are sticky-faced and half asleep in their chairs, I get up to leave. “I can help you get them to bed.”
“Nah, they’ll wake up and pass out in Leia’s room. But I’ll warn you, there won’t be any brushing of teeth or baths before bed. But I promise to return her clean tomorrow.” She smiles wide with an expression as if to say, I do what I want when it’s my sleepover.
“Not even a change of clothes?”
She shakes her head. “Lighten up, Owens.”
I take one last look at the girls before turning toward the house.
“Thanks again,” she says, walking me to the corner of the house.
“For barging into your night? You’re welcome.”
She leans along the side of the house. “You’re lucky I know you mean well. I’ll drop her off in the morning or text you if they try to swindle more time together.”
“Daddy!” Wren shouts, clearly having woken up.
Both girls barrel across the dark lawn, and I force myself not to tell them to slow down so they don’t twist an ankle in the dark. They run up to me and wrap themselves around my legs.
“Bye. Thanks for the fire,” Wren says. “Love you.”
I squat down and hug them both. My eyes sting with tears that are on the cusp of slipping. Delaney covers her mouth with her hand, unable to strip her attention away from us.
“Bye, girls, love you.”
Leia doesn’t say anything, but the hug is enough. It’s her own way of saying she appreciates the fire and the s’mores lesson. That she’s warming up to me a little more. I’ll take it.
I force my feet to move toward my truck, the scent of smoke clinging to my clothes, my heart heavy. The last thing I want to do is leave them or Delaney, but I don’t know how to forgive her. The problem is I don’t know how to stop loving her either.