Page 16 of Adoring Delaney

That pissed me off.

She used to light up like that for me when I’d hit the front porch.

I didn’t answer, I was beyond words. I gently pushed her into the house, slammed the door behind me, flipped the lock, and walked past her into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” she seethed.

Still incapable of speech I opened her fridge, happy to see my favorite beer still stocked, and nabbed one. I twisted the top, tossed it on the counter, took a long swig and remained silent.

“You need to leave,” she demanded.

“We need to talk.” I found my voice.

“Oh, no, we don’t. Time for talking was years ago. Now it’s time for you to get out of my house.”

“Our house,” I corrected.

Delaney’s body jerked. She’d always referred to her place as ours and she wasn’t going to stop now.

“Funny. I remember being the one to buy it. I remember my name being the only name on the deed. I remember paying the goddamn mortgage.” She stopped and looked around. “And I don’t see anything in here that belongs to you.”

Yeah, funny thing about that. Had she ever bothered to actually check her savings account, she’d know that while she indeed paid the mortgage—something she’d insisted on and I didn’t feel like fighting about so I gave her that play—and for the last two years since she’d purchased the house I’d transferred the mortgage payment into her account.

But I didn’t think bringing that up right now would do me any favors. Instead I went for the obvious.

“And why is that, Laney? Because you packed my shit up and moved it to my brother’s? Without talking to me.”

“I’m not your storage locker, Carter.”

“Never thought you were.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Your clothes were here but you were not. You left stuff here, but you didn’t live here. You’d breeze through town, spend a few days, and go back to your real home. Where you actually live.”

“This is my real home. The apartment is the place I crash.”

“So you live in an apartment? I always wondered about that.”

Her sarcasm did nothing to hide the pain of me not talking to her about where I stayed while in VA Beach.

“I have a studio apartment on the beach. I tried renting a house with a few buddies when I first got there but quickly learned the constant stream of women they had traipsing in and out was annoying as fuck so I moved. Been in the apartment for years.”

“Right. Fascinating. You can leave now.”

“Not until we’ve talked.”

“I told you months ago, there was nothing left. I was done then, I’m done now. I’ve moved on and so should you.”

“Glad you brought that up. That shit, with that guy, is what’s done.”

Delaney’s crazy-beautiful eyes narrowed, her hand went to her hip and she geared up for a fight. I’d take it. I’d take anything as long as we were talking.

“You are unreal. I know I’ve spent the better part of my life following you around like some sad puppy dog waiting for you to toss me some scraps, so I get you’d think you could walk into my house and talk to me like I owe you something. But I don’t. I owe you not a goddamn thing. I’ve given you enough. That is over. You need—”

“Follow me around like a puppy? What the fuck, Delaney? Don’t rewrite our history. I get you’re pissed, I get why. I’ve fucked up so bad over the years I can’t begin to tick them all off. But do not stand there and corrupt what we have.”

“Had,” she corrected. “And you don’t have the first clue why I’m pissed. I’m not rewriting anything, I’ve just opened my eyes and saw what was really going on. It has taken me eight years to finally hear what you’ve been saying.”

“And what have I been saying?”

---