Page 20 of Her Father's Best Friend

And despite the fear, despite knowing how much it might hurt my father, I'm ready. Ready for Mitch to be mine openly, ready to stop living in the shadows of our own making.

As we gather around the kitchen table, as Dad chatters about the neighbor's new car and Mitch responds with appropriate interest, I watch the man I love and make a silent promise: Whatever happens when the truth comes out, we'll face it together. Because some things—this thing between us—are worth fighting for.

eight

Mitch

My knuckles arewhite around the steering wheel as I pull up to Bill's house. Two days since I promised Delilah I'd do this, two days of rehearsing what to say, how to say it. Nothing sounds right. There's no good way to tell a man you've slept with his daughter. No easy way to admit you've betrayed his trust. But I'm done hiding, done lying. Bill Carter has been like a brother to me for fifteen years. He deserves the truth, even if it costs me his friendship. Even if it costs me a hell of a lot more than that. Because Delilah is worth it. What we have is worth it. And I can't build something real with her on a foundation of lies.

This morning, Delilah sat on the edge of our bed—and yes, it's become our bed, not just mine—watching me dress with solemn eyes.

"You sure you don't want me there?" she asked, pulling her knees to her chest. She looked young in that moment, vulnerable in a way she rarely allows herself to be.

"I'm sure." I knelt in front of her, taking her hands in mine. "This needs to be between me and your father. Man to man."

"He's going to be furious." Her fingers tightened around mine. "He might try to hurt you."

I smiled at that, at her protective instinct. "I can handle myself. And your dad throws a mean right hook, but I've taken worse."

"Not funny." She squeezed my hands. "I hate that you have to do this alone."

"Not alone." I pressed a kiss to her palm. "You're with me every step of the way, even if you're not physically there."

Now, as I step out of my truck and walk up the familiar path to Bill's front door, I hold onto that moment, onto the feel of Delilah's hand in mine. I knock with more confidence than I feel.

Bill answers, his weathered face breaking into a smile that twists the knife of guilt in my gut. "Mitch! Right on time." He steps back, gesturing me inside. "Got the grill fired up. Steaks should be ready in twenty."

I follow him through the house to the back deck—the same deck where I first saw Delilah after she came home, where this whole thing started. The irony isn't lost on me.

"Beer?" Bill offers, already pulling two bottles from a cooler.

"Thanks." I accept the cold bottle but don't drink. I need a clear head for this.

We make small talk while he tends the grill—work projects, the town's plans for the Fourth of July, a mutual friend's new truck. Normal. Easy. Everything our conversation won't be in about five minutes.

"Bill," I start, setting my untouched beer on the railing. "I need to talk to you about something."

He glances up from the steaks, his expression curious but unworried. "What's up?"

My mouth is dry. I clear my throat. "It's about Delilah."

His brow furrows slightly. "Everything okay? She said she's staying with that college friend, but I worry about her."

"She's fine," I assure him quickly. "She's... she's been staying with me."

There's a moment of silence, broken only by the sizzle of meat on the grill. Bill's face remains neutral, processing.

"With you? Why would she—" He stops, understanding dawning in his eyes. "What are you saying, Mitch?"

Here it is. The point of no return. I square my shoulders and meet his gaze directly.

"Delilah and I are together. We've been seeing each other for the past month. It's serious, Bill. I'm in love with her."

The spatula in his hand clatters to the deck. For several long seconds, he just stares at me, as if waiting for the punchline to a joke. When none comes, his face begins to change—confusion giving way to disbelief, then shock, then something darker.

"You're what?" His voice is dangerously quiet.

"I'm in love with your daughter," I repeat, standing my ground. "And she loves me. I wanted you to hear it from me, not find out some other way."

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