Page 54 of Sin Wagon
“Have you talked to Delilah?” Jonas’ voice is low, cautious, like he’s treading carefully into a minefield.
“No,” I admit, feeling a pang of guilt and regret twist in my gut at the sound of her name. “I’ve been so wrapped up in trying to find you a way out of this cracked-up charge that I haven’t had time.”
“That’s bullshit, Wells,” he shoots back, his voice sharp. “You were obsessed with this mystery woman in Vegas before you knew who she was. Going out of your mind looking for her. You blow up our first family dinner to tell us she’s carrying your baby and now you’ve just gone silent? It’s been weeks, Wells. She deserves better than that."
“I know,” I mumble, feeling the weight of his disappointment and my own press down on me.
“Do you though?” Jonas looks around us and lowers his voice. “You got my daughter pregnant. She’s carrying my first grandchild. And now you’re pulling a disappearing act on her. That’s fucked up.”
His words cut deep, and my mind reels. I can still see Delilah’s face, the way she looked at me when I told her I’d be there for her. I promised her the world, and then I disappeared into this mess. What kind of man does that make me?
“Don’t you think I know that?” I snap, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “But if I can’t even keep her dad… my baby’s uncle from doing time in the slammer, why do I deserve to be happy?” I stare out the window at the clouds below, trying to keep my voice steady. “Delilah just met you, and because of me, it wasn’t a good first impression. Now, as soon as she finds out about her dad, he might be leaving again on some bullshit charge?”
“What’s happening to me isn’t your fault, brother,” Jonas says firmly, cutting through my self-pity. “It’s Claudia’s mess, maybe a bit of mine, too. I should’ve known she wouldn’t just fade into the background after calling off the wedding.”
“But—” I try to interject.
“Let me finish,” he insists, his voice low but intense. “You’re going to stop worrying about me.”
He turns away, running a hand through his hair, then spins back to face me. “When we get home,” he says, pointing emphatically, “you’re going to call Delilah.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.
“Beg her to let you see her. Apologize, do whatever it takes.” He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly “She deserves that much.”
His fists clench at his sides, knuckles turning white. “Then you’re going to Vegas,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “Make sure she knows how much you care and how badly you want to be there for the baby.”
He pauses, eyes softening for a brief moment, then hardens his resolve. “Promise me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Promise me you’ll do this.”
“Okay,” I concede, feeling the weight of his words. I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
“And, Wells,” he adds with a dangerous edge to his tone. “If you ever hurt my daughter like this again, I’ll break your fucking nose. She’s too good for you. Don’t fuck it up.”
“I won’t,” I promise, feeling shameful.
How did I get myself into this mess? How did everything get so complicated?
As the captain announces our imminent landing, I watch the lights of O’Hare approach beneath us. The landing is smooth, a contrast to the turbulence in my mind. As we gather our bags and head toward the SUV that Jonas had parked before our trip, I find myself unable to resist the urge to text Delilah.
Me: Hey. We need to talk. Can I come to Vegas and see you?
Little Doe: No need.
Me: I messed up, but let me fix it. Explain what’s going on.
Me: No actually there’s no excuse. I’m a fucking idiot. But please let me at least see you and try to make it right. I’ll do anything.
She reads my message but doesn’t reply, leaving me hanging. My heart sinks. I feel like I’m losing her all over again, and Idon’t know how to stop it. Before I can decide whether to send another message, my mom’s name lights up the screen.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, trying to keep my voice steady. “We just landed and are heading home.”
“Good,” she replies crisply. “I want to have an impromptu dinner. Tell Jonas that Dad hired a new day-to-day operations manager for the hotels here. He’s also training to be interim COO in case things don’t go our way.”
“You’re on speaker,” I inform her, glancing at Jonas.
“Perfect,” Mom continues, unfazed. “I was thinking we could go to the house we set up for him and let you meet him.”
“Isn’t that a bit... unusual?” Jonas asks, clearly puzzled. “We’ve never had dinner at an employee’s house. What’s going on?”
