Discovering Delilah(63)

I’ve known all along that Wyatt feels this way, but hearing him say it so earnestly makes me feel good. As much as he’s overprotective of me, he’s also confident in my abilities to handle important decisions, and that means a lot to me.

Inside the office, a short, stout secretary brings us into Mr. Park’s lavish office, where we wait for twenty minutes.

“Not exactly a good impression,” I whisper to Wyatt.

“He’s busy.”

“So are we,” I remind him.

“Wow. I guess you’re over your quiet stage.” He sits back and locks his fingers behind his head as he stretches. “Relax, Dee.”

A swarthy-looking man with too much product in his dark hair and a suit that looks more expensive than the BMW he probably drives peeks his head into the room. He flashes a toothy smile. “Wyatt, my man.” He nods at me. “You must be Delilah.”

“Yes.” I stand and extend my hand, and he waves from the doorway.

“I’ll be right in.” He leaves the door open and begins talking to a woman right outside.

I sink back into my chair, eyeing Wyatt. “Real classy, Wy.”

Wyatt shrugs.

The room is beyond silent. There isn’t even noise from an air conditioner to drown out Mr. Park’s conversation with the woman in the hall.

“Listen, I don’t care what that faggot says. We’ll take him to court,” Mr. Park says in a hushed whisper.

I curl my fingers into fists and stare at Wyatt. Wyatt’s brows draw together.

“I know you will, but what should I tell his partner?” The woman says partner like it’s a dirty word.

I grab Wyatt’s arm and feel his muscles tense as he rises to his feet.

“I don’t care what you tell that queer—”

I beat Wyatt out the door and plant myself between Mr. Park and the primly dressed woman.

“I’ve got this, Delilah.” Wyatt holds a protective arm out in front of me. His hands are fisted, his chest looks like it’s been inflated, and his biceps are tight.

“No. I’ve got this.” I step closer to Mr. Park and glare at his beady, dark eyes.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He laughs. “Excuse me?”

“Do you think it’s professional to call someone a queer and a faggot?”

His smile fades, and his eyes shift over my shoulder to the woman behind me with an incredulous look that quickly morphs into save-my-ass mode as a practiced smile curls his thin lips. “You misheard what I—”

“I only wish I had. Let’s go, Wyatt.” I’m shaking as Wyatt steps closer to Mr. Park and pins him in place with a threatening stare.

Wyatt stares him down until Mr. Park backs up and looks away. Then Wyatt takes me by the arm and leads me out of the office. This time I’m glad for his help, because my legs aren’t working very well. By the time we reach the car, I have tears in my eyes.

“The guy’s an asshole. How could I have misjudged him so badly? I’m sorry, Dee.” When he notices I’m crying, he gathers me in his arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know how to screen for that shit.”

“He’s an ass, but they’re everywhere. Our own parents were like him.” I push away from Wyatt and pace the parking lot as I wipe my eyes, feeling like that asshole just called me names. “I hate people. I hate him. I hate Mom and Dad.”

“No, you don’t, Dee.” Wyatt reaches for me and I pull away.

“Yeah. Right now I do. Because of Mom and Dad I’m afraid of people like him, and I’m so sick of being afraid. I’m sick of feeling like I can’t be myself. Sick of feeling like I’m being judged.”

He takes me in his arms and holds me despite my fighting to push free. He holds me while I sob, and he holds me while I kick the ground and curse and bitch about how much people suck. He holds me until I have no more tears to cry, and then he drapes an arm over my shoulder like it’s no big deal and helps me into the car.

“Creek, home, Taproom, or Ashley’s?”

I rest my head back and breathe deeply. “Oh, Wyatt. Why do you put up with me? Why does Ashley? Why does anyone? I’m so fucked-up.”

“Put up with you? Dee. I love you. You’re just about the coolest girl on earth, and I know Mom and Dad messed with your head about your personal life, but look how far you’ve come. You’re stronger than any girl around.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. Mom and Dad died less than three months ago. Do you realize how recent that is? And you’ve taken full charge of the scheduling and running the ordering and all that shit at the bar. You’ve gotten yourself into counseling, and you’re in a great relationship. I don’t know anyone else who could have come that far.”