“Wanna go for a…walk?” Walk is full of sarcasm.
I shrug again.
“Strip club?”
I laugh softly, then wipe the smile from my lips. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Okay, no laughing. Well, this fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”
I nod. Nodding works almost as well as shrugging. Brandon’s not much of a talker, but I can tell he’s got something he wants to say.
“Go shower. I’ll make coffee.”
“I don’t want to shower.” I sound like a petulant child.
“Well, I need to think, so get in the fucking shower.” He stands and lopes into the kitchen.
I sigh loudly enough for him to know he’s annoying me and head back into the bedroom. I shower and brush my hair, put Delilah’s shirt back on with a pair of my shorts, then join Brandon on the couch again.
He nods at a mug of coffee and a plate of burnt toast he’s set on the coffee table.
“Never said I could cook. Eat.” He nods to the toast and pats the seat beside him.
“Thank you for the coffee.” My tone is not very thankful, but I know he’ll forgive me. I’m exhausted after not sleeping and worried about what’s going down between me and Delilah.
“And the toast.”
“That’s still up in the air.”
We both smile, and I feel a little better.
“What’s your plan?” he asks.
I shrug.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re not me. You’re not a fucked-up guy. You’re a smart girl who loves Delilah. Another smart girl. So…spill.”
“How can I spill when I have no idea how to get through to her? I’ve apologized. She won’t talk to me.”
“She’s in Connecticut dealing with her parents’ shit.”
“I know. Wyatt called me.”
“She had a nervous breakdown on the way down there.”
“What?” My heart stops.
“I followed her on my motorcycle. She doesn’t know I did, but I was worried about her driving with how upset she was. She pulled off the highway and screamed and cried. I parked way down the road and walked close enough so I could watch her but she couldn’t see me.”
“Brandon, I have to go to her.” I stand, and he pulls me back down and shakes his head.
“No. It wasn’t a put-me-in-the-loony-bin type of breakdown. She stopped at the sight of her parents’ accident. She’s working through shit.”
“What did she do?” The fear in my voice catches both of our attention, and he sets his hand on mine. “How do you know she’s okay?”
“I followed her all the way to Connecticut. She got there okay. I called her as she walked inside her house just to be sure everything was copacetic inside the house. Made up some bullshit about needing to know where shit was at the beach house. She bought it. I talked to her for almost ten minutes. She’s okay, probably not fine, but she arrived safely.”
“Is that why you look like crap?”
He shrugs, closes his eyes, and rests his head back on the couch. “So, are you going to tell me what your plan is, because whatever you did, if it’s fixable, I’d say you have a day or two to figure out how to fix it before she comes back.”
“I have to see Sandy.”
Brandon lifts his head, and his tired eyes spring open. “Why the hell do you have to do that?”
“Closure. She’s still in her apartment by the university. Want to come along for old times’ sake?”
“Can I sleep first?” He closes his eyes again and kicks his feet up on the coffee table.
I can’t believe he drove to Connecticut to make sure Delilah was safe, but then again, this is the Brandon I know. The Brandon who led me to her in the first place.
“Yeah, but you’ll be more comfortable lying on the couch or in my bed than with your legs on the table.”
His breathing is already shallow.
Chapter Twenty-Five
~Delilah~
SOME PEOPLE DON’T believe in ghosts. I never have, but I feel my parents looking down on me so often, I’m not sure what to think. And this morning, as I was thinking about how I chickened out and didn’t call Wyatt when I arrived last night, texting him instead, I started to wonder. I didn’t answer his call, which came through seconds after I sent the text, and I didn’t answer the next four calls from him either. I thought I’d feel my parents around then, for ignoring my brother’s call, but I didn’t. Then Brandon called and caught me off guard when I was carrying my stuff into the house, so I talked to him. I was glad to have the company as I walked through the empty house. I hadn’t thought about how strange it would feel to be in the house after being gone for so long. I’m still not sure if I believe in ghosts or not, but I wonder if objects can feel like ghosts, because that’s how the house felt last night. Like the ghost of the house I used to live in. From the moment I walked in, it felt different, colder, not like the house I’d grown up in.