Delilah's Tears

Chapter One

James

The first time I ever laid eyes on Delilah, she was on the arm of another man. My brother. At their wedding.

The next time I saw Delilah was a year later, standing over my brother's open grave. Crying. Bereft. Alone.

Both times I had been granted leave to attend John's milestones. One joyous, one devastating.

Both times I had a raging hard-on for my new sister-in-law, a wildly inappropriate condition for either situation.

I'm not a dick. I love my brother. Loved. We were as close as two siblings could be, barely a year apart in age. As kids we did everything together. Rode bikes, played baseball and street hockey. Climbed trees. TP'd the neighbors' yards. Snuck girlie magazines into our rooms. Had our first underage drinks and hangovers. Lost our virginity the same year. Went to the same college. Whatever we did, he did it first. Paved the way. Set the bar. Whether it was pranks or women, he was the leader.

Our lives diverged when John went on to law school on the West Coast and I joined the military, landing in Middle East. Even with the yawning distance and several time zones, we emailed and FaceTimed as often as possible. The only time I ever felt jealous of my brother was when he began talking about this chick he'd started dating.

Delilah was her name.

And he loved her with a passion.

****

John's wide grin fills the small screen on my laptop. I shake my head. The guy is perpetually in a good mood. Nothing gets him down. Well, very little. Getting suspended in tenth grade for lighting firecrackers in the boy's bathroom, and the subsequent two-week grounding, slapped an unforgettable frown on his always gleeful face.

"James. Oh, hell, James. The one."

I can't hold in a chuckle. "What's the one? Did you finally bust a nut and buy the sweet 'Vette you've been eyeing?" All he could talk about lately was the cherry red vintage Corvette he was dying to plunk down nearly a half-year's salary for.

"Not even. Sweeter than that man. She's so damned much sweeter."

"Okay. I give. What or who are you talking about?"

"Delilah-fucking-Andrews." John's expression has taken on a dreamy appearance.

"Who's Delilah Andrews?"

"The sweetest, sexiest, smartest woman on the planet. That's who."

My freaking brother is in love. I suddenly wish I couldn't see his face and he couldn't see mine. A thin thread of jealousy loops through me. For the first time, I regret being out here in the middle of a God-forsaken desert, housed in a tent in Afghanistan with a dozen smelly, dusty, sweaty guys just like me praying we won't get blown to bits in the next twenty-four hours. All while John trolls bars, libraries or the produce section of the grocery store looking for, and likely finding, hot women. Apparently, one in particular.

"Wait until you meet her James. You'll love her." His eyes grow wide. "Let me introduce you."

"What? No, John. Not now." I panic, quickly glancing down at my appearance. He laughs and waves a photograph of the two of them in front of the screen. They're both wearing shorts, tans, and huge, adoring smiles, the wind blowing her blonde hair behind her like a sheer curtain, the Pacific Ocean rolling away behind them.

Christ, she's gorgeous. I think I'm in love.

"I proposed, James." The picture disappears and my brother's giddy face is once again in my field of vision, eyes twinkling. His words momentarily stun me.