Delilah's Tears

Chapter Seventeen

"I'm not John. I'm me." This is the hard part, because I'm going out on a limb. Far out on it. "If you are having...feelings for me...I need them to be for me. Not a place to hang the ones you shared with John."

Delilah jumps up. "You should go. I have to work early."

Oh, no you don't. I take her hand and tug her back onto the sofa. "D-doll. Don't run away. This is not easy to say to you. I'm risking...well, everything." I lift her hand to my lips and kiss every trembling finger. "Jesus. This is awkward as hell, babe, so I'm gonna put it out there. I also moved out because I have feelings for you. One's that are beyond brotherly. Not sure how strong or what it means. But they've taken ahold of me and refuse to let go."

She snorts. "And that's why you were dating...?"

"Jana. Yes, actually. I thought it would take my mind off of you. If I started seeing other women, this would fade, and I could honor you and my brother as I'm meant to. As your brother." I shake my head and chuckle, a thousand knives stabbing my heart. "It's not working out so well. Every one of the three dates I've had were hijacked by a sort of weird intervention. They all failed miserably." Hah, if you'd call the last thing a date. I'm thankful I was cock-blocked. I'd feel miserable making this confession after pounding my dick into Roxanne. What did happen was bad enough.

"Oh. Three dates, huh?"

"More or less. None of them ended well. And, honestly, I wasn't that into them to begin with." Except for the part where you about fucked a strange broad because your dick was in charge of things and you were drunk as hell. Hopefully Delilah won't interrogate me about the time at Sensations.

"Sooo..." She draws out the tiny word.

"So, I've laid my cards on the table. You've got a lot to think about. I've got a lot to think about. If there's truly a spark, do we want to fan those flames? Or will doing so create a mountain of guilt we can't overcome?" I stand and Delilah follows me. "And, most importantly, what would John say if he could weigh in? Are we dishonoring his memory and our relationships with him?" I kiss her on the cheek. "I'm going home. When you're ready to talk more, call. I'm giving you breathing and thinking space."

With that, I turn and leave.

****

There's a big water stain on the ceiling over my bed. For an hour, I've lain here staring at it as thoughts wander in and out of my mind. The talk with Delilah wrung me dry. My admission surely altered our relationship. Good, bad or—at the very least—indifferently. Perhaps the water stain is a kind of celestial Rorschach test. I squint at it and I swear to God, I can see John's image come alive. Which is fucking scary shit.

I launch myself off the bed and head into the shower, hopefully washing away this self-imposed misery. Hell. I've fucked up so many ways since I came home. First, lusting after Delilah. Then, avoiding her in favor of other women, including a close call with Roxanne that would have left me furious with myself. Finally, spilling the beans.

"John, you asshole. You put me in this position. What the hell do I do about it?"

I'm full-blown angry at both of us when I shut off the water. After drying, I root around in my dresser for underwear and a T-shirt. My hand hits the edge of the envelope I stashed in there, and I pull it out. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stare at it, then glare at the ceiling.

"Fine, asshole. I'll read your damned letter. Maybe then you'll leave me alone." Or maybe it'll set me straight. I have my doubts about that, though.

I rip through the seal and pull out the neatly folded sheet of paper. It's not typed. It's written in John's distinctive handwriting on his fancy lawyer letterhead parchment. A stone lodges in my throat as I read at the opening words. "Hey bro." Words from the damned grave.

Standing, I go to the kitchen, pour a glass of whiskey, and return to sit on the bed. After a healthy gulp, I continue to read.

Hey bro,

You're probably wondering why I'm writing all these cheesy letters to you and Delilah. Well, wow. I honestly can't say why. I just have...a feeling, ya know? A very bad feeling. I can't explain it. Maybe I'm so damned happy that I fear it can't last. Maybe it's these damned headaches that I can't seem to shake. Whatever it is, I'm compelled to set things straight so Delilah can move on.

I'll tell ya one thing, JD. If anything happens to me it's gonna suck. Big time. For the last few years I've been waiting for my brother to come home. Especially now that I'm married. Delilah and I want to start a family. I guess you knew that. I hope I'm wrong about this gruesome premonition that leaves me six-feet under. Jesus, even as I re-read what I've written I sound like a crazy person. What guy in his early thirties, with a great career, gorgeous wife, and amazing brother goes on like this? If I'm lucky, you'll never have to read this nonsense. At least it'll be off my chest, though.

Back to Delilah... I trust you so damned much, James. I have no doubt you'll take care of her. The two of you will get through whatever terrible thing happens to me. And, man, I thank you so damned much. I can always count on you. Always.

Get her through it. You're strong. Delilah is too, but she'll need someone to lean on. She's young. She has her whole life ahead of her. Point her in that direction when it's time. Tell her I love her and I want her to be happy. Then, grill the hell out of any future guy who comes sniffing around. As much as I hate the idea of Delilah with another guy, she deserves it. Make sure he's at least as good to her as I planned to be. Hell, probably the only dude who can live up to that is you. Yeah. You're about the only one I'd trust with my girl. So, he's gotta be better than you, man. Unless, of course, it IS you. Haha. Weird as that sounds, I'd be okay with that. Truly. If that actually happens, go for it, man. No matter what, don't let her feel guilty for finding a life, whether it's with you or another guy. That's the main thing.

Okay, I'm running on here. None of this is gonna happen. I hope. But if it does, Jesus, James. Be good to her.

Love you to hell, man.

John

For the first time since John died, I cry. No. I sob. I sob for the loss. I sob for the relief from my guilt. Sob for the permission from the grave.

****

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***I'd like to thank James from www.goonwrite.com for the cover to "Delilah's Tears."