Page 30 of Falling Offsides

Taking the food bag from him, I inhale the warm coconut scent deep. My mouth is watering when I shut the door with my phone hand and cradle the food with the other.

“Delilah, someone just dropped off food.”

“Ooh… trash it. You don’t know who it’s?—”

“There’s a note.”

“Oooookay… What does the note say?” she asks eagerly.

I unfold it, squinting at the handwritten message while I put the food down on the kitchen island. “‘Enjoy. R.’ And there’s a kiss.”

“R for Robert. Aww, I take it back. Don’t trash it,” Delilah coos. “Your dad’s totally trying to win you over. Tell me there’s cookies.”

There’s one big cookie, and it smell gorgeous. So good, that I eat it first. Greedily.

I drop into one of the stools, pulling the contents out of the bag. “He’s trying really hard.”

“He loves you, Court. Maybe it’s time to let him in a little. Stop holding him at arm’s length.”

My throat tightens. The guilt tastes sour.

She doesn’t mean it like that, but it hits deep.

I want to open up to him. I do. But it’s been so long. We haven’t lived in the same city in years, and part of me’s still that little girl waiting for him to show up on the weekends he promised. Now he’s showing up, and I don’t know how to let him in without getting hurt.

Delilah softens her tone. “Has your mom called yet?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “No.”

“Really?”

“She never does after Martin loses it. She just… goes quiet.”

I press the heel of my hand to my eye. “I shouldn’t have gone back there, Dee. I knew how it would go. He’s an asshole.”

Delilah is silent for a beat, then says, “I don’t get it. I really don’t. Your mom’s so—her. She’s strong. Beautiful. Smart.”

“And she acts like she’s lucky to have him,” I whisper. “Like she owes him everything. I watched her make him dinner on her birthday while he drank his wine on the couch. Listened to him tell her she needs to look after herself more. Said his buddy’s wife got a body lift and looked amazing…”

Delilah makes a low, murderous sound.

“I lost it. I told him he was a piece of shit, and he threw his fucking wine at me. Then he grabbed my arm and threw me out of the house. Like I’m the problem.”

“What the fuck, Court?”

“It’s not even his house,” I say again, quieter this time. “It’s the house my dad gave her in the divorce. For me. For us.”

Delilah exhales through the phone. “You’ve got a Martin-free life waiting for you in New Orleans. And if that ever goes to shit, you’ve always got me. My couch. My bathtub. My Adonis-shaped candle collection.”

I laugh, my voice scratchy. “You’re the best.”

The mood lightens just a little, and we slip back into our usual rhythm.

Book talk always saves the day.

“The way the dude chases her down…” Delilah whistles.

“I want to be hunted,” I say, quoting the book. “Taken. Owned.”

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