Page 61 of A Moment for Us
And I’ve learned that there is nothing in life that stays that way.
I brush her hair back as she lets out a deep snore. That shouldn’t make me smile, but it does. Moving in with her was a risk, but there was no way in hell I was going to let another woman be hurt if I could do something about it.
I will protect Delia.
I’ll do everything for her because, while I will never allow myself to love her, I won’t lose her either.
She shifts a little, and I pull the blanket up higher. I should wake her and put her to bed, but I don’t. Instead, I pull her over a little so I can slide myself behind her, spooning her and holding her against my chest.
I tell myself that I’m not going to stay like this, but then my hand moves around her and rests on her stomach.
There’s a child in there—our child. Something that was made because of us, and I’m still unsure of how to process it. If there is any woman in the world I would want to have a child with, it’s her.
Delia has always been my weakness.
“You have no idea how much I hate that I’m not a better man,” I whisper to her, knowing she’s sound asleep and can’t hear me. “I would give anything to go back in time and change things so that I was a better man who could not be so damaged. I just can’t. I can’t risk it, and you, Jesus, you would be the end of me.” I may have lost someone I loved before, which was horrific and changed me irrevocably, but Delia is another stratosphere of feelings. “I worry just as much as you do,” I confess. “Touching you, holding you, being with you is so effortless that I know I’ll let my guard down.”
She moves a little, sighing as she snuggles into my chest more. “Josh,” she says, but her eyes don’t flutter.
“And I’m undeserving of the reverence in your voice.”
Her breathing is soft, and as much as I want to stay like this, I am smart enough to know it would be a mistake. I’ve made a lot of them, and I won’t do anything else that will hurt her.
I push myself up, kiss her lips, and climb over her carefully. Once I’m in front of her, I pull her into my arms and carry her to bed. She mumbles something as I put her down and then tuck her in.
Using every ounce of restraint I have, I go into my room and stare at the ceiling, hating myself.
* * *
There is no sleep for me. All night, I thought of all the thousands of tiny decisions that brought me to this point. So many mistakes. So many things I should’ve done differently. In the end, none of it matters. I’ve decided the only way to make this situation work is to find a way for our friendship to survive. I get out of bed and get to work on phase one of our new living arrangements—breakfast.
The RV gave me zero chance to really cook. It was mostly heating up things and going to Jennie’s when I was done with cereal or instant oatmeal.
Today, we’re having the works. Eggs, bacon, waffles, and hash browns. Of course, I already went out and got her coffee, which should make her slightly more agreeable.
“What the—” Delia’s voice causes me to turn. “Oh, God, you’re one ofthose?”
“One of what?”
“People who like the morning and breakfast.”
“Who doesn’t like breakfast?” I ask, wondering because everyone likes breakfast.
“Umm, normal people.”
“I think you have that backward,” I tell her and then return to making the waffles.
“There’s bacon, hash browns, and eggs over there.”
Delia makes a noise, and I twist in time to see her hand fly to cover her mouth.
“Are you okay?”
She shudders and swallows a few times, getting only one word out. “Eggs.”
“Yes, these are eggs,” I say, mid-egg crack.
Her shoulders jerk a little and then she rushes from the room. “Crap,” I mutter and then rush after her.
