Blind Love (Sulfur Heights Series) (19 page)

The name rings a bell
, but I can’t place his face. I look over to Jeremy who looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Are you sure?” he asks Darcie.

I’m just about to ask who Carter Brown is when my phone rings,
Shinedown is blasting Delilah’s number. All I can hear on the other end is screaming. Delilah is screaming.

“D! D! Shut the fuck up!” I scream into the phone when Mia’s crying pierces my ear.

I look over to my brothers and we all run immediately from the office.

I hop in the Challenger with Jeremy
; the phone is still plastered to my ear as I hear devastation on the other end. She still hasn’t talked to me; I don’t think she can hear me. Then I hear Drake. It’s a sound I will never forget. His anger is wailing in the background, slicing my gut in agony.

I look over to Jeremy and he slams his foot on the gas pedal, making the need to get to Drake’s apartment accelerate.

When we walk into the apartment, paramedics are clogging the hall and pushing a dying Presley out on a gurney. Delilah comes running into my arms and I wrap her up tightly. She’s sobbing uncontrollable with Mia whimpering in her arms. “She’s d
—
d
—
d
—
dead, Jake.”

“
Shhh… it’s okay, D. It will be okay.” I have no idea what to say to her. I don’t know if it will be okay. We’ve never had a death in the family this close, not even my parents has affected us the way Presley’s death is now. I kiss her head and stroke her hair. “It will be okay.”

I notice Reggie and Jeremy have not made it into the apartment yet and I’m worried about Drake. Darcie comes to my rescue, taking Mia from Delilah’s arms and walking
them both over to the couch.

I walk down the hall to see Drake crumpled on the ground. I shout his name, but it doesn’t register.
When he finally looks into my eyes,  his own are blank. I shout his name, snap my fingers, tap his face and he still is withdrawn. Damn, I think he’s in shock. I smack him a little harder this time, and like a mad man, he tackles me to the ground. I raise my arms over my face to block the blows as Drake pummels me, releasing his anger. It’s hard not to fight back, but I refuse to do it. My brother is going through some shit right now, and if this is what helps him, then I’m all in.

As hi
s fist breaks through my forearms, slamming me in the eye, my skin tears open, blood running down the side of my face. I readjust my body, letting my gut take most of the blows, when Reggie and Jeremy finally intervene, ripping Drake off me.

“Drake! She’s alive!” Reggie screams into Drake’s face and relief washes over me. “Look at me! Presley’s alive!”

“What?” Drake says, confused as I sit up and pull my shirt up, wiping the blood from my face.

“The paramedic
s revived her right before she was loaded into the ambulance. She’s alive, Drake.”

He shoots to his feet and looks in my direction, “Sorry, brother.”

I nod and smile.
It’s my pleasure
, I think to myself as I make it onto my feet.

When I come out to the living room, Delilah is running behind Drake
when he exits the apartment while Darcie cuddles with Mia, feeding her a bottle and rocking her back to sleep. That poor baby, she’s had to witness her mother overdosing and her daddy losing it.

We all sit around in the apartment, trying to grasp what the hell is going on in our family. My heart aches for my brother and for Delilah. Presley is her oldest friend
, and other than me, she’s admitted Presley is her only friend. To witness her almost demise has to have been torturous.

“Guys,” Darcie’s voice breaks my concentration. “Go to the hospital. I will stay here and clean up.”

“Are you sure?” Reggie asks, kneeling down to kiss Mia on the head and then Darcie on the cheek.

“Yes. I need a minute alone and Drake needs you. Go, please. I will be fine.
” We all nod as we exit the apartment and walk to our cars. No one speaks. We hardly breathe as we make our way to the hospital and wait for news on Presley’s condition.

Chapter 12

Jake

I’m holding Delilah
as we lie on her bed. It’s been a long night. The news from the doctor that Presley has pulled through, has had us all cheering in bittersweet relief. Now, hours later, Delilah and I have finished packing up her clothes, getting them ready to ship back to Memphis. Delilah has made the decision to accompany Presley back to the rehab facility, cutting our summer short by two months. Selfishly, I’m not happy she’s leaving so soon, but I know full well it’s for a good reason.

Delilah
has been a wreck since we got home. It took some time to calm her down after the aftermath of Presley’s OD has set in. I’ve never seen my family so wounded in all my twenty-one years of life. My mother’s death hasn’t affected us this much. It would have been utterly tragic if she died. Presley is a light we all are attracted to. Once she came to live with us after Robert died, she slowly came around—kind of the way Darcie did
—
and became a huge part of our family. I love her like a sister and it has killed me to see my sister almost die.

Delilah moves her hands up around my neck and tucks her face into the
crook between my shoulder and neck. I can smell her lavender shampoo and feel the warmth of her body pressing into mine. Like the douche bag I am, my own body starts to react to our closeness. I can feel my dick getting hard and thoughts of comforting her physically overcome me.

I want to kiss her
more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss a woman before. More than I did the night at the lake. I ache to touch her and I don’t want to fuck her, I just want to kiss her. I want to press my lips to hers and see if the sparks Reggie and Drake talk about are really true. Which is very strange considering I never kiss girls, not on the mouth—not ever
—
but Delilah, God, she has me in a tailspin.

“Jake,” her voice breaks my wondering thoughts. “
Are you mad I’m leaving?”

“Oh
, sweetheart, of course I’m not mad.” I pull her back so I can look into her eyes. Blue pools that captivate me, welcome me whenever I look into them. “I understand, and you need to be there for Presley.”

Delilah’s eyes gloss over and a tear drops down her cheek. “I will miss you.”

Drawn in closer, I desire to kiss her. To feel her lips press into mine. It takes me over once again. I look at her lips, then back to her eyes. She’s scared, but she doesn’t pull away from me; she only looks intently at my eyes.

I move in, dying to kiss her lips, to feel her tongue against mine
, but I hold still. This is not right. Kissing her when she’s hurt is not right. I can’t do it. I lean forward and kiss a tear resting on the ball of her cheek then pull her in close once again.

“I’ll miss you
, too,” I whisper back, knowing that this separation will be harder than the first.

Delilah

It’s been a six weeks since I dropped Pre
sley off at rehab.

The doctors
had given her some medication to take the edge off while I drove us to the airport and during the flight. She said nothing to me the entire trip, actually she slept mostly. Then, when I walked her into Sunny Ridges, Presley gave me the saddest hug and told me to look after Drake and Mia. She looked broken, like she’d given up on life. I reassured her that I would take care of them both and kissed her goodbye. Before I left, she told me not to visit, call or write. She said she couldn’t do this with me bothering her.

At first
, I was really troubled by this
—
I care for her and only want her to do better—but Jake, being in tune with everything I’m not, has said that she needs to do this alone to learn how to cope. He has told me that she depends on Drake and me too much, and has never learned how to deal with her issues. Jake never ceases to amaze me. Just when you pass him off as a pig and a jerk, he says insightful statements that leave you baffled.

I’m in my room getting ready for
my mother’s 5
th
annual Living the Decades Charity put on every year for the hospital. Basically, the rich parade around in costumes of that particular decade while buying items that are auctioned off with all the proceeds going to the new cardiology wing.

I’m looking forward to having a night out, but
I’m also dreading that I will be under my mother’s constant scrutiny. She’s talked me and some other privileged girls my age into the date auction to win a chance for an extravagant date at an exclusive Memphis restaurant. I did the charity date auction last year and had fun, but I don’t want to be charming to some weirdo dude when I’ve got other things on my mind.

Emerson and I have spoken briefly every day since I came back to Memphis. He’s different
; more loving and understanding. It warms my heart knowing he’s trying to make me happy. He really does care for me and I feel like the biggest jerk for not being a better girlfriend. I should be so lucky to have a man like Emerson in my life.

I pull out my costume and shake my head
. My mother. She’s so meddling when it comes to her charities, right down to the costumes. I’m sure she’s making a point. She is okay with me dressing like a hussy as long as I get Emerson back into my life as my boyfriend. She’s setting Emerson and I up. I’m sure she already has rigged the auction so it’s Emerson buying me that exclusive date. I’d put money on it.

I
begin to get ready for the night. I curl my hair and part it to the side then roll my bangs under, making one large curl, and pin them in front to give it a round, barrel look. Next, I pin the other half of my hair back behind my ear, letting the curls fall down around my face. Then I apply my make-up. Using my eyeliner, I give them the cat-eye effect and apply ample amounts of red lip stick. Next, I’ve got to squeeze myself into this rather racy costume.

When I’m done
, I stand back in the mirror and laugh. I look like a 1950’s pinup girl. It’s weird how closely I resemble a woman of the fifties. I’ve got the curves, hair, and now the corset and bloomers. It makes me happy, thinking about the smile on Jake’s face if he were to see me in this.

The happiness is bittersweet. I miss Jake.
He loves the fifties. So much so that he has it tattooed on his arm. Looking at myself, it makes my heart ache. God, the separation just keeps getting harder and harder. He’s my best friend and texting him back and forth is getting impossible.

***

My family and I arrive at the swanky hotel where the hospital charity auction is being held. I feel a little ridiculous wearing next to nothing to this benefit, but soon realize I’m not the only pinup girl here. My cousin, Marybeth, is dressed very similar to me, but her corset is purple instead of red. The ballroom is decorated in fifties chic while men and women are dressed to the nines, wearing leather jackets, letterman jackets, poodle skirts, tight pedal pushers, and collared June Cleaver type dresses. Everything is vintage, right down to the soda fountain station to the black and white checkered floor. Elvis and Buddy Holly are blasting from the jukebox in the background as we all move through the crowds, shaking hands and sharing kisses.

In the corner of the room
shines the ultimate prize for tonight’s charity auction. It’s a midnight black 1957 Chevy Bel Air Delray. A car I’ve heard Jake talk about on numerous occasions and the very same car tattooed on his forearm. It is either fate or dumb luck that I happen to be here tonight, looking at Jake’s dream car while dressed as a 1950 pinup girl. I have to capture the moment. Omens don’t happen like this every day
—
heck, not even in a lifetime
—
and I need visual proof it isn’t a dream.

I enlist the help of my cousin
, Marybeth, who acts as photographer and I go over then stand next to the classic car.

I peer around the car, walking to the side out of everyone’s line of sight and
sneak under the velvet rope. Marybeth follows suit as we inch our way closer to the classic beauty. Now what?

I
stand with my hands folded in front of my body, covering my outfit as best as possible. Suddenly, I’m feeling really foolish.

“No
, lean into it, Delilah.” She squeals from behind my cell phone.

“What? I
’m leaning,” I snap back, hoping she will hurry and take the picture.

“You need to be
more sex kitten and not so schoolmarm.” Okay, less square. I can do sexy.

I stand
awkwardly, trying to think of how sexy women stand when they’re getting photographed and nothing comes to mind. Who am I kidding? I’m horrible at this.

“Like this,” Marybeth shows me Google Images and pictures of actual pinup girls. So what I need to do is
stick out my bum and pucker up my lips while looking seductively at the camera.

I inch closer to the car and look over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching. Then I lean on the edge of the
Bel Air and kick a heeled foot up on the tire. I bend over slightly at the waist, keeping one hand on the car and the other on my opposite hip and turn my torso toward the camera. Next, I devour the camera with my eyes and slightly open my red lips in a seductive smile. Then snap. The flash goes off and Marybeth comes running over.