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And that's when I see her.
Delilah, radiant as ever in that figure-hugging red dress, is seated across from a man in an impeccably tailored suit, the two of them leaning in close as they converse in hushed tones.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel until my knuckles go white.
A date.
She's on a fucking date.
The realization steals the breath from my lungs. Flashes of my past assault me—the bitter sting of being left behind by the woman I thought I'd spend my life with, all because I wasn't enough for her.
Suddenly, it's like I'm living that nightmare all over again. Only this time, it cuts deeper than I ever could've imagined.
My foot slams the brake before I can think twice. I yank the truck into park, the engine idling as I throw open the door and storm toward the entrance, my blood thundering in my ears.
The maitre d' tries to stop me with a polite, "Excuse me, sir—" but I brush past him without a second glance. I'm zeroed in on Delilah, my focus narrowing until she's all I can see.
"Well, well," I growl as I reach their table, my tone laced with acid. "I guess our little fling was just another notch on your bedpost, princess."
Delilah's head whips up, her eyes going wide as they meet my furious glare. For a beat, she looks utterly stunned—then her expression hardens into one of icy disdain.
"Stylz, what the hell—"
"Don't bother," I cut her off with a harsh bark of laughter. "I get it. You were just slumming it with the local redneck for a few kicks, right? Thought you'd have a little fun before running back to your precious city life?"
The man she's with is on his feet now, stepping between us with a look of outrage. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir—"
"Stay out of this," I snarl, shoving him aside with more force than intended. He goes stumbling back, nearly colliding with a passing waiter.
"Stylz!" Delilah gasps, surging to her feet. Her eyes blaze with a potent mix of anger and hurt that makes my heart clench despite my own fury. "What is wrong with you? If you'd pull your head out of your ass for two seconds, you'd realize—"
"Realize what?" I demand, taking a menacing step forward. The man tries to intervene again, but a warning glare from me has him freezing in place. "That you were just using me for a fling this whole time? That you never took us seriously?"
Delilah's expression crumples for the briefest of moments, a hairline fracture in her icy facade. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter but no less fierce.
"Is that really what you think of me, Stylz? That I'm the type of person who would toy with someone's feelings like that?"
The wounded resignation in her tone gives me pause, the anger draining from me in a dizzying rush. My shoulders slump as the weight of my rash behavior starts to sink in.
"I... no, of course not. I just—"
"Just what?" She shakes her head slowly, a muscle ticking in her jaw. "Saw me having dinner with another man and automatically assumed the worst?"
I swallow hard, my throat feeling impossibly tight. "Delilah, I—"
"Save it." She cuts me off again. "If you truly think I'm capable of being that cruel, that manipulative, then maybe we're not as compatible as I thought."
With that, she turns on her heel and stalks out of the restaurant without a backward glance. I'm left standing there like an idiot, the weight of my mistake crashing down on me in waves.
How could I let my insecurities get the better of me like that? After everything Delilah and I have shared, all the vulnerability and trust, how could I throw it back in her face so callously?
I glance over at her dinner companion, who's watching me with an expression of utter disdain.
"I don't know what's going on between you two," he says coolly, straightening his tie, "but I'd start doing some serious groveling. Because I just offered her a job here, and I don't want you to mess this up for either of us."
His words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.
A job. In Silverpine.
