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"Because, Delia..." He waves his hands in the air, at a loss. "Because you're supposed to be my date."
Dean has been silent through all of this, and as I glance at him, his hands are balled into fists. He's holding himself back.
"This is your last chance to leave, Brody." Dean's voice is deceptively calm, hiding the storm brewing underneath. "After this, I'm going to make you leave."
Brody scoffs. "You wouldn't dare."
"Don't test me. I'm not the man you grew up with. I'm the man you never wanted to meet."
Brody swallows hard, and his eyes move to mine. "Do you know how old he is?"
"It doesn't matter," I snap, meaning every word of it.
"Yes, it does, Delia. Jesus, he’s 40! Don't tell me you've lost your fucking mind."
Dean's eyes narrow. "Get the fuck out of my house."
Brody doesn't move, but the expression on his face tells me he wants to. He doesn't dare. "Delia, I want an answer."
Crossing my arms, I tilt my chin up. I’m freaking out inside, but I won’t let Brody see. I refuse. "And I'm not giving one."
Dean takes a step forward. He towers over Brody, who isn't small by any means, and the difference between them is like a wolf standing next to a poodle. "I won't tell you again."
"I'm not going anywhere. This is my house too, and I have as much right to be here as Delia."
Dean reaches out, wrapping his large, rough hand around the back of Brody's neck. The young man gasps, trying to jerk back, but his father holds him still.
"Dad, let go."
"Get. The. Fuck. Out." Dean's grip tightens, and Brody yelps. "This is my house, Brody. Mine. And Delia is staying because I told her to."
"What the fuck? Are you crazy? You're like twice her age. It's sick."
"Shut up, Brody," I snap, but the older man shakes his head, not looking at me.
Dean shoves Brody back, and the younger man stumbles, almost falling. The tension in the room reaches a fever pitch, but finally, Brody breaks. Shoulders slumping, he looks away.
"Fine. I'll go stay where I'm wanted." He turns and leaves the room, and after a second, the front door opens and slams closed.
As soon as he's gone, Dean collapses into the chair, letting out a deep breath. "Dammit. I'm sorry, princess."
That was awful, and I'm still quivering....but it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It's over. Brody knows, and there's nothing left to hide.
"It's okay." I reach across the table and take his hand in mine, squeezing tightly. "Everything is fine."
Dean’s thumbs sweep across my knuckles. "I never want to make you feel uncomfortable, Delia. But I wasn't going to let that little fucker talk to you like that."
My smile is soft and genuine. "I know, Dean. Thank you."
7
DEAN
3 weeks later
It's been three weeks since Thanksgiving and my confrontation with my son, and somehow, they've been the best weeks of my life.
And it's all because of Delia Watson. Soon enough, she'll be Delia Dixon if I have my way.
