“How badly?”

My heart beats madly as I see the desperation in his cold eyes. On tiptoes, I kiss him. No thought at all, just a desire, a wish come true that didn’t take crossing a barren field and climbing up an old tree. A real kiss between a man and a woman. It’s tender, but quickly deepens. His hand splays against my back and braces me there.

Ever so slowly, I reach up, my hand resting on his collarbone and the other sneaking up.

It’s over far too quickly at the sound of tires in the distance, just beyond the tree line where the backroad is and where my car is parked.

The gentle moment vanishes, and without a goodbye, Marcus leaves, stalking toward the barn. I’d follow, but my name is carried with the wind.

“Delilah,” Cody’s voice calls out followed by the sound of a car door shutting.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I’m sure he can tell something’s off—I can see it in the way he strides to me, at first deliberate and then slowed. My breathing is erratic and my mind races not knowing how to pick up the pieces of where I left off with Cody Walsh.

So much has happened since I met him in a darling coffee shop with a soft goodbye kiss. Too much to explain and far too complicated.

“Delilah,” he says and relief is evident in my name on his lips.

“Cody …I …” I struggle to put anything into words, pulling at my sleeve and meeting him halfway to where he is. The barn is at my right, the field at my back and in front of me, is a man who stares down with both worry and devotion.

“How did you know to find me here?” I ask rather than digging deep. I’ve just kissed his brother, a man who helped me help my mother get away with murder.

The confessions threaten to tumble out and smother me even in the fresh air.

“Your cell phone,” Cody says and his expression wrinkles with questions of his own.

“Right, right,” I say, turning away from him as the clouds return and the gray sky morphs to dark shades of blue in the skyline. It’s darker sooner this time of year.

There’s never been a time in my life where I caught sight of Cody and felt what I feel now. This feeling like I should be running and hiding from him is completely alien but still it seems like the right thing to do. The dread that seeps into my blood, weighing everything down like lead, keeps me planted right where I am.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call and I didn’t answer …” I push out the apology, needing it to be heard in its sincerity. “You didn’t deserve to worry.”

“Don’t be. I know why …” He’s calm, far too calm. As if he knows. My heart hammers and I wonder what all he’s gathered.