There’s a silence between us, and an uncomfortable prick at the back of my neck. I’m certain that somewhere, Marcus watches.

I want to tell him. When Cody looks at me like he is, with his hands slipping into his jean pockets, his Henley blowing slightly in the wind but still firm on his broad shoulders, I want to wrap my fingers in the light gray fabric and pull him closer. I want to confide in my friend and be held by my lover.

I don’t deserve an ounce of that want. I’ve ruined it; I’ve sacrificed us … even if he doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry about your father,” he finally speaks. Glancing behind him, for only a moment, I see my father standing there at the entrance to the barn, locking it and telling me this is no place for kids. To go away unless I want to work.

His voice is so clear in my memory. My eyes prick and that could be the wind, it could be the unforgiving breeze. But my throat getting tight isn’t from the weather.

“Thank you,” I say in a nearly inaudible whisper. “You followed me here to give me your condolences?”

“Don’t do that,” he says, scolding my sarcasm, but it’s not in a superior way. There’s only pain that lays in his words.

“I just … I’m not well right now,” I say, giving him the honest answer. I don’t want Marcus watching us. Not when Cody doesn’t know it. Not when I just kissed him. “I’m not doing well.”

“We need to talk about this.”

“We don’t, though,” I say and shake my head in denial.

“They brought me on the case.” His tone is firm when he answers.

And for a moment I pause.

“The case? My father’s murder?” That’s what he wants to talk about … not us? I deserve the pain that grips me and tears me into two. “I don’t want to talk about this right now …”

“We can’t wait on this, Delilah.” Cody doesn’t let up and I know just looking at him that he’s not going to let me walk away and hide. He’s not going to back off, not a single step. It’s an indescribable pain, knowing that there is no way to go back and how badly I’ve hurt him and ruined us.

I don’t want him to know. If I could keep it from him and let him down easy, it would be best, wouldn’t it?

“There are questions …” he continues and I have to close my eyes, taking in a steadying breath. With everything between us, the tension, the disappointment … the last thing I want to think about is my father’s death. A snide voice hisses, it’s murder in the back of my mind. Your father’s murder, not death.

“Can we talk about it another time?” I ask although I don’t wait for a response and turn away from him, wanting to get to my car. With the sun hidden behind the clouds, the autumn turned brutal without any warning.