Delilah Green Doesn’t Care

CLAIRE’S HEARTBEAT WAS everywhere, fingertips fizzing with too much oxygen. For a second, nothing felt real—her plea for Delilah to stay, her decision to tell her best friend that she was maybe, possibly, most likely in love with her estranged stepsister, and now this.

Astrid, gaping at her, hurt and anger radiating through her body. Iris stood behind her, an oh shit sort of expression on her face.

“Astrid,” Claire said. “I—”

“Don’t,” Astrid said, holding up a shaking hand.

Claire sighed and stood up. Her shirt was twisted, but she definitely didn’t want to call attention to her rumpled clothing in the moment. “Honey, let me explain.”

“Explain what?” Astrid said. She didn’t shriek or scream. Claire almost wished she would. Instead, her tone was quiet, exhausted. Sad. “That you’re, what? Screwing my sister and didn’t even bother to tell me?”

“No, Astrid, I—”

“So you’re not screwing her?”

Claire blinked at her best friend, shame warming her face.

Astrid nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“Sweetie, maybe let her talk,” Iris said, squeezing Astrid’s shoulder.

Astrid whirled around. “You knew about this?”

“No, she didn’t,” Claire said, but Iris just shrugged and said, “I suspected.”

“What the hell is happening?” Astrid said. “What else are you two keeping from me? Oh, wait, I already know you hate Spencer.”

“We don’t hate him,” Iris said. “We just don’t like him for you. You deserve better than him. We’ve been wanting to talk to you about it all, but we didn’t know how. And through the week, Claire and Delilah and I thought if we could just get you to think about what—”

“Hold on,” Astrid said, lifting a trembling finger into the air. “You and Claire and Delilah?”

Iris’s mouth hung open, then she closed her eyes. This was a disaster. Nothing was going right. Claire didn’t know how to explain anything, her words a tangle on her tongue.

“She was with us all the time,” Claire finally managed to say. “And she . . . well . . . she was . . .”

“I was good at making a mess of things,” Delilah said quietly.

Astrid looked like she was going to throw up. She stared at all three of them in turn, but her gaze finally settled on Delilah. “I can’t believe this. Twenty-two years we’ve been sisters. Twenty-two years of your distance and your I don’t give a shit about anyone but myself attitude.”

“Astrid,” Claire said, alarm spreading through her as Delilah’s face paled. “Hang on a sec.”

But Astrid ignored her. “Twenty-two years of wondering what the hell was wrong with me, what I did, why you wouldn’t give me a chance, why—”

“Why I wouldn’t give you a chance?” Delilah said, standing up. “From the second my father died, your mother made it very clear what I was in this family. A ward. A girl without a home. An orphan. Someone she would feed and clothe and that was it. Not a family member. Not a daughter.”

“That’s Mother,” Astrid said, then slapped her own chest so hard Claire flinched. “What about me?”

Delilah lifted her chin, almost defiant, but Claire noticed a slight tremble of her lower lip, the way she clenched her jaw to steady it.

Astrid shook her head. “I should’ve never invited you here.”

“Why did you?”

“Because you’re my goddamn sister! And I wanted you at my wedding. I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought, but I certainly didn’t expect this. Mom was right; you don’t care about us. You don’t care about me, you don’t—”

“You never gave me a chance to,” Delilah said.

“I gave you a chance the second I hired you for this wedding! I gave you a chance every holiday you never came home and every time I stopped by your room growing up, every time we had dinner, every time—”

“So now I’m supposed to be a mind reader? You ignored me for the entirety of high school. Middle school. You ignored me every time Claire and Iris came over to the house, making sure I felt like an outsider every step of the way.”

Astrid blinked at her, tears falling silently onto her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was fragile, shattered. “You ignored me first.”

Delilah pursed her lips, turned her head away, her eyes glistening just a little. Claire wanted to curl her into her arms. She wanted to take Astrid’s hand, get them to calm down and talk, but she didn’t move. She didn’t dare. This barbed-wire connection between Astrid and Delilah was so much sharper than she’d ever imagined. There was so much hurt here, so much anger, and she didn’t know how to help either one of them.

“I didn’t know I was ignoring you,” Delilah finally said, her voice so soft, Claire almost didn’t hear it. “I thought . . . I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Astrid shook her head, lifting her hands and letting them flop back to her sides. “So you come back to town, conspire behind my back with the only people in my life I really love, steal my best friend, just to what? Get back at me?”

Delilah rubbed her forehead, but she stayed silent.

“Oh,” Astrid said. “I forgot. That’s exactly what you did. You even told me you were going to do it. Didn’t you?”

Delilah’s hand dropped. “What? Astrid, Claire and I—”

“Let me guess. It just happened.”

“Yeah. It did.”

“I’m sure. She came after you, right? She wanted you. You’re irresistible. You had nothing to do with it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Astrid sniffed. “So you didn’t bet me you could get into Claire’s pants before the wedding?”

It took Claire a few seconds to realize what Astrid had said, the words settling around the room like a sudden snow shower in April—quiet and cold and shocking.

Claire turned to look at Delilah. “You . . . you did what?”

Delilah pressed her eyes closed. “That’s not what happened.”

“Hang on, hang on,” Iris said. “Delilah bet you she could sleep with Claire?”

“The morning of the brunch,” Astrid said, gesturing at Claire. “She said you were looking well, and I told her to stay the hell away from you and she just grinned. Like it was a joke. Then she bet me she could get you in her bed in two weeks’ time.”

“And you took it?” Iris said, her mouth gaping.

“No! I told her to go fuck herself.”

“That’s not what happened,” Delilah said again, but her voice sounded frail, unsure.

“So you didn’t try to sleep with Claire just to get under my skin?” Astrid asked.

“You’re twisting it around,” Delilah said.

“Am I?”

“Wait,” Iris said, stepping farther into the room. “This can’t be right. What are we missing?” She frowned at Delilah, hurt furrowing her brow.

And still, Delilah said nothing. Nothing in defense. No explanation. She just stood there, her arms crossed, her eyes on the floor, teeth worrying at her bottom lip like she was trying to think of what to say. But if she even had to think, had to worry, then . . .

Claire couldn’t process this. She turned to look at the woman she’d just begged to be more with her. The woman she couldn’t stop thinking about, couldn’t imagine letting go back to New York without a plan to be in each other’s lives. She knew Delilah was rough around the edges. She knew Delilah was brash and brazen, and she actually loved all that about her. Plus, underneath all that, Delilah was . . . She was soft. And gentle and considerate and brave. She was real. It had all felt so real.

It was real.

Wasn’t it?

But now, the truth of how unfeasible their whole relationship was settled on Claire’s shoulders.

Claire had asked Delilah to stay. To try. To figure it out together.

And Delilah . . . hadn’t said yes. She’d kissed Claire, touched her so gently and tenderly it made Claire’s throat tighten just remembering it, but she hadn’t said yes. Because she couldn’t. Moreover, she didn’t want to. Delilah was always going to leave, just like Josh, just like Claire’s father. Regardless of how this started, no matter what she felt for Delilah or what she had hoped might happen, she couldn’t give her heart to someone else just to have them disappear on her again.

Whatever this was between them—sex, more, nothing—it was over.

Because Delilah Green would never stay in Bright Falls for Claire Sutherland.

“Claire,” Delilah said. “Please, can we—”

But Claire held up her hand, cutting Delilah off. Delilah flinched like she’d been slapped, and that’s what it felt like to Claire too—her palm smarting, fingers shaking, adrenaline rushing through her veins.

Finally, Delilah nodded once, her jaw tight, and walked toward the hallway.

“Go ahead and walk away,” Astrid said quietly. “It’s what you do best.”

Delilah paused in the doorway, her shoulders up around her ears. Claire wanted to scream, no, no, no, this wasn’t right, but it was. It was, because Delilah didn’t turn around, she didn’t stay, she didn’t push.

She just left.