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"We're not in a…" Relationship, I start to say. "Wait. So you don't care?"
Beau puffs on the cigar and then looks at me. "Let's not go that far," he says. "You're my only daughter. I'm not going to shoot off Gaige's kneecaps when he walks in the door, if that's what you're asking. Even though I could. "
Relief washes over me, and I can barely suppress my giggle. Okay, that might have been exactly what I was thinking. "I'm glad you're not going to murder him," I say.
"Are you happy?" he asks.
"I think so," I say, nodding. "Yeah. I'm happy. Or, I was happy. I don't even know if we're anything, or – I mean, Gaige is Gaige. I'm not sure he even feels the same about me, or –"
"The printout of the email is on the desk," Beau says. "I'm going to finish my cigar. Take it with you, and then you can decide. "
"Are you sure everything's –"
"Go," he says. "It's on the desk. Read it. I didn't peg Gaige for being so goddamned sappy, but if that's what you like…"
Sappy? I think. Gaige is anything but sappy. "Thank you, dad. "
"And Delaney?" He calls my name, his back facing me as he blows smoke out away from the terrace.
"Yeah, dad?"
"I'm still your goddamned father," he says. "You should make sure to let him know that if he breaks your heart, I've got multiple shotguns and access to a great defense attorney. "
I choke back a laugh, but mostly because I'm not sure my father is joking. "Thanks, dad. "
"Now, get out of here and leave me in peace," he says. His words are gruff, but his tone is playful. "And for Christ's sake, try to stay out of the tabloids, will you?"
I carry the email up to my room, but I don't look at it until I've closed the door. When I scan it, my hands are shaking. I'm not sure if I'm even supposed to be reading it.
But when I do, everything in the email blurs together, the words fading into the background while the three most important ones seem to jump off the page.
I love her.
Gaige told my father he loves me. And I left him sitting at the hotel in Tokyo.
A nearly thirteen hour flight back to Dallas and I've been on an internet blackout, of my own choosing. Before I even left Narita airport in Tokyo, my phone had been buzzing with text after text from people who'd seen the stupid story about Delaney and me on some gossip website. I'm sure that was all Chelsea's doing; the first call she probably made after quitting Marlowe Oil was a tabloid.
When I started getting texts before boarding the plane, I read the first message, a "holy shit" text from one of the guys on my team, followed by a snarky one from an old booty call. Then I shut off my phone and spent the entire flight not checking my email and not logging into the internet. Instead, I alternated between lying in my seat not sleeping and thinking of Delaney and watching shitty movies and thinking about Delaney.
Beau hadn't responded to my email when I woke up this morning. So when I get to Delaney's house, I could very well be walking into a fucking war zone.
The concierge at the hotel said Delaney flew back to Dallas, so at least that's something. She didn't go straight to Manhattan. Of course, that doesn't mean she's going to stick around in Texas at all.
I can't even imagine what Anja is going to say. This will confirm everything she's ever thought about me and the giant train wreck I am. I can picture her reaction now: "First, racing that stupid motorcycle of yours, and now this? Screwing your own sister? I knew you were white-trash, just like your father. "
I don't even turn on my phone when we land. I should probably toss it in the trash and save myself from the thousand messages sure to tell me how disgusting it is for me to be screwing Delaney.
When my bag comes around the carousel, I groan. A big sticker reading "Notice of Inspection" is plastered to the front, and the entire suitcase is held together in the middle with a stretchy elastic cord because the zipper is broken.
Which is perfect, really. It's the icing on a shit cupcake.
A loud roll of thunder booms outside, a summer storm adding another layer of awesome to this goddamn day. Rain pours down through the uncovered spaces outside the terminal, and I just don't give a shit that I'm getting drenched as I'm walking down the sidewalk. Where are the fucking cabs around here when you need one?