Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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By the time I reach the front door, I've managed to arrive at exactly one conclusion – Greyson is hiding something.
Unfortunately, knowing that doesn't tell me what I'm supposed to do next.
If I respect his wishes, I risk walking away from someone who clearly needs help. If I ignore them, I risk becoming the kind of person who refuses to hear the word no.
The problem chases me through the front door and into the kitchen, where I stop short at the sight of my father sitting at the table.
"Hey, Delly Bell," my father says. "I thought you were at Greyson's."
"Yeah, there's been a change of plans."
His newspaper lowers. "Everything okay?"
I set the grocery bags on the counter and let out a slow breath. "I honestly don't know."
The answer earns his full attention.
"What's wrong?"
"He was supposed to be making me dinner tonight."
My father nods. "Okay."
I pull out one of the stools and sit down. "He broke up with me instead."
"He did what?"
"He ended things."
A frown settles across his face. "What happened?"
"That's the problem." I shake my head. "I don't know."
The confusion I've been carrying around since Greyson drove away rises back to the surface.
"He said he couldn't do it anymore. That we weren't meant to be. Then he started talking about New York and my career and how I should leave town." I let out a frustrated laugh. "None of it made any sense."
My father listens without interrupting.
"I've been replaying the conversation in my head, and I still can't figure out what actually happened. And he looked awful, Dad. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His eyes were bloodshot, he forgot plans we'd made this morning, and half the things he said contradicted the other half."
"I'm sorry, Del."
I wait for more. When it doesn't come, I narrow my eyes.
"That's it?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. Something." I throw my hands up. "You wanted to drive to New York and run Will over with your truck after he kicked me out, but Greyson ends things out of nowhere and all you have is 'I'm sorry'?"
His shifts in his chair. It isn't much of a movement, but it's enough.
I stare at him, anticipating for the reaction I'd expected from the beginning, but it never comes. The longer he sits there looking uncomfortable instead of shocked, the more certain I become that this conversation isn't new information to him. Whatever happened with Greyson, my father already knows about it.
