My Heart for Yours

2. Delia

2
Delia

His light blue eyes hit me just like they always have. They go through me, strip me bare, and form a knot in my stomach that's impossible to ignore. How can just being in the room with someone do this to me? He's just a guy. But as I take in his face, a year older, strained with sadness, he's so much more. I was right to be terrified on the long drive.

What can I possibly do here? Seeing his grief over Eamon makes mine pathetic. No one will feel the loss of his brother more than him. Not his parents, not his brother's friends. Not me. No one. Me being here will probably just make things worse, not better. Or maybe that's my arrogance in thinking I might still have the same kind of effect on him that he has on me.

His hair is the same blond mess that I remember, and his suit cuts perfectly over strong shoulders. I wonder if he tied his own tie tonight. It used to be me that helped him; tried different knots until the frustration wore on his face. Always with a hint of tease, though. Because that was Tobin. I wonder if it still is.

"You okay?" Mom's arm wraps over my shoulder making me jump.

She's had her two Bloody Mary's this morning, a couple of glasses of wine with lunch, so that should last her a while. At least long enough to get her home for her nightcap. It wasn't until recently that I realized how much she needs just to function.

"Delia?" she asks again.

"I..." have no words. Now that my eye contact with Tobin is broken, I feel stupid for the thoughts that took me over. Tobin's just a guy—like a ton of guys. Even as I run those words through my head, trying to convince myself, I know it's a lie. Tobin will never be just a guy. Not to me. And he shouldn't be just a guy to anyone who meets him or to anyone else that's lucky enough to love him.

My heart's cracking apart all over again because of the way I've missed him. I brush a loose strand of chocolate brown hair off my face, trying to blend it into the rest of my up-do. Forcing my head to not turn back his direction is nearly impossible, but I manage. Being hit with him again might ruin my ability to keep my composure here. Instead my gaze ends up on the casket, reminding me of why I'm here.

Eamon was the wildest, coolest, funnest, most full of life guy I knew. Tobin followed his older brother everywhere, but Tobin's wild stunts didn't hold up the recklessness of his brother. Eamon was truly an adrenaline junkie. We always teased him he'd die young—but I don't think any one of us believed that anything was strong enough to actually kill Eamon.

"Delia?"

Mom's hand drops off me as I spin around to see Kelly, a friend from school. How did I let myself lose contact with these people? We'd been close. Really close. But I can't even remember the last time I talked to her.

Our arms are around each other, and I hold onto her like my life depends on it. Mom doesn't know how to hold people like this. She knows how to smile, and pat. Not hold. Loss sweeps through me. Loss of friends, loss of Eamon, and loss of Tobin.

"I know. It's awful, isn't it?" Her arms squeeze even tighter.

"I'm still in shock." And the shock of being home, and the shock that Eamon's gone, and Tobin's here—it all floats around inside me.

She steps back and pulls me away to sit against the wall. The flowers have laid a heavy perfume in the air, but everything else in here is weighted with grief.

"How have you been?" She raises an eyebrow, runs a hair through her thick blonde hair, and takes in my outfit. For the first time in a long time, I feel totally self-conscious about what I'm wearing. It wasn't overdone before we got here. But now that I'm back in town, I realize that a Gucci dress and heels is probably a little much for Crawford. Standards in Washington D.C. are a bit different than they are here.