21. Grey

Chapter 21

Grey

" A re you okay?" I ask Delilah, kicking off my flip flops and bending my knees so I can join her at the edge of the pool, our legs skimming the partially deep water.

She glances sideways at me. "Yes, are you?"

I take a second to really look at her before I answer – her hair is twisted into a tight bun on the top of her head leaving the long length of her neck bare, the thin white straps of her bikini rest on her shoulders doing a pretty good job of covering a small purple blotch I'd sucked into her skin only hours before. Her shapely legs hang over the side, hot pink painted toes hidden beneath the water.

I wasn't sure she'd still be showing up to her swimming lesson this evening after her bad migraine episode yesterday. But she'd assured me she felt at least well enough to dip her feet in and continue to get used to the pool.

Flashing her a grin, I sling one of my arms around Delilah's waist, pressing our sides together until there's not an inch of space left. "Never better, gorgeous. Thought I'd double check on you because you seemed to be doing some pretty hard thinking. Your head's not hurting again, is it?"

"No." Delilah links our hands together. "I would tell you if it was."

Keeping her close to me, I look out at the rest of the pool, watching as one of my co-workers waves her hands to grasp the attention of the children bobbing about in the much shallower baby pool. She seems to have everything under control, so I take another minute to simply sit with my girl – breathing in the familiar scent of chlorine and focusing on the new, but quickly becoming familiar, comforting feel of Delilah beside me.

I press a kiss to Delilah's temple, registering deep down how much of a risk I'm running, for the both of us while doing such a thing at work, in a public place… But I can't seem to stop myself.

Giving Delilah's hip a quick squeeze, I slide down into the water, allowing it to froth around my waist. The furthest set of flags wave above me, highlighting the fact we've not yet reached the deepest end of the water, but we're not in the safe middle ground of the water either. I can still touch the floor, but I don't think Delilah can, even if she stood on her tiptoes.

Standing more than a few inches away from Delilah, I flatten my feet on the floor and hold my arms out to her.

"Are you coming in?"

Delilah nods, drawing her legs out of the water to stand.

"Nuh uh. Jump."

She looks at me as if I've grown two heads. "Jump?"

"Yeah, jump into my arms, gorgeous. I'll catch you."

I see the hesitation play out across Delilah's face. Her brow furrows, lips going tight, but then she's jumping without warning, landing in my arms safe and sound.

She wraps herself tight around my body, legs winding around my waist, tucking her face into my neck. Her heart races so much I can feel it through our layers of skin, while she shivers beneath my hands, with fear and not pleasure this time.

"That was terrifying."

I chuckle lowly, tightening my grip to cup her arse beneath the cover of the water. "It might have been but you still did it."

Delilah peels her cheek from my collarbone to look at me. "I did, didn't I?"

Nodding, I begin to swim us up to the deep end, keeping a tight a hold while my legs do all the work. "I'm proud of you."

Dipping her head, Delilah sips a kiss from my lips, unbothered who sees us. I guess it's because she doesn't have to worry the way I do. But she's too addictive to let go of, to say no to, so I kiss her back.

When Delilah pulls back, it's too press a sweet kiss on my bottom lip, before her lips quickly morph into a smile. "I'm proud of me too."

I n between addictive touches, Delilah and I practise floating on her back, her front and how long she can hold her breath underwater.

"I bet I look beautiful right now," she jokes when her head pops back up the fifth time, beads of water streaming down her neck and into the tempting creases of her body. I watch a particular droplet trail its way between her breasts, disappearing before I can lick it off.

"You do," I say truthfully, taking in the slick style of her hair, her bun now a little lopsided and less artfully messy and the spike of her lashes. She looks a little like she did in the shower this morning, before I fucked her brains out, only a little less placid and cock drunk.

"Smooth talker…" Delilah winks, dunking her head back underwater to hold her breath again, so I have to wait until she pops back up to speak. I count the seconds silently in my head, watching the bubbles begin to froth and foam from her pursed lips letting out only small whisps of precious air.

When Delilah does resurface with a splutter, I pull her into my body again. I need her close, I can't fucking get enough.

"What are you doing the rest of the week?" I ask.

"The rest of the week? Working. I'll need to catch up with the work load I missed today… go over the mistakes I probably made on Tuesday because I couldn't focus on anything but the searing pain in my head."

My heart flips in my chest as I remember how poorly Delilah had looked once she'd opened her front door to me on Tuesday afternoon. She'd been as white as a sheet, weak kneed and clammy. Totally unlike herself.

Although, I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a massive part of me elated to be there. Not because she'd been ill, in fact I'd wanted nothing more than to take the pain from her, but because I'd been the person she'd asked, trusted enough, wanted, to come over and nurse her back to health.

"What about the weekend?"

Delilah grimaces. "If there's as much work as I think there will be… I might have to clock in a couple of hours on Saturday morning, just from home though, so if you want to—"

"I was thinking you could come over mine," I suggest, a concoction of fear and mainly excitement zinging through me. "I could cook something for the two of us?"

"Like what?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet, gorgeous, but I'll whip us something up, depending on if you say yes or—"

"Yes, Grey. I'd love to."

"Saturday evening? Is six, okay?"

Delilah grazes her thumb over my cheekbone, nodding. "Sounds perfect."

I t's a fucking good job I've made plans to see Delilah on Saturday evening, because the rest of the week goes downhill from the minute, I kiss her goodbye outside the leisure centre on Wednesday.

Somebody must have pissed in Hudson's protein powder shake on Thursday morning, because he's in such a foul mood; not even looking up from his phone to communicate with me and then walking straight out of the front door when I ask him a question.

I'm late to work by nearly two hours because I somehow managed to read the rota wrong for the first time ever, and thought I wasn't supposed to be on lifeguard duty until the afternoon.

When I do eventually get to work, I have to stand and listen to a stern telling off from my boss, before settling my arse in the lifeguard chair which is still slightly warm from its last occupant.

I've not even been sitting in the chair for ten minutes, when a young child begins retching in the deep end of the water. My feet are slipping down the rungs as fast as I can, speed walking to the ledge where I can jump in safely.

The young boy's dad thwacks his son on the back to dislodge the swallowed water, just as I reach the two of them, the loud sound of choked coughing echoing across the walls.

"We need to get him out," I say, plucking the boy up by his underarms and furiously kicking my legs to get us back to the edge.

But we don't make it that far.

With one last wracking cough, the young boy spurts vomit all over me, chunks of the stuff sitting in my hair, dripping down the side of my face.

My own gag reflex threatens to upheave, but I push it down, not allowing myself to think, nor feel, the cold piece of half chewed food sliding down my jaw. But I can't ignore the putrid smell beneath my nose, or the sight of the beige-coloured vomit floating atop of the pool water.

One of my co-workers' hands me a towel to wipe myself off as the boy and his dad are pulled out of the pool and whisked off to the medical room to be checked over, but I stink and my stomach threatens to flip again.

"We'll have to close the pool down for an hour or so," one of the other lifeguards says, the whistle which usually hangs down by his neck, just pursed before his lips so he can blow it and grab everyone's attention.

It's not going to be an easy job, and there's always flack when we have to close down unexpectedly, but the water is now contaminated, and we need to fix it, so others don't catch the boy's vomit bacteria.

"Good luck with that." I reach out to pat his shoulder and then think better of it. "I'm going to grab a quick shower and then I'll be back to help clean out the pool."

The shrill blast of a metal whistle being blown three times in quick succession sounds behind me while I trail to the staff only access showers. Thankfully, I keep a spare pair of shorts and a t-shirt in my work locker, so I can strip off and scrub at my hair, face, and body with the generic scented soap the leisure centre supplies us with.

I have just enough time to fire off a quick text to Delilah, still in disbelief at the entire being vomited all over situation. I mean, it's not the first time it's ever happened, and probably won't be the last, but it's still never something I anticipate happening when I clock in for my shift.

Me: I've just been vomited all over :/

Delilah: how lovely x

Me: pls save me xx

Delilah: can't :/ sorry xx

Delilah: *one photo attachment* I'm currently drowning in edits xx

I open the photo she's sent me to find a selfie of herself, a red pen clutched in her grasp. She's smiling, and her eyes are bright, but with a hint of tiredness. A sea of paper covers her desk, coloured clips lying in a neat line off to the left, beside a bunch of files and Delilah's reusable bottle of water. I can spy a portion of her desktop too, another book manuscript splayed across the blue light monitor.

Me: don't overwork yourself… remember to take breaks!

Delilah: I'm taking breaks I promise! Xx

Delilah: I can't wait to see you on Saturday xx

"Millen!" Jude, another lifeguard I work with, pokes his head through the staff break room, calling my name. "We need all the hands we can get to clear out the pool, man."

"I'll be there in a minute."

Me: got to go and clear out the vomit pool :/

Me: will ring you after I get off my shift xx

It takes longer than expected to clean out the pool water, much to the dismay of visiting patrons who wished to use the facilities. All the while, my phone feels like it's burning a hole back in the staff room and I wish for a second shower.

I'm already dialling Delilah's number before I slip in the back of my private car, needing to hear her voice to calm me after my stressful shift.

"Hi! Hang on just two minutes…" I can hear her shuffling something on the other end of the phone.

"You okay?"

"Yes! Still over here, editing. Are you okay? Did you manage to get the vomit off?"

"I'm fine, gorgeous. Yeah, I had a shower at work, but gonna have another one when I get home. Are you still at the office?"

"Mhm," Delilah hums softly. "There's a few of us working late tonight, so we're going to open a bottle of wine and order something in to fuel us."

"Well, I was going to offer to pick you up, but if there's a few of you working… sounds fun."

"You don't mean that," she giggles over what sounds like a printer shuffling.

"No, I don't," I agree with a smile, not that Delilah can see it over the phone. "I couldn't think of anything worse than working in an office, but if you're happy…"

"I like it."

"I know you do. I—"

"No, I mean, I do like my job, but I meant the smile in your voice when you speak to me. I like it. A lot."

I think Delilah's smiling too, at least I hope she is.

"It always seems to happen when you're around, Delilah… Will you text me when you're leaving the office? Make sure you don't work yourself too hard, okay?"

"I promise, Grey. Are you home yet?"

"Almost. I'm going to shower, scoff down whatever dinner Hudson's concocted up and then head straight to bed. My eyes are burning with the amount of bleach and chlorine we had to clean the pool out with, I need to just close them for a while."

Delilah snorts breathily. I know she said there's a few of them staying behind, eating and drinking, but I still wish I was there. At least to give her a hug and a kiss and fill up her water bottle so she doesn't get dehydrated. I suppose I could but I don't even know the address of her publishing house for starters, and second, I don't want to interrupt her flow. Instead, I'll have to make do with our nightly phone calls and text messages until I can hold her again in two days.

God.

I'm whipped already, and I fucking love it.

"Are all you Millen boys' cooks?"

"Huh?" My tired brain plays catch up with the last thing I told her. "Oh! Yeah. Mum taught us all how to cook from a young age. There was many a fight in the kitchen, so I don't know how she dealt with it all without losing her temper, but I never remember her getting angry. We've all got a love for cooking now, suppose that bonding time never leaves you."

"I wouldn't know… but it sounds lovely."

I feel a bit of a dick for bringing up family bonding, knowing full well Delilah didn't get to experience that throughout her childhood. My mouth runs away with me at the best of times, even more so when I'm tired, so it simply slipped out and I instantly feel guilty.

"Gorgeous—"

"Don't feel bad, Grey. It's lovely for you to look back on and talk about! Don't feel like you can't share it with me. Please."

It's impossible not the hear the sincerity in Delilah's tone.

"I-I'd like to be able to give my children that experience one day, anyway, so it's something I just need to get over… not get over like that, but… tackle. Come to terms with. Do you know what I mean?"

"I know exactly what you mean." I wait for Delilah to expand on her words, but when she doesn't supply any more information, I leave the subject alone. Still, I store that tidbit away in the back of my mind. We haven't talked about kids yet, we're still so early on in our relationship, but at least I know Delilah wants to be a mother at some point in her life.

Good. Because I've always wanted a handful of children; to give them the same chance at growing up the way I did, surrounded by a loving bunch of siblings.

The muffled sound of someone calling Delilah's name reaches my ears, followed by the much clearer sound of my girl's voice as she takes her hand away from the speaker.

"I have to go, food's almost here."

"Go enjoy yourself, gorgeous." I take a peek out of the tinted back windows, noticing the familiar street we're turning down. "I'm nearly home now, so I'll send you a text before I fall asleep."

Delilah's sweet voice biding me a good night sticks with me, making my dreams that much sweeter and making me feel that much more guilty for what happens on Friday.

Hudson greets me with a grunted "morning," thrusting a cup of coffee in my hand while he watches replays of a latest boxing match. I watch a few rounds, fascinated by the blood splatters coming from each opponent and the loud thrum of the crowd shouting expletives.

Work isn't anything to shout home about, at least I don't get vomited on today, and when my stomach begins to rumble and the coffee machine in the café stops working, I volunteer to pop out for a round of caffeinated drinks for myself and the rest of the lifeguards.

With a list on my phone of everyone's orders, I walk the short distance to the closest café, enjoying the sunshine beating down upon my head and the ability to get outside for a little bit.

Until a young woman stops me dead in the street.

"Are you Grey Millen?"

I feel my mouth pop open, heart beginning to pound, not from nerves but sheer disbelief.

"The swimmer?" she continues, staring up at me with round, surprised eyes.

That makes the two of us.

This hasn't happened in… a long time.

"Yeah, that's me," I hear myself say, the noise from the busy street of London disappearing away into the background.

"Oh my god! My brother used to idolise you! Do you think I could get an autograph?"

My fingers come up to pinch the brim of the cap I wish I was wearing; for years after the accident, when my name still cropped up in the press here and there, I took to wearing a snapback whenever I stepped outside of my front door. But my fingers pinch thin air. After my fame died down, and I got recognised less, I was able to stop hiding behind my disguise.

I fucking wish I had that bloody cap on right now.

"Sure." I smile. It's not exactly painted on; I don't mind signing something and taking a picture all because I got famous for doing something I loved. But the whole thing just feels a bit surreal, and at that exact moment Delilah's sweet voice pops into my head.

"Why is this girl asking for you autograph, Grey?" dream Delilah asks me. "What does she mean her brother used to idolise you? Idolise you for what? Did he know you?"

I can't answer her because my head is spinning so much.

I only popped out to grab some coffees.

The young woman is pulling a bunch of paper from the depths of her handbag, producing a creased sheet and a pen dusted with crumbs.

I take both, trying to hide my shaking hands, signing my old signature I haven't drawn in months, if not over a year. The loops and swirls come back to me with muscle memory, but I still can't shake the feeling of strangeness.

A mobile phone is positioned in front of me face, and I bend my knees to fit into the frame, half smiling, half squinting against the blinding sun and the photo flash.

"Thank you so much!" she gushes, taking back the paper and pen. "Seriously, you've made my day, I—"

"You're welcome… I hope you don't mind if I ask you that don't post that photo anywhere? It's just I'm not in the press much anymore and—"

I feel guilty on instant. Guilty for asking this poor woman not to post the photo to her social media, and guilty because that sounds specifically like I'm trying to keep a secret, even to my own ears, and that's the last thing I want. It's just… I haven't told Delilah yet and this is so not the way I want her to find out.

"That's fine." The woman flashes me a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you for stopping."

I raise my hand to the stranger in as silent farewell while she walks away, taking two personal pieces of myself with her.

I'm still in a daze at the café, stumbling over my words, completely unlike myself and getting my own order wrong. There's too much sugary syrup sitting in the bottom of my cup, but I force myself to sip from the rim in an attempt to steady my nerves. The other drinks are clutched in a cardboard tray in my unsteady grip.

"Are you okay?" a co-worker asks me once I've placed the drinks on the communal table in the staff room. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

That's because I have.

The ghost of my fucking past.

"I'm fine," I reply, already walking to take my shift back on the lifeguard chair.

If I thought the guilt of not telling Delilah after she spilled her guts to me was bad before, it's nothing compared to the way I feel now.

I've just been stopped in the street. I've just been recognised. I've just been asked for a photo and a signature.

So, what's stopping that from happening when I'm out and about with Delilah?

Absolutely nothing.

The easiest thing would be to hide away.

But I don't want to hide in plain sight. Delilah doesn't deserve to be hidden away, and I'm too selfish to let her go.

Something's got to give. I've got to make a decision; not if to tell Delilah, but when.

I thought I'd have a bit more time to plan how I was going to say it, how I was going to break the truth to her without breaking her trust…

But apparently not.