22. Grey

Chapter 22

Grey

" I 'm cooking for Delilah tonight," I say to Hudson over my morning cup of coffee and his flavoured protein shake.

"Here?"

"Yep."

"Do you need me to make myself scarce, or…"

"It's up to you."

I don't exactly want to tell my brother to make himself disappear from what is now his home too, but Delilah and I haven't discussed meeting the family yet, so I don't know if she'll be expecting my younger brother to be sitting down on our date with us.

I'm heading towards her answer being no.

Hudson unlocks his phone, already typing out a message. "I'll see if August's around…"

"Appreciate it." Taking my mug to the sink, I rinse it out, giving my brother my back so I can't see his reaction to my next bombshell. "I think I'm going to have to tell Delilah about the whole swimming thing?"

"The swimming thing? Oh–you mean being Grey Millen?"

I chance a peek over my shoulder to find Hudson's face purposefully blank. "Yeah… being Grey Millen."

"I thought you weren't going to mention it yet?"

"I wasn't," I say, and then instantly feel like a dickhead. I never meant to lie to Delilah… just omit the truth for a while. I know that's bad enough in itself, but I had my reasons…

"So, what's changed?" Hudson asks.

"I got spotted yesterday."

I run through the interaction with my brother, watching him begin to nod his head slowly.

"Yeah…" He grimaces. "If you really see this going somewhere you're going to have to tell her."

A tidal wave of nerves I haven't felt since I walked through the swim tunnel, heading for my last competition, surges through me.

"Do you think she'll take it badly?"

"It won't be good," I admit, sensing it deep down in the pit of my stomach. "Would you react well if you spilled your guts to the person you'd been seeing… sleeping with… kissing… only to find out they'd been keeping a lie from you? The exact kind of lie, which is the reason you broke up with your ex in the first place?"

"Yeah…" Hudson kisses his teeth. "I wouldn't be too happy."

"Me neither."

"How are you planning on breaking it to her?"

"I'm thinking we'll have dinner and then I'll tell her before it gets too far."

It's already gotten too far, I know that. From the way my words hang in the air above Hudson and I, he knows it too. It's easy to tell how much I like Delilah, how much I care for her, how much I don't want to see her hurt… especially not at the hand of my own actions.

Dumping his own cup in the sink, Hudson thumps me on the back with a rare smile. It's his own special way of reassuring me it's all going to be okay.

I hope he's right.

Grabbing the ingredients out of the refrigerator and cupboard, I set about making toasted bruschetta for Delilah's and I's starter, penne pasta and a creamy mushroom sauce for our main, and a set of chocolate covered strawberries for our dessert.

Cooking gives me a reprieve from thinking about the secret I'm about to uncover tonight; keeping my mind and my hands preoccupied.

I quickly toss together a side salad, pouring a healthy dose of balsamic vinegar on top, and store it in the fridge, while hoping Delilah doesn't have any allergies I'm not aware about.

Me: You're not allergic to anything are you?? Xx

Delilah: nope! Can't wait to see you! Xx

A spark of warmth shoots through me at Delilah's response, but it soon fizzles out with painful embers zapping across my heart.

Me: Me too. I'll be sending a car to come pick you up xx

Hopping in the shower, I dress smartly in a pair of black slacks, tucking a midnight blue button down into the waistband. Giddy anticipation at the sheer thought of seeing Delilah begins to grow as I spray some aftershave and set the dining table, placing the bottle of red wine in the middle so it can acclimatize to room temperature.

I wander aimlessly around my apartment while I wait for Delilah to knock on the door, counting down the minutes, until I hear a soft rapt of knuckles.

I peel open the door to reveal Delilah. She's dressed beautifully in a pair of black straight legged trousers and a skin-tight black lace bodysuit I instantly want to peel away from her body.

"Hey, gorgeous."

"Hi, yourself." Delilah steps right into my waiting arms, pulling back only to place a kiss on my lips and look around the place. "Holy shit, this place is amazing."

"It's quite something," I agree, following her across the living room and to the floor to ceiling length windows beyond.

Delilah presses her palm to the cold glass, staring out at the view. Even I've got to admit it's spectacular; London splayed out in all its glory. The still bright sun reflects across the skyscrapers, glinting wildly, while life passes by on the street down below. "Is being a lifeguard secretly a way of getting rich or something?"

"Or something," I reply, another chunk of guilt eating away at my heart like the monster I used to believe was hidden beneath my bed and would nibble at my limbs if they hung over the side. I soon learnt that monster wasn't anything compared to the ones hidden in plain sight in the outside world… or the ones we create within ourselves, who lie to use in order to tear us down into nothingness.

I hope Delilah doesn't think me that monster once I tell her my truth.

Delilah glances out of the corner of her eye at me, questioning, but I can't say it yet. Literally. The words die on the tip of my tongue, throat closing until I can just about manage to ask her if she's hungry.

I lead her over to the table I've set, pouring each of use a glass of wine and then setting about to scoop a spoonful of perfectly seasoned chopped tomatoes onto the crispy slices of bread.

Eating the starter I've prepared for the two of us passes by in a blur, like a movie motion picture on three times fast forward.

In fact, so does the pasta and the chocolate strawberry Delilah presses to my lips.

I want to enjoy it so bad, the food, Delilah's presence, but I can't.

Because I'm eating myself up inside.

The food hardly touches the side, simply sitting like lead weights in my stomach. My body itself is oddly calm, no flipping insides or racing heart. I suppose years of conditioning my body into perfect form have helped with my central nervous response.

But my mind races in a way I'm completely unfamiliar with.

This isn't me. I'm not an overthinker, I'm not someone who dwells on the what-ifs, or the potential outcomes. Sometimes my mind will become cluttered, with day-to-day life, things I need to remember like birthdays or picking up an extra loaf of bread before I come home. In those times, I'll head straight to the water; pool, shower, bath… it doesn't matter. The water sorts my head out, gets my thoughts in working order.

But it hadn't helped today. Not the pool in my building, not my personal shower with its three jet heads.

Nothing had helped with my racing mind.

"Grey?" Delilah squeezes my hand. There's a dot of chocolate on her upper lip. "Are you okay? I don't mean to pry, and maybe I'm reading too much into everything… but you've been a bit distance tonight. Is everything okay? Is it Hudson? Is it—"

"Can we go sit on the sofa?" I ask, already standing, knocking the table slightly so my still full wine glass threatens to overspill. "I need to show you something."

Delilah follows me without a single hesitation, sitting down beside me until we're thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder.

I swipe my thumb over the chocolate dot on her lip, wiping it away and then sucking the taste of the sweet dessert from my finger.

"You had some chocolate—" I say as way of explanation, groaning when Delilah's lips descend on mine, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips to be granted access.

I want more than anything to give into her.

To pull her up onto my lap, peel down the cups of her built in bra and bury my face in her chest. Feel her rock against my groin, the heat from her warm pussy sending my heart into overdrive, blood thrumming, running red hot.

Instead, my blood thrums for another reason entirely.

"Wait here, okay, gorgeous? I just need to get something. I won't be a minute."

Leaving Delilah sitting on the sofa, I grab one of my medals and a photo still of me in action, purposefully ignoring the newspaper articles in my possession, the ones in which I'm featured.

Retaking my seat, I turn to face Delilah, holding out the medal and photo in front of me.

"I need to tell you something."

Delilah's eyes flick down to the items in my lap, watching the way my finger and thumb rub against the thick material of the medal that I once hung around my neck proudly.

"Is that you?" She points to the photo. It shows a much younger me, seventeen or eighteen at best, kitted out in my tight swim trunks, goggles and cap, jumping from a balance board, the still water poised beneath me, waiting to catch me.

"Yes."

"You used to be a swimmer?" Delilah guesses correctly, as I knew she would. My girl's as smart as a whip, I don't think much passes her by.

"Yes. Does my name mean anything to you, Delilah?"

It's a strange question to ask, I can tell Delilah thinks so too, her face betraying her confusion at my segue.

"Grey Millen?"

"Yep."

"You're… Grey Millen."

"I'm Grey Millen," I repeat. "Three-time world champion young competitive swimmer… and almost an Olympic athlete."

Delilah's glossy lips pop open. "You're…"

"I wasn't sure if my name meant anything to you… now I know it doesn't. You would have been a young teenager when I began competing, so you probably won't have noticed me on the TV… or in the tabloids. You would have been sixteen, when I was twenty-one and I was badly hurt in an accident involving a faulty ski lift. I'm guessing you didn't see my failure blasted all over the front of the main newspapers… I was supposed to represent Great Britain in the Olympics that year."

"You're…you're…" Delilah stares at me like she's never seen me before and it fucking breaks my heart in two. "You're a famous swimmer."

" Was ," I say, like that will soften the blow.

I know it won't.

The damage is being done. I can see it written all over Delilah's glass face.

Then she begins to physically crumple.

I reach out to hold her, but she pulls away from my touch, forcing herself to be as small as possible in the corner of my L shaped sofa. Her breathing whooshes out of her, stuttered and erratic.

"Delilah—"

"Please." She holds up a hand to stop me from making contact with her body. "Don't."

"You kept this from me…" Her voice is all sorts of choked up, lash line wet.

I lean forward, trying to make her see me even as my heart breaks into another two more pieces.

"I didn't want to," I say, my excuses sounding pitiful to my own ears. "I wanted to tell you, but—"

"Then why didn't you?"

It's a fucking good question.

One I can't answer.

"Why didn't you tell me, Grey?" Delilah's eyes are definitely wet now, a stray tear escaping from the corner when she cuts her gaze away from me. Another surge of tears rolls down her cheekbone, leaving behind glossy trails, before she wipes them away angrily and focuses back on me, eyes hard. She's waiting for an answer.

"Because you told me what happened with your ex, and I-I selfishly wanted to keep you. I really like you, Delilah. I never wanted to hurt you, or make it out like I was keeping a big secret. How could I tell you who I was knowing everything your fucking dickhead of an ex-boyfriend did to you? Everything the tabloids dragged you through just because you were his girlfriend? How was I supposed to tell you?"

"You just were!" Delilah throws up her hands, more tears escaping. "You were just supposed to tell me! It didn't matter how much it was going to hurt me, or you, or how uncomfortable it would feel to say it out loud. You were just supposed to tell me! To be honest with me!"

"I have now. We can start afresh—"

Delilah's wet lashes droop, two red spots appearing on her cheeks. "You were supposed to tell me before we slept together, Grey. Before I developed feelings for you. Don't you understand that?"

"I do! I made a stupid mistake and I like you too, Delilah. I'm developing feelings for you too and they're terrifying and I—"

"If you like me as much as you say you do…" She swallows thickly. "You would have told me the truth, Grey. You would have respected me enough to tell me the truth after I poured my heart out to you, not fuck me in the back of a car."

Any semblance of my heart I'd been clinging to breaks into a thousand tiny pieces.

I feel like the worse person in the entire world.

Because Delilah's right.

I should have just told her, no matter how much it could have possibly torn us apart, because now I'm in too deep… and I think so is she.

"You kept it a secret. You lied to me, Grey."

"I didn't lie to you. I—"

"Okay, maybe you didn't exactly lie to me. But you didn't tell me the truth either."

I shake my head. "No, I didn't."

"You've broken my trust. You've hurt me. I gave you my body, my heart, don't you understand how tough that was for me to do! And you've-you've just squeezed it in the palm of your hand until I'm oozing all the floor. Until I'm wrung out dry."

I don't answer, I can't. All I can do is watch as Delilah stands on wobbly legs, heading for the door.

I squeeze my hands in my lap so much my skin begins to mottle white, resisting the urge to latch on and hold Delilah tight. "Gorgeous, please—"

"Don't, Grey." She turns on me with a look so venomous I'd never have thought Delilah was even capable of making such a face. "Don't call me that. Don't even think about touching me or trying to stop me from leaving. I can't fucking believe you, Grey! This was exactly what I was afraid of happening and I stupidly thought I could trust you! I-I never thought you'd hurt me. Not ever."

Tears fly freely from Delilah's eyes now, coasting down past her lips, dripping from her chin.

My own lash line burns with sudden emotion, my mouth filling up with bile at the physical reaction of seeing Delilah so upset… knowing I'm the one who caused it.

"I never meant, I never—"

"But you did, Grey," she whispers, her words so powerful it echoes across the walls of my apartment no matter how quiet they are. "You did mean too, otherwise… otherwise you wouldn't have kept it from me at all."

I don't stop her from leaving.

Sitting on the edge of my sofa, I memorize the sound of her heels clicking across my floor, the oh so final shut of my front door, taking Delilah away.

It's still reverberating through my ears when Blake and Hudson find me slumped into my sofa cushions as the sun rises on Sunday morning, my eyes rimmed red raw and a bottle of whisky I don't even remember retrieving, clutched tightly in my grasp.