Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(57)

“Let us pray,” says the pastor up front.





Silas





The night is almost over, and I can’t stand it.

Under a tent on the lawn, we were fed another perfect meal—locally caught fish with a mango slaw. There was a seven-tiered wedding cake and passionfruit sorbet. There were champagne toasts and music and now dancing.

But it isn’t enough. It will never be enough, because I’m supposed to put Delilah on a plane back to California tomorrow.

“Hey,” she whispers as I turn her slowly on the dance floor. “What are you thinking about in that big brain of yours?”

I hold back a sigh. “Nothing useful. Want to go look at the stars?”

“You know I do.”

That’s just it, though. I don’t know what she’s thinking at all. I know she had fun this weekend. A lot of it. But I don’t know what it all means.

I lead her off the dance floor, trying to choose my direction. My coach is to my left, so I head right instead, weaving carefully between clusters of teammates and acquaintances, so nobody will talk to us. I’m in no mood.

“Beach?” I ask, because that’s the way we’re headed.

“Always.” She pauses to remove her shoes. So I do the same.

Then we’re tiptoeing through the cool sand, the half-moon our only guide. It’s a clear night, so it’s enough. Another couple ahead of us has had the same idea. Nobody is ready for this trip to end. Me, least of all.

“When am I going to see you again?” I ask, because beating around the bush isn’t my style.

“Good question.” Delilah hesitates. “It’s been nice to be out of touch with reality for so long. But I expect Charla Harris will have put a bunch of meetings with songwriters on my calendar. She said she would.”

“Okay.” I stop and push a strand of hair off her face. “Talk to me about the music festival. August is almost here already.” Shit. Training camp starts in…four weeks? Could that even be right?

“I’m playing the first Friday night. Main stage.”

“Well, duh.” She gives me a smile. “I meant—do you want me to come?”

“Of course,” she says quickly. But then she looks away, and the breeze pushes her hair everywhere again. “Anytime, Ralph.”

“I’m back to Ralph now?” She hasn’t called me that in days.

“No, not really.” She sighs. “This is just going to get trickier. We both know that we can’t be like all those other couples.” She points back toward the tent. “We live on different coasts. We travel a lot. I honestly just want to stay on this island for the rest of my life. But that isn’t an option, so…” She shrugs.

She’s right, of course.

I take her hand again and walk farther down the beach. We only have a few hours left. We should be getting drunk and making out like happy fools. But I’m all torn up inside. “Look, I don’t mean to go heavy on you. But this isn’t over for me. I won’t just walk away after this. Unless you need me to.”

She shakes her head. “I would never ask you to lose my number. But I warned you that I had things that needed sorting out. This is the first week in forever that I didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about how to get my second album back. But the minute I step off this island, that problem comes right back.”

“I know.” The wind rises up again, and I can see Delilah rubbing her arms. “Are you cold?” I wrap an arm around her. “You know I want you to get what you need. I’m not asking you to prioritize me. But I want you to leave the door open.”

“Okay.” She leans against me. “Take me surfing, Ralph. In California. Maybe everything will work out.”

“All right,” I agree. It’s the least I can do.





In the morning, Delilah has to take the earliest launch back to the mainland, but I have to wait for my teammates. So our goodbye happens on the dock in the morning.

I put a brave face on it, but I’m not a happy guy.

As the boat comes into view, Delilah turns to me. “Thank you. Seriously. I had a great time. I can’t remember ever having as nice a time as I did this weekend.”

I’m certain she means it. I can hear it in her voice. I’m about to give her a kiss that will last her all the way to L.A., when a girl makes a high squeal.

“You guys are so cute it’s insane!”

“Elsa,” growls Beacon, the other goalie on our team. “Leave them alone. Put away your phone.”

Holding back a curse, I turn to greet the Beacons. Elsa is fourteen. Her baby brother—in a baby carrier perched on my teammate’s chest—is not quite six months old. “Hey, guys,” I say.

Beacon smirks. “Sorry.”

“The photo ban is over,” Elsa says with a big, cheeky smile. She’s a handful, and some days I don’t know how Beacon hangs onto his sanity. “Could I please have a picture with Delilah?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Delilah says.

We step apart. The launch is coming. The weekend is over. And I’m just not ready.

Elsa shoves her phone into my hand. “Silas—you take it.” The teen steps between me and my girl.