Chapter 3: The Kiss
Delilah's POV
Three days of playing house in hell.
That's what living under the same roof as Atticus felt like.
Sarah was a saint—patient, kind, treating Emma like her own daughter. The irony wasn't lost on me: the woman sleeping with my ex was the only thing keeping us off the streets.
"Delilah, could you file these patient charts?" Sarah asked, handing me a stack.
"Sure thing." I grabbed them, grateful for the distraction.
The clinic door chimed. Atticus walked in, and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. He'd been out on house calls all morning, dark hair mussed, sleeves rolled up.
"How'd it go with Mrs. Patterson?" Sarah asked, eyes glued to her computer.
"Fine. Her blood pressure's stabilized." His tone was all business, but his gaze locked on mine—cold, calculating, like he was plotting my downfall.
I buried myself in the files, hands trembling as I sorted them. Three days of this cat-and-mouse crap, and I was about to lose it.
"Oh!" Sarah perked up. "Speaking of Mrs. Patterson, she brought these for the clinic." She nodded at a bouquet of wildflowers on the counter.
Atticus's expression shifted, something sly flickering in his eyes. "Actually..." He picked up the flowers and turned to Sarah with a smile that turned my stomach. "These reminded me—it's our two-year anniversary. Remember our first real date?"
Sarah's face lit up. "Atticus! You remembered!"
"How could I forget?" He stepped closer, voice dropping to that smooth, honeyed drawl I used to crave. "Best decision I ever made was letting you in."
He handed her the flowers, and she melted. "They're beautiful."
Then the jerk kissed her. Right there. Deep and possessive, his hand tangled in her blonde hair. Sarah giggled against his mouth, and I fought the urge to puke.
"Get a room, you two!" Mrs. White chuckled from the waiting area. "At your age, you should be too worn out for all that fire!"
Sarah blushed. "Mrs. White!"
"What? When I was your age, my husband and I would—"
"Thanks for sharing," I cut in, voice tight. "Mrs. White, Dr. Sarah will see you now."
I hustled the old lady toward the exam room, desperate to get them out of sight before I snapped—screamed, cried, or hurled something at Atticus's smug face.
When I turned back, he was still holding Sarah, but his eyes were on me. The message was loud and clear: This is what you lost. This is what you'll never have again.
"You're amazing," Sarah whispered against his lips.
"So are you." He kissed her forehead, then glanced my way. "I should get back to work."
"Me too." Sarah squeezed his hand. "But tonight..."
"Tonight," he echoed, the promise in his voice making my skin crawl.
That night, I lay in the guest bed, staring at the ceiling. Emma slept soundly beside me, finally looking healthy again.
I should've been wiped out, but sleep wouldn't come. Every time I closed my eyes, I replayed Atticus kissing Sarah, calling her "amazing."
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Emma, and headed to the kitchen for water.
That's when I heard it—rhythmic sounds from upstairs. Then a soft moan. Sarah's voice, breathless and needy.
My stomach twisted. I should've bolted back to my room, pretended I couldn't hear.
But I froze as the noises intensified: her gasps, his low groans, the creak of bedsprings.
"God, yes..." Sarah's voice floated down, and I clapped my hands over my ears.
It didn't help. I could still hear every plea, every whisper. Five years ago, those sounds were for me. Those hands, that mouth, that raw hunger—all mine.
Now she had it all.
"Atticus..." Sarah moaned, and that did it.
I fled back to my room, chest tight with humiliation and a ache that felt too much like heartbreak. I was pathetic, crying over a guy who'd made it crystal clear I meant nothing to him.
Emma stirred as I slid into bed. "Mommy? You okay?"
"I'm fine, sweetie. Go back to sleep."
She snuggled against me, and I held her tight, letting her warmth chase away the chill in my chest.
A week later, half the town was hit with a nasty flu bug. Sarah was slammed, so I'd been pulling late nights organizing supplies and updating files.
It was past ten when I hit the medicine cabinet to restock. My back ached from hunching over paperwork, but the work kept my mind off... everything else.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
"You're still here."
Atticus's voice made me freeze, hand halfway to a box of gauze.
"Almost done," I said, not turning around.
"Here." He stepped behind me, chest brushing my back as he reached over my head. "Let me grab that."
The box came down, and for a split second, we were trapped in each other's space.
My breath hitched. His hand lingered on the shelf above me.
"Sarah's in the shower," he said quietly, like that explained it all.
I nodded, words failing me.
His other hand dropped to the shelf by my waist, boxing me in. "Your hands are shaking again."
"I'm fine."
"Liar." His breath warmed my ear. "You're a lot of things, Delilah, but fine ain't one of 'em."
I turned—big mistake. Now we were face-to-face, inches apart, those gray eyes seeing right through me.
"Atticus..." I whispered.
His hand lifted, almost brushing my cheek, before he pulled back.
"Atticus? You downstairs?" Sarah called from upstairs.
He stepped away like I'd scorched him. "Yeah, just checking the locks."
"Okay!"
He headed for the stairs without a word.
I stayed, finished the inventory.
An hour later, footsteps on the stairs pulled my eyes from the supply cabinet.
Atticus stood in the doorway, hair tousled, shirt untucked. Fresh from bed with his girlfriend.
"We need to talk," he said, shutting the door.
"There's nothing to—"
"Why are you here?" He crossed the room in three strides, backing me against the cabinet. "Why now, Delilah? Why the hell did you come back to wreck my life again?"
"I'm not trying to wreck anything!"
"Bullshit." His hands slammed the cabinet on either side of my head. "You show up out of nowhere with your sob story, and suddenly I can't think straight. Can't focus on anything but—"
"But what?"
His gaze dropped to my lips. "Nothing. This is nothing."
"Then why do you look like you wanna kill me? Or..." I swallowed. "Something else?"
"Don't." It came out a growl. "Don't even go there."
"Go where? I'm not doing anything. You're the one who—"
He cut me off with his mouth.
The kiss was brutal—angry, raw. Five years of hurt and rage poured into it, lips crashing, teeth clashing, desperate. His hands fisted in my hair, tilting my head as he devoured me like a starving man.
I kissed back just as hard, fingers clutching his shirt, pulling him closer even as my brain screamed to stop.
When we broke apart, we were both panting.
"Fuck," he whispered against my lips.
"Atticus, we can't—Sarah might—"
"Sarah's out cold." His thumb traced my bottom lip. "Worn out after I... made sure she was good."
The words stung, cold and deliberate.
"You bastard," I breathed.
His face hardened, the mask snapping back. "There it is. The real you." He straightened his shirt, suddenly all detached. "Congrats, Delilah. You got what you wanted."
"What I wanted?"
"To prove you still got a hold on me. That I'm still the same idiot who fell for your crap five years ago." His laugh was bitter. "Message received. You can still make me lose it. Happy?"
Tears stung my eyes. "That's not what this was—"
"No? Then what? Love?" He leaned in, voice a vicious whisper. "We both know how that ends. You take what you want and leave the rest in ashes."
"You don't understand—"
"I get it just fine." His eyes raked over me with disgust. "You're still the same selfish, manipulative girl who thinks the world's all about her drama. Still cheap as ever."
"Fuck you," I whispered, tears spilling.
"Already did. Wasn't worth it then, sure as hell isn't now."
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the bitter taste of betrayal on my lips.
