Page 17 of I Do, You Don’t (You Don’t #1)

Gideon

I watch Lara from across the diner, my fingers wrapped around the chipped coffee mug in front of me, though I’m not tasting it.

My eyes are locked on her. She’s standing behind the counter, talking with a coworker I recognize as Barb.

The sound of her voice still does something to me, even now.

Even after everything. It twists my gut, makes my heart tighten, but it also gives me a sense of familiarity, of something I’ve lost and can’t seem to get back.

The way she moves, the way she interacts with the people around her, it’s like she’s already moved on, like she’s already stepped away from everything we were.

I don’t know how to stop watching her. There’s a part of me that still wants to walk over, say something, anything, get us back to where we were before everything fell apart.

But I know I can’t. I know I don’t have that right anymore.

Delilah is sitting a few booths away from Lara, flipping through a magazine, glancing at her every few seconds.

I’m used to her needing attention, needing validation.

But something about the way she’s watching Lara tonight is different.

There’s an edge to it. Something in her posture is off.

I don’t know what it is, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she sits a little too still, like she’s waiting for something.

I notice the way her gaze flickers to me briefly, then she looks away, almost like she’s ashamed.

Delilah never looked away before, not from me, not from anyone.

She used to demand attention, crave it. She used to have this confidence that made everyone bend in her direction.

Now, she looks broken, like she’s fraying at the edges.

I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand watching her play these games, and I sure as hell can’t stand being stuck in this endless cycle. I need to talk to her. I need to figure this out,

whatever the hell it is that keeps pulling me back to her, to this mess.

I push myself out of the booth and walk to the door, my eyes still on Lara, her laughter fading into the background as I slip out of the diner. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I can’t shake the feeling that if I don’t act now, I’ll never be able to let go.

After standing there for at least half an hour, Delilah finally exits the diner.

I follow her down the street, my footsteps heavy behind her.

She doesn’t notice me at first. She’s too caught up in her thoughts, her eyes focused on the ground ahead.

Her shoulders are slumped, her steps slower than usual.

Something in me wants to reach out, to grab her and make her understand, but I don’t know how, not anymore.

I take a deep breath and call out to her. “Delilah.”

She stops, frozen for a moment, before turning slowly to face me. There’s nothing left in her eyes but exhaustion and a strange kind of vulnerability I’ve never seen before. It feels like a thousand miles between us, but here she is, standing in front of me.

“What do you want, Gideon?” she asks, her voice small, quieter than usual.

I stare at her, struggling to put the words together. “I don’t know,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. “I just... I can’t keep pretending. Not anymore. I’m sorry, but I don’t love you. I never did, the way you wanted me to.”

Her lips tremble, and I see the flicker of hurt in her eyes before she quickly hides it. “I know,” she whispers, almost as if she’s trying to convince her self of something else entirely. “I know you don’t love me. I know I messed everything up.”

I shake my head. “No, Delilah. It’s not just that. It’s what you did. You lied to me about Calvin. You manipulated me into believing things about him that weren’t true, and now I can’t look at you the same way. You’ve destroyed too much.”

She takes a step back, her hands shaking slightly, but she doesn’t run. Instead, she stands there, her chin trembling as tears well up in her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Her face contorts with frustration, her breath shallow.

“I’m sorry,” she says finally, her voice cracking. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I, I just wanted someone to love me. I was so scared, Gideon. I didn’t know what to do.”

Her words hit me, but not in the way I expected. It’s like I’m seeing her for the first time, vulnerable, raw, completely exposed. And for a second, I hesitate. Not because I forgive her, but because I’m starting to realize I wasn’t the only one who got hurt.

I was the one who let it happen.

The wind rises, sharp and damp, carrying the scent of fried food and wet pavement. A neon sign flickers behind her, splintering her face in fractured light, pink, then blue, then nothing. Her mascara is smudged. Her coat too thin. She looks like a girl who’s run out of places to hide.

And suddenly, I’m back in the kitchen: Lara in the doorway, her wedding dress still zipped in its bag, twisting her ring until the skin beneath turned raw.

“She wore white today,” she said, voice low and steady. “She made a comment about my budget in front of everyone, my sister, the bridesmaids. She smiled while doing it.”

I remembe r pacing, refusing to meet her eyes. The fridge is humming. Ice clinking in my glass. A dog barking outside, once, twice, then silence.

“She’s not malicious,” I said. “She’s just… complicated.”

Lara didn’t flinch. She crossed her arms and said, “So am I. But I don’t treat people like they’re disposable.”

I said nothing, just tipped my glass and swallowed.

She looked at me like she was waiting for something, anything. And I gave her nothing.

Because I needed Delilah to be complicated. I needed her pain to excuse her cruelty. I needed to believe I was protecting someone fragile, not enabling someone toxic.

And now, standing in the cold, watching Delilah unravel, I see it clearly: I wasn’t protecting her.

I was protecting myself.

“You need to stop,” I say, softer now, less fury, more fatigue. “You’ve been running from yourself for so long, hiding behind me, behind whatever story you’ve been telling yourself. But you can’t keep dragging people into your mess.”

Delilah shakes her head, tears spilling freely. “I’ve been running, I know. I’ve always been running. But I don’t know how to stop.” Her voice barely rises above a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

I step closer, chest tight. “Once, I would’ve begged you to open up to me. I would’ve fought for you. But not anymore. Not after everything. Our friendship is over, Delilah. You ruined my wedding. You destroyed my trust.”

She flinches, breath hitching. “I didn’t mean to destroy anything,” she says, voice trembling. “I just wanted—”

I cut her off. “Calvin’s done with you. ”

She freezes. Her lips part, but no sound comes. Panic blooms behind her eyes; her body stiffens like she’s bracing for impact.

“He told me himself,” I press. “He doesn’t want anything to do with you. Not after what you did. Not after the lies.”

Delilah’s face twists—not just with hurt, but with something darker. “I don’t care what Calvin claims to know,” she snaps, her voice rising. “He’s not my brother. My mother is a liar.”

I blink, rattled by the venom in her voice. “What are you talking about?”

She shakes her head, eyes wild. “You think you know everything, Gideon? You don’t. You never asked. You just believed whatever made you feel righteous. Calvin doesn’t know the truth. None of you do.”

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes. Because she’s right. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to. I wanted a villain, and she fit the part.

“No,” I say, slower now. “But you used it. You used Calvin to manipulate me. You turned pain into a weapon.”

Her tears spill, but I don’t move. I don’t comfort her. I let the silence stretch, and it’s not righteous anymore. It’s heavy. Complicated.

“You need help, Delilah,” I say quietly. “Not from me. Not from Calvin. From someone who can help you face the truth, whatever it is.”

She shakes her head, trembling. “I don’t know how.”

“That’s not my problem anymore.”

She looks at me with such a raw mix of sadness and guilt it almost hurts to see her this way. “Please,” she says, her voice breaking. “Don’t leave me like this.”

I feel the weight of her words, and this time, they change something. Not the outcome—just the way I see it.

“You have to face whatever you’re running from, Delilah,” I say. “And you have to do it without me.”

I turn an d walk away without looking back, leaving her standing there, broken, alone. It feels like closure, but there’s no relief. No satisfaction in the finality. Only emptiness.

Because I didn’t just lose Lara.

I chose to lose her.

I chose Delilah’s word over the love of my life. I chose silence over truth. And now I see how deep that choice is.

I move down the street, my steps slow, deliberate, the weight of the conversation sinking into my bones. Delilah’s tears still haunt me. But it isn’t just her wreckage I’m leaving behind.

It’s mine.