Over the years he’d read a few passages at a time, alone, sitting on the edge of the tub. “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine,” Song of Solomon 6:31. Few passages had stuck with him, but that one had. He had likened it to how House felt about him and how he felt about it in return. They belonged to each other. And so Gavin had sensed the change—the slight shift in the air—long before Delilah had, and had known that something bad was about to happen. He’d felt it in the pit of his stomach, in the way the hairs on the back of his neck had prickled and risen along his skin. Fear inched up his spine, not for himself, but for Delilah. For a flash, he’d been afraid for her. And now he had to face her, wanted to see her, but how could he explain something he didn’t quite understand himself?
Now, hunched over the piano in the music room, he pressed a few keys before erasing a series of notes on the sheet music in front of him. Penciling in a few more, he tried the combination again. It wasn’t exactly what he heard in his mind’s ear, but he was satisfied he was on the right track. Gavin had always had a knack for the arts, and his hobbies—music and sketching—filled most of his free time. Though he had a perfectly good instrument at home, he preferred the quiet solitude of the soundproof room when composing to sitting with Piano, who seemed to anticipate his moods and know what he was going to play before even he did.
Gavin’s hands stilled at the sound of the door opening and closing behind him. Footsteps moved across the carpet and stopped a few feet away. He glanced over his shoulder, meeting Delilah’s eyes.
He’d known that she would be worried about him, but he was unprepared for the wave of guilt as he took in her appearance. She looked tired. Her eyes were heavy, smudged with dark circles beneath. Left out of its usual braid, her light brown hair hung in thick waves that framed her face. His fingers itched to push it back, to feel it wrapped around his fist. He wondered if she had any idea how much older she looked right now—not a teenager but a woman, with passion and fire and a protective streak that rocked him—or how much it made him want to kiss her. And more.
Obviously uncomfortable under his gaze, Delilah gathered her hair over one shoulder and began to braid it. “I was in a hurry this morning,” she explained.
“I like it down. You look pretty.”
Delilah shook her head. “I don’t feel pretty,” she replied. “I feel sick to my stomach.”
Gavin moved over on the bench and motioned for her to sit next to him. “I think that’s my fault.”
“Maybe a little. Were you avoiding me this morning?”
He considered his answer before saying it. He knew enough about girls to know they thought differently from boys and that Delilah might read into what he said. He wasn’t avoiding her exactly, just trying to gather his thoughts.
“Yes,” he said, before quickly adding, “and no. I wasn’t sure what to say to you. How to explain what happened.”
“It was scary.”
“I know.”
“Did it eventually calm down?”
“Yeah.” What Gavin didn’t say was that it had calmed down almost as soon as she’d vaulted out the front door, though it had taken hours before the strangeness had stopped entirely. The floors vibrated gently, and random doors opened and slammed themselves shut again for the rest of the night. It was like watching a parent rumble and grouse about a misbehaving teen. “It didn’t mean to scare you,” he explained, although the words felt a little sour on his tongue. “It’s just how House. . . gets upset.”
Delilah digested his answer, her eyes moving over his scribbled sheet music. He could feel the obvious question bubbling up inside her. “Has that ever happened before?” she asked.
“No. . . ,” he hedged. “But I’ve also never brought a girlfriend home before, remember?”
It was such an odd feeling to be so protective of House and also of his relationship with Delilah. The warring feelings made him faintly nauseous.
“Then how do you know why it was like that?”
Gavin lifted one shoulder in a slow shrug. The casual gesture felt wrong, dishonest somehow. “I just do. House is as much of a parent as I’ve ever had. It got upset when you brought up the idea of me moving away. It would never hurt anyone. It’s not bad, Delilah. Just. . .”
“Just afraid of you leaving,” she finished for him. She said it like it was a fact, as if she’d spent some time with this particular thought before.