Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Devon
My whole body aches.
I muscle through the pain, clearing table after table and wiping them down. The dishes are heavy, these worn-out Chucks hurt my feet, and I have a fucking headache. But at least I'm not shaking today. Progress, I guess.
Honestly, I can't remember the last time I worked so hard. The tour last year, maybe. And before that… not since college—before I dropped out. Before I discovered my brother was really my dad and my entire life went to shit.
That memory from spring break ten years ago hits me like a brick in the teeth.
“Nice bike, kid.”
Glancing up from my phone, I catch Joel’s attention on my crotch rocket parked in the driveway. “Yeah? Picked her up last week.”
He lets out a low whistle. “You pay for that yourself?”
“Sure did.” I tuck my phone away and lean back on the porch step, stretching my legs. “Worked overtime all semester building trusses for construction, even picked up shifts during finals week. Totally worth it, though.”
For the first time in a long time, everything feels… normal. Like, I kind of have a family. I actually hung out with my nephews yesterday.
Well, by hang out, I mean hold them, because they're newborns. But I did get to pal around with Logan and his friend, Huck. They were playing some boring video game, so I taught them how to pick locks in real life. Maybe a weird thing to bond over, but what are uncles for?
It's been years since I willingly spent time with anyone in my family, especially after how I was raised. Joel wasn't around much, if at all. Maybe now, we can try to put the past behind us.
“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding toward the bike.
“I know. I look sexy as hell on that thing.” Casting him a furtive glance, I let this last part slip out to gauge his reaction. “And so does my boyfriend.”
He turns toward me, lemonade halfway to his mouth. “What did you say?”
“Boyfriend,” I sigh, disappointment flooding my chest at the shock and anger in his eyes. “I'm bi.”
Realistically, I knew this would likely be his reaction. Although the guy is sixteen years older than me, we were raised by the same piece of shit religious parents. I guess I just hoped that if there were one person in this family I could trust, it would be my older brother. Guess I was wrong.
The screen door creaks behind me, and Sarah—his wife—steps outside. “Devon,” she says softly. “Can you come here for a moment? We need to talk.”
Something in her expression sends my pulse racing. “Uh… sure.” I brush my hands on my jeans and get up to follow, sending my brother a confused look. He won't meet my gaze.
Shit, did she hear what I just said? Is that what this is about?
Inside, the air feels thick and heavy. Sarah leads me into their fancy dining room table and takes a seat. Joel stands behind her with his jaw clenched.
“Is this because I like guys?” I ask, sliding into a chair slowly.
No one answers, but Sarah's eye twitches. Anger fizzles under my skin.
“Figures you'd be just like him,” I mutter, patting my pocket for my keys. Should never have let my guard down. I fucking knew better, and I did it anyway.
Joel's brows slam down. “Just like who?”
“Our father. He's a bigot, too.”
Sarah licks her trembling lips and takes hold of her husband's hand. “That's… well, that's actually what we want to talk to you about. That man, Devon, he's not…”
She trails off, suddenly pale.
“Not what? Are you okay?”
Sarah swallows hard. “Devon, the man you grew up calling your father is actually your grandfather.”
My brain stutters to a halt. “What?”
“He’s not your biological father.”
A chill ripples down my spine. “What the hell do you mean he’s not my—”
Joel cuts in quickly like he’s trying to rip off a Band-Aid. “He’s not your dad. I am. Sarah's your mother.”
The room shifts, almost upending me from my chair. “What the fuck are you talking about? Of course, he’s my dad. He raised me. He—”
“He raised you,” Sarah interrupts softly, “but he isn’t your real father. And he didn’t want you to know. We disagreed for years on when to tell you. Or if we should tell you at all.”
I can only stare at her, completely speechless. My apparent… mother? What the fuck?
“No,” I spit, getting to my feet. “No. What is this? Some fucked-up intervention or something?”
“Dev,” Joel warns under his breath, “sit down.”
“Fuck you! You don’t get to order me around.”
Sarah wipes at her cheeks with a sniffle. “We shouldn't have waited this long to tell you. I’m so sorry. When we adopted Logan after giving you up, we never thought—”
My chest constricts, taking the breath from my lungs. “I can’t…” Shaking my head, I stumble back a step. “I can’t be here right now.”
“Devon—” Joel moves toward me, but I throw a hand out to stop him.
“Don’t fucking touch me. You're just like him.”
His face falls, and for a split second, I feel guilty—but it’s too late.
“I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”
“Please, wait—”
I’m already gone, feet carrying me out of the dining room, past the living room, beyond the front door. Cold night air chills my skin as I climb onto my bike. I speed away, the briskness stinging my skin—much like the aftermath of the bomb they just dropped on me.
Years. They left me for years, knowing full well what would happen to me.
How could they not? How could Joel not? The same man raised him, after all.
Or was it just me? Am I so fucked up that those nights spent in the dirt with my knees bleeding were reserved for me alone? Am I as evil as he says I am?
The needle on the speedometer climbs higher. Wind slams into my face when I tuck forward, gripping the handlebars so tight my knuckles ache. The pavement blurs beneath me, streetlights streaking into long white lines. Up above, the night sky watches, ever judging.
My stomach turns at the memories of summer camp as a teen, and bile creeps up my throat. I gun the throttle harder, searching for anything to drown out the rising pressure in my chest.
They could have saved me.
They could have pulled me out of scouts, out of that house, but instead, they gave me away. And then built a brand new family with Logan. Even at birth, I was too fucked up to love.
The bike wobbles, tire skimming the painted lines too closely. I jerk it back into position, heart slamming against my ribs. A broken sound crawls out of my throat as I close my eyes for a second too long.
When I open them again, headlights glare back at me from the opposite lane, coming fast. I yank the handlebars, tires screeching against the asphalt. Adrenaline spikes so fast, stars dance in my vision. Never escaping.
I should pull over and catch my breath. Call someone. But I have no one.
I twist the throttle again, chasing a numbness that'll never seem to erase this feeling from my bones.
Not good enough to keep.
Not good enough to love.
“Dev, mijo,” Juanita calls from behind the bar, jolting me out of the memory. “You don’t need to carry dishes by hand. Just bring the tub.”
Fuck. How long have I been standing here staring at the wall? Jesus Christ.
Shaking my head to clear it, I flash her a tired grin and accept the plastic bin she offers me. “You got it, boss.”
She tuts her tongue. “Just because Christian's grumpy ass isn't here to suck up today doesn't mean it's your turn.”
She's not wrong. He's been on one ever since I sucked him off the other night.
Almost emotionless. We have separate days off, but he still drove me to work this morning, jaw clenched and his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Didn't say shit when I got out of his Bronco, either, just drove away without a word.
Though, to be fair, I did raid his underwear drawer. Not my fucking fault, though. Guy's been keeping all my tips, and he won't let me borrow from Logan. So, unless I steal some threads from the department store or something, his clothes are mine.
As I’m wiping down another table, a drink someone didn’t finish catches my eye—some kind of fancy mixed cocktail. My lips instantly go dry. I haven’t gotten drunk since before the cops picked me up.
Sleep's been pretty much non-existent these last few nights, all of my thoughts growing louder the minute everyone goes to bed.
All I want is a fucking distraction to keep me from walking out the door.
I tried jacking off in the shower to relieve some tension, but it seems my cock is on strike yet again. It's fucking embarrassing.
Maybe a little bit of liquor is exactly what I need…
Swallowing hard, I shove the half-empty drink into my bus tub.
As much as I'd love to get wasted tonight, I don't have any money for liquor, and I doubt Christian or Logan would buy me some.
Maybe Owen, if I could get him alone. He's been at his parents' house, though, while Logan spends some time with Salem.
The fact that those two are getting along will never not be weird to me.
Scoffing, I lift my tub and turn, intent on taking the dishes to the kitchen, when a tall figure blocks my path. I nearly ram the bin straight into his chest.
“Devon Peterson?”
Luckily, I stop short just in time, but when I glance up to glare at the fucker… I'm taken aback by the man standing before me.
He’s tall and lean with a sharp jaw. Bronzed skin glows beneath the dangling lights, beautifully contrasting the dark curls pulled into a low knot at the back of his head.
And he's… wearing a suit. Not the cheap kind, either—tailored to fit his broad shoulders, matching the leather briefcase in his hand.
The guy looks so wildly out of place in this dive bar that it takes my brain a second to compute his words. “Uh…” I shift the tub to my other hip. “Depends who’s asking.”
He smiles warmly. “My name is Kingston Blake, from the public defender’s office. I’ve been trying to get in contact with you.”