Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Devon
Christian’s quiet when he picks me up at the end of my shift. Not in the angry way he was this morning, but more… contemplative, like he's lost in thought.
Pale Moonlight by Dayseeker plays low on the radio during the drive toward his apartment. I lean my head against the seat, utterly exhausted. With any luck, I'll have worn myself out enough to sleep tonight. Not counting on it, though.
“I need you to do something for me,” he says suddenly, interrupting the long silence between us.
And there it is.
I roll my head over to scowl at him. “Work was great, honey, thanks for asking.”
His lips twitch when he pulls a pack of smokes out of the center console, tossing it onto my lap. “Light one up and chill, grump ass.”
Opening the pack, my brows jump high when I find a fat blunt and a lighter inside. “Seriously? You know I'm an addict, right?”
“It's just weed,” he grumbles. “Not like I handed you a fucking crack rock, fool.”
“Taylor doesn't smoke weed.”
“He never did coke. Still smokes cigarettes, though. Sobriety can look different for everyone, you know.”
I pause with the lighter lit, considering his words. That’s true, I suppose. Anything could be a drug if you let it—food, porn, sex. People. We don't get to choose what our brains latch onto.
Kingston Blake's voice echoes through my head again.
“You’re fucked if you don’t take this seriously. But I think you will.”
I mean, Christian’s right. It's just weed, but my probation officer will probably drug test me the second I walk in.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, setting the blunt aside.
He glances at me in surprise before quickly focusing back on the road. “Salem managed to get us a gig. Taylor and I. It's in San Francisco on Friday.”
“Okay? And?”
“And, motherfucker,” he grits, knuckles tightening on the wheel, “my sister's quinceanera is Saturday. That's when we'll be coming back.”
My head tilts curiously. “I didn't know you were religious.”
“Not really. My mom was raised that way, but she never forced anything on us. As long as we weren't off being evil little shits, that's all that mattered.”
Wow. What would it have been like to be raised by a parent who didn’t breathe scripture down your neck twenty-four hours a day? Must have been a fucking dream come true.
I sit there for a hot minute, waiting for him to explain further. Exhaustion pulls at my nerves when he says nothing else. “The fuck does this have to do with me, Christian? Need a date or something?”
“You're a fucking asshole, man.” He swings us into his driveway, slamming the Bronco into park. “My mom will bury me if I'm late, but even more so if I don't bring the cake. It's like, super important, but I won't have time to grab it on my way back.”
“Still wondering how a cake concerns me.”
“If I fuck this up, my mom will never let me hear the end of it, my sister will cry, and then I’ll feel like the worst brother on the planet. So I need it brought on time. Like, before I get there.”
Silence settles around us as I let his words sink in. “And you… want me to do it?”
Christian doesn’t even look at me when he lights the blunt for himself. “You know where my mom’s house is. I just need you to show up with it.”
My chest pinches painfully, and I cross my arms to alleviate the ache. “I'm not crashing your sister’s birthday uninvited, man. That's fucked up.”
“You crashed Matty's bachelor party uninvited. Ruined it, too, remember?”
“Yeah, because I was—” I cut myself off, scrubbing a hand down my face. The words ‘because I was high’ threaten to spill out, but I physically bite them back. “I'm not doing that. Just explain shit to your mom, I'm sure she'll understand.”
Christian leans forward, hazel eyes glittering as he blows smoke in my face. The smell of vodka on his breath burns my nostrils. “You act like you have a choice. You owe me, remember? Payback's a bitch.”
“Yeah, but I'm not yours,” I growl, undoing my seatbelt before throwing open the door. “Find someone else.”
“I wasn't done talking to you, asshole!”
Flipping him off over my shoulder, I storm up the porch steps and into the apartment.
The door slams shut behind me. Logan jumps from his spot at the kitchen counter, where Owen is currently perched.
Both of them look guilty, cheeks flushed and lips swollen like they were just sucking face.
For some reason, it only pisses me off even more.
Christian damn near kicks the door in as he follows me inside. “Either do this for me or get the hell out of my apartment!”
“I don’t have to do shit,” I shout back, yanking my adopted brother away from his boyfriend. “Logan lives here too, and he says I can stay.”
“What the fuck is happening?” Logan looks between us in a panic.
“Christian's drunk and thinks he owns me.”
“Arnie sure did,” the asshole snaps.
I flinch, the words hitting me like a fucking baseball bat to the ribs.
He must see it in the way I freeze, because something flashes across his face, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye.
“Guys.” Logan steps away from me, putting himself between us. “Let's just calm down for a sec.”
“What?” Christian throws his arms out wide. “Like I’m lying? Fucker probably did all kinds of stuff just to get his fix.”
“Jesus,” Owen whispers under his breath, sliding off the counter to curl into his boyfriend’s side.
My skin goes cold and hot all at once. Shame crawls up my throat, choking me from the inside. “That’s not… You don’t know shit about me, Christian.”
“I know enough.”
“Stop it, both of you!” Logan snaps again.
Christian ignores him, glaring at me. “I gave you a place to sleep. Got you a job. Let you use my clothes, eat my food. And the second I ask for one little favor—”
“This isn’t little. You're asking me to do something important!”
“So? It's an easy task, Dev. Or are you scared you'll fuck it up? Is that it? Like you've fucked everything else up in your life?”
Every muscle in my body coils tight. Before I know what I'm doing, I lunge. My arm pulls back, fist connecting with that infuriating mouth. His head snaps back for a fraction of a second, and then the asshole slams into me hard, taking me down to the floor.
“Hey!” Logan hollers, but it's drowned out by an ear-ringing punch to my temple.
“Hit me again, motherfucker,” Christian hisses, straddling my thighs before bunching my shirt up in his fists. Blood oozes from a cut on his swollen bottom lip, and the sight of it takes the anger right out of me.
I slump back onto the carpet, jaw trembling. “You really think that way? That I’m just… some fuck-up piece of shit?”
He scoffs in my face. “I've seen it with my own two eyes, man. So has Logan. And Xed. And Salem.”
A bitter laugh bubbles out of my mouth as I pry his fingers off my shirt. “You only see what you want to see. What I allow you to see. Don't fucking forget that.”
He tilts his head, silky strands tickling my cheek from how close we are. The air thickens between us. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Means what it means.” Slowly sitting up, I shove him off me and rub my tender temple with a wince.
After a few silent moments, he just plants his ass on my thighs and grabs my jaw to turn my head. “That looks gnarly. Probably gonna bruise for sure.”
“Thanks to you.”
“You hit me first.” His tongue darts out to lap at the blood on his lip. Some insane part of my brain urges me to do the same, to lick at the swollen skin and make it all better. I almost do it…
Until Logan clears his throat, bringing me to my senses.
“You two done?” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. Owen stands beside him, watching us with a cute little smirk.
“We're done when I say so,” Christian answers, pulling my gaze back.
Those hazel eyes seem almost… softer now, pleading as he drops his hand from my face.
“Look, I don't feel like I'm asking for a lot. Just show up, drop off the cake and bounce. I’m sure my mom will fill you up with food before you go.”
I tap his hip until he finally slides off my lap. “And what if I fuck it up?”
“You probably will,” he says without hesitation.
Logan pinches the bridge of his nose with a groan. “Christian, why the fuck—”
“What? Want me to lie to his pretty face?”
Owen’s eyebrows damn near fly off his face, but I choose to ignore that comment. “What if they ask why I'm the one doing this shit instead of you?”
“Just tell them some stunt stuff came up, but I'm on my way.”
I shake my head slowly. “You're a fucking dick.”
“And you owe me,” Christian shrugs, unfazed. “I need this, Dev. Please.”
Fuck, that one word has me dropping all my defenses like a fucking idiot. Why am I like this? Why do I let people talk me into shit I don't want to do just because I… I want them to be happy. Happy with me. I want them to fucking keep me.
My shoulders slump as I get to my feet. “Fine.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, shaking off the vulnerability. “But only because you called me pretty.”
He seethes at that, but the corner of his mouth twitches just a bit.
Logan exhales in relief. “Thank God.”
“Can we watch our movie now?” Owen asks, pointing to the flat-screen currently paused on an image of Orlando Bloom’s face in Lord of the Rings. “We were in the middle of a marathon.”
“You were in the middle of making out,” I correct, offering Christian my hand. He lets me drag him up before quickly dropping my fingers.
“We were not! Logan was explaining the lore.”
“I was not explaining lore,” Logan mumbles, cheeks pink. “I was just saying the extended editions are—”
“Boring as fuck,” Christian grunts.
Owen gasps dramatically. “You shut your dirty whore mouth.”
I bark out a laugh, and Christian heads for the couch. “Whatever. Just play the damn movie and someone order food. I'm fucking starving.”
Logan’s jaw goes slack. “You actually want to watch it with us?”
“Beats sitting in my room listening to you two make macaroni noises.”
“You'd just jerk off to it,” I snicker, earning me the finger.
“Sit your asses down. I'm tired and my lip hurts.”
His couch, for the record, is built for three people. Maybe four if they’re very cozy.
Owen plops down first and pats the cushion cheerfully. “Come on. Devon sits next to me because he’s sweet.”
“I’m what?”
“Sweet,” he clarifies. “Like sugar.”
Christian snorts. “Not the word I'd use for him.”
I shove his shoulder even though my face is hot as hell. “I'll punch you in the mouth again.”
“And he'd deserve it,” Logan replies. “Now, everybody, sit.”
Christian ends up on Owen’s other side, Logan squeezes into the remaining sliver of space near the arm, and then all that's left is me, standing there awkwardly while the three of them wait.
“I'll just, uh, sit on the floor.”
Owen points to his lap with a smile. “You can lie here if you want.”
“I’m not laying on you,” I mumble, even though the idea doesn’t sound too bad.
Christian huffs. “Jesus Christ, just sit down, Dev.”
He shifts, opening up just enough room between him and Owen for me to wedge myself in. His arm moves up to the back of the couch to make space, bicep brushing mine. Like a bunch of weirdos, we all start shifting and adjusting until it just… happens.
Owen's half in Logan’s lap, my legs are draped over his, and somehow—don’t ask me how—my head ends up against Christian’s chest.
He stiffens briefly, then exhales slowly without moving away. “Press play.”
Owen cheers triumphantly before unpausing, loud action music echoing off the walls.
For a long while, nobody speaks—except for Logan reciting all the lines like the nerd he is. I feel myself start to relax against Christian, exhaustion from the day pulling at my limbs. His hand twitches on the back of the sofa while his other comes up to massage his lip.
The sound of him hissing in pain has me lifting my head. “Sorry I hit you, hot shot.”
“No, you're not,” he mumbles, pushing my head back down to his chest.
I bite back a smile and get comfortable, the throbbing in my head subsiding as my eyes start to close.
Just before I drift off, I swear I feel his cheek rest against the top of my head. Swear I hear him whisper something almost too low for anyone else to hear against my hair. The softness in his voice is what finally lulls me off to sleep.
“Sorry I hit you back.”