Chapter 21 #2
Shoveling a full fork into my mouth, I almost groan when I notice the garlic bread he sat in the middle of the counter. “Thanks. Been a minute since I've eaten anything homemade.”
Fuck, I miss meals made from scratch. They fed me at the jail when I first got booked, but I'd never consider that mystery meat ‘home-cooked’.
Though I have been using my one free meal at The Prospector on French fries.
I should probably eat something a little more nutritious, but I haven't had much of an appetite lately.
“It's nothing special,” he shrugs, taking a sip of water. “Boxed noodles and sauce from a jar. I'm not like a chef or anything.”
“Well, it tastes good. So thanks.”
We eat in silence for a long while, and I try not to notice the glances he keeps cutting my way. It's clear something's on his mind, but he's too scared to speak up.
I can probably guess what it is.
“So,” I finally drawl once my bowl is half empty. “We gonna talk about the fact your boyfriend almost blew me the other day?”
Okay, kind of more than almost. Owen's mouth was on my cock, but as soon as Christian disappeared to his room, I went after him. The kicker is, I didn't even want the blowjob to begin with—not from Owen, anyway. When Christian had said he didn't care, I'd gotten angry.
Logan chokes on his water. “Seriously?”
“You even jerked off to it.”
“So did you and Christian,” he shoots back, glaring at me as he wipes his mouth.
I simply smirk as I use a slice of garlic bread to mop up the rest of my sauce. “That happen often? You, Owen, and Christian jacking it together?”
I really want to ask if his boyfriend has ever sucked Christian off, but I keep that question to myself.
Obviously, I know Christian likes to share.
We both fucked Arya at the same time, after all.
Guy's got a kink for it or something, and though I found it hot at first, maybe sharing isn’t my thing.
Being watched? Sure, I can get on board with some mutual self-love, but my days of swapping partners are over. Call me vanilla, I don't give a shit.
Logan sighs heavily as he gets up to take his bowl to the sink. “Christian and I have never done anything like that before, if that's what you're asking. Other than what we hear through the walls. Which is weird, but also kind of a turn on to know someone's listening.”
I follow with my own dish and lean against the counter beside him. “So, no threesomes or anything? You didn't pass Owen back and forth like a fuck doll?”
“Jesus,” he breathes, reaching down to adjust himself—clearly enjoying the idea. “No, asshole, we haven't shared Owen. I don't like Christian that way.”
“Hmph,” I grumble, tapping my fingers against the counter. “Have you and Salem?”
He nearly drops the bowl into the sink, gaping at me in outrage. “Not that it's any of your business, but Owen is gay. He hasn't slept with my wife.”
I shrug and smile lazily as I grab a towel to dry the dishes. “Just wondering how it all works. She's seeing other people, too?”
Logan studies my face, probably searching for malicious intent behind the question.
When he finds nothing but genuine curiosity, he nods slowly.
“Yeah, she's, uh, seeing two of Symbiotic's band members.
We've all had dinner together a few times.
To be honest, her partners are intimidating and kind of scare me, but she's happy.
I'm happy. Everyone's happy. That's all that matters.”
“Glad everyone is happy, then,” I mutter bitterly, putting the clean bowls away. Must be nice. I spent a year in literal hell while everyone just… moved the fuck on. Like I didn't even matter anymore.
Logan snatches my wrist when I try to walk away, and when I glance up, I'm momentarily taken aback by the sadness in his eyes. “I texted you over a hundred times,” he says quietly, holding my gaze. “You never answered and I didn't know where you were.”
“Salem did.” I swallow hard, hating the emotion clogging my throat. “Christian did. Nobody came looking.”
Nobody fucking cared.
A soft breath bursts from Logan’s lungs. It brushes over my collarbone when he steps closer. “Did you even want them to? Last I recall, you ran away first.”
“You were going after Salem. Couldn't stand in your way.”
“I told you before,” he sighs, “I wanted both of you, Dev.”
“Yeah, well.” My eyes bounce around his face as I take in all the ways he's changed over the last year. “I didn't.”
Physically, he looks nearly the same, but something more… confident burns beneath his gaze. He’s more bold and less timid than he was before. It's beautiful, if I'm being honest. Attractive—but no longer for me.
His brows pinch in confusion. “What does that mean?”
“What you have with Salem and Owen is amazing. I'm impressed. Honestly. Can't believe a dork like you bagged two hotties.”
“Fuck you.” Logan turns away, but I grab his shoulder to stop him.
“It's just not what I want. There's nothing wrong with your relationships, man. Live and let live. I just want my… my someone, or whatever. The one. A person who chooses me and only me.”
“And you thought the one was me?” he asks, dumbfounded.
I stay quiet for a moment before deciding to give him an honest answer. “I thought it could have been, yeah. Looking back now, though, I realize we never would have worked.”
“Why not?”
Licking my lips, I try my best to search for words that don’t make me sound pathetic or cruel. “Because you don’t need me.”
“That's not true—”
“No,” I insist quietly. “It’s the truth. You're stable. Got a nice boring job, two partners that love you. Parents who chose you. We never would’ve been equals.”
“That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard. Mom and Dad want to see you, Dev. It took a few months, but they’ve accepted me and my sexuality.”
I shake my head. “You’d try to fix me. Maybe we’d play house and pretend it all worked, that I didn't mind not being the center of your universe. The second something went wrong, though, I’d run. Because that’s what I do. And you'd let me go. We're doomed to fail from the start.”
“And Christian?” he asks roughly. “You think you’d be equals with him? The king of threesomes?”
I bark out a hollow laugh. “No. I'm not deluded enough to believe he'd ever settle for me.”
“That's not what I asked.”
Exhaling through my nostrils, I busy myself with cleaning up the counter as I try to formulate a response.
Honestly, I don't even know what I'm doing here, what I'm doing with him. “Christian’s a stubborn asshole, but he fights for the shit he wants. For the people he cares about. I’m not… afraid I’d disappear next to him.”
A long silence stretches between us. Logan tilts his head, studying me like someone he's never seen before. “You want someone to fight for you instead of walking away.”
I squirm, feeling exposed beneath his piercing gaze. “Not that I expect that person to be Christian. Don't expect it from anyone, honestly, but while he's trapping me here, I might as well have some fun with him, right?”
Logan smiles sadly as he touches my shoulder. “You fool a lot of people, Dev, but you don't fool me. Wanting someone to choose you isn't a weakness.”
“I don’t want someone to choose me,” I scoff, stepping out of his touch. “I want someone who doesn’t need reasons to stay.”
“That’s choosing you.”
“No. Choosing is active. It means they could go if they wanted, but they don’t.
I don’t want that. I want—” An aggravated breath leaves my lungs when I stumble over the words, because saying them feels humiliating.
I've never said them out loud before. “I want someone who couldn’t walk away even if they tried.”
There. It's out for the world to see. Devon fucking Peterson doesn't want to be another option to someone, because there shouldn't be one. Leaving isn't even on the radar. It's either me or nothing.
“That sounds…” Logan trails off, brows slowly rising high. “Sounds intense.”
No fucking shit.
“Loving someone is intense,” I grumble when my gaze catches on a bottle of vodka above the fridge. “At least it should be. Otherwise, it ain't worth it.”
Know what else ain't worth it? Sobriety. Fuck this shit.
Grabbing the bottle, I clap Logan on the shoulder and spin around toward Christian's room. “Thanks for dinner, man. I really appreciate it.”
“Dev, shit. Look, I didn't mean to upset you. Put the bottle down.”
He's close on my heels, but I manage to get inside and shut the door before he reaches it.
My phone buzzes from where I left it on the nightstand, a few missed texts lighting up the screen, but I ignore them.
What's the point anymore? Logan’s right—the kind of love I want doesn't exist. It never has.
From the moment I was born, I was raised to believe that love was conditional. That it was something I needed to earn, and work to keep. Be good, do and say the right things, be useful. Kneel when told, keep my mouth shut…
Let people do what they want to me.
Because I'm good, and I want them to stay. I'll be so good, I promise.
The vodka burns my throat going down, but it feels better than the gaping void in my chest—better than the memories taking up space in my brain.
Technically, I'm not supposed to drink on probation, but who the fuck cares? It’s just one more thing to add to my long list of failures.
With each passing day, the list grows, and I'm tired of trying to do better. I'm tired of trying to survive.
I take another swallow and welcome the heat, craving the numbness it'll bring me.
With any luck, everything will dull enough that I can pretend—just for tonight—that being me doesn't hurt anymore.