Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
DEVON
Breakfast is…odd.
Jade comes downstairs with wet hair and a blank face. She sits across from me at the kitchen table and eats her pancakes in small, deliberate bites, her eyes refusing to meet mine. She’s rigid, her knuckles white around the fork.
I watch her, searching for the woman who threw a pillow at me an hour ago. The one who smiled when I caught her looking. “Are you okay? You were up there for a while.”
"I’m fine." Her tone is clipped and cold.
She’s not fine. I’m not stupid, but I don’t want to fuck anything up. Last night felt like progress, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing. So, I eat my pancakes and pretend I don't notice how she’s behaving.
But fuck me, it’s hard.
I catch her glaring at me, but she looks away when she sees me looking.
What the fuck?
“Jade, are you sure—”
“I said I’m fine, Devon. Drop it, will you?” Jade snaps, shoving her uneaten pancakes away before she stomps back upstairs.
Ouch, okay.
Definitely not fine, but I’m not going there.
Suddenly, I’m not hungry either.
"See you tonight," I call after her before gathering my things for the day, reaching for my bag.
Suddenly I’m not hungry either.
She doesn’t respond.
Okay, think. We’ve gone from rock bottom to making love, to… what the fuck is this?
The door closes behind me, and I stand outside for a long moment, trying to shake the feeling that I've missed something.
What though?
I don't check my phone until I'm in the locker room after my shift. I’m exhausted and wary about seeing Jade. Something is off, and I don’t have a clue what. I thought we were all good. I stare at my phone; the blood draining from my face when I see what’s waiting for me.
Three messages. All from a number I should have blocked the fucking second I landed back in LA.
UNKNOWN: Hey. I've been thinking about you. Mila.
UNKNOWN: I hope things are better with Jade. I really do.
UNKNOWN: Can we talk? I'm actually in LA for a few days. It would be good to clear the air.
My stomach drops like I’m on the world’s shittest roller coaster.
She's here. In my city. In the same zip code as my wife.
I sink onto the bench, my towel forgotten in my hands, and read the messages again.
I see the message above these—unread by me and sent last night when I was in bed with my wife.
UNKNOWN: I keep thinking about that night. I know you said it was a mistake, but it didn't feel like one. Not to me. Mila.
Fuck. Fuck.
Did Jade see this? Is that why breakfast felt so fucking weird?
Please, no.
I pull up the message thread with shaking hands, scrolling to that text.
My phone was—
In the bathroom, charging. Where Jade could have easily seen the preview light up the screen.
Oh, God.
I call the unknown number before I can talk myself out of it.
She answers on the second ring, sounding delighted. "Dev! I wasn't sure you'd call."
"What the fuck are you doing?" I keep my voice low, even though the locker room is empty. "Why are you texting me that shit? Why are you here?"
There’s a brief pause, then she responds in an icy tone. “I told you. I wanted to clear the air."
"There's nothing to clear. I told you in New York—it was a mistake. A drunken, stupid mistake I regret every single day. You need to stop contacting me."
There's a pause. When she speaks again, her voice has cooled significantly. "Is that really how you want to play this, Dev?"
"Don't call me that."
"You didn't mind when I called you that in my hotel room."
My grip tightens on the phone. "Nothing happened in that room, Mila. I kissed you—once—and then I stopped. I passed out in that fucking chair and woke up hating myself. That's it."
"That's it?" She laughs softly. "Is that the version you told your wife?"
What?
My vision blurs, and I grit my teeth as she continues.
"Because," Mila continues, her voice like silk, "there was a lot more than one kiss. You followed me upstairs, Devon. I danced for you. Then you helped me out of my dress. You—"
“I did not! I would remember!”
"Would you? You could barely stand by the end of the night. You kept saying my name, reaching for me—"
She’s fucking lying!
“Stop it!”
"I'm not trying to hurt you." Her tone shifts, filling with concern. "I'm trying to help you remember what actually happened. Because if Jade ever asks me directly, I won't lie for you."
The threat slams into my stomach, and I close my eyes.
"You wouldn't."
"I don't want to. But you're acting like I'm the villain here, Dev, when we both know you came to my room willingly. You kissed me willingly. Whatever happened after that—" She pauses. “Well. Only you and I know that.”
I don't.
That's the thing that's clawing at my insides right now—I don't know.
I remember the kiss—I can remember stopping it and telling her it was wrong.
I remember sinking into that chair, and the room spinning, and then.
.. nothing. Blackness until I woke up sick and disoriented with Jade's face on my phone screen.
But Mila sounds so certain.
What if I'm wrong? What if I did something I can't remember?
I’m going to vomit.
"Meet me," Mila says. "Tomorrow. Just for coffee. We can talk through this like adults, figure out what we're both going to say if it ever comes up. I'm not your enemy, Devon. I never was."
I should say no. Every instinct screams at me to hang up, block her number, and pray to God that Jade never finds out about any of this.
But if Mila goes to Jade on her own—if she tells her version of that night—
"Fine," I hear myself say. "Text me where."
"I knew you'd see reason." I can hear her smiling through the phone. "See you tomorrow, Dev."
The line goes dead, and I sit there for a long time, staring at nothing, my mind racing through fragments of memory I can't piece together. The hotel room. The whiskey. Mila's lips against mine, her hands in my hair, and then—
And then what? I thought I’d passed out! Surely, I’d remember…
I don't know anymore. I thought I knew. I was so sure.
But Mila's words echo in my head, burrowing deep, planting seeds of doubt I can't uproot.
You know what you did.
Except I don’t.