Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Devon
“Mom, you look great. We need to go,” I said for the tenth time. Our group text was already blowing up, everyone wondering where the hell I was.
I was never late, but when my mom asked me to drop her off at a friend’s house on the way to Murphy’s for the night, I couldn’t say no. She also said she was almost ready. An hour ago.
I tapped lightly on her bathroom door and pushed it open. She was applying lipstick that I could have sworn she’d already applied several minutes earlier.
She capped the tube and ran her fingers through her short red hair that was littered with streaks of gray.
My mom had been in remission for several months. Her hair had begun to grow back, and her energy levels were up. I tried to remember that when she was annoying the crap out of me.
She’d moved back in with me after she returned from Houston. She’d wanted to get an apartment or find her own place, but I wanted her close. Her health was still precarious after years of fighting. So, after days of arguing, she finally caved—she moved into the main bedroom, and I took the apartment above the garage.
It wasn’t how I imagined my thirties to look, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. As long as my mom was alive and as long as she wasn’t suffering, I didn’t give a shit if my life had turned out nothing like I’d planned it.
She was diagnosed for the first time while I was in college. She hadn’t yet depleted her savings on doctor’s appointments and treatments, and luckily, it lasted until I graduated and was able to start providing for her and my younger sister, Sydney.
Helping raise Sydney wasn’t as bad as I thought. She graduated high school and got into the school of her dreams with very few issues.
And everything felt even sweeter knowing how close my mom had come to being another victim of Valerie’s sadistic plans. The anger that still pumped through my veins at the thought was hot and bright. I hadn’t shared that information with my mom yet. I didn’t know how. And I doubted that Blakely would either.
Blakely’s role in everything made it even worse. What she’d been through…I wanted to hurt the man who’d hurt her. I wanted to do to him what he’d done to her ten times over. And if Valerie weren’t already dead, I’d have her taken care of as well.
“I’m almost done, I promise,” she said, opening another drawer and pulling out a product I didn’t recognize.
“You said that forty-five minutes ago. Everyone is waiting on me.”
She rolled her eyes and gave me an unimpressed look in the mirror. “It takes me a little longer these days. Your friends and the bar will be there when I’m done. Didn’t you say you had some work to get done? You could work on that while I’m finishing up.”
After traveling back and forth to Houston and making sure Sydney graduated high school, working for a company that wanted me in the office every day for at least ten hours wasn’t working. I needed a more flexible schedule, so I started consulting for companies. My expertise in software development was lucrative to many companies, and it afforded me the opportunity to make my own schedule and focus on other things in life. Which also meant, no, I didn’t have work that needed to be done. I’d had an earlier meeting with a company downtown, but there was nothing I needed to do just yet.
I opened my mouth to argue, but the doorbell rang. I looked at my mom in the mirror. She wasn’t wearing the same confused expression I was.
“Are you expecting someone?” I asked.
Blatantly ignoring my question, she asked, “Can you get that, please?”
Ignoring her like she did me, I didn’t move. Until she threw her hands in the air in an exasperated gesture. “It could be someone important, Devon! Go, go, please.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head as I turned out of the bathroom and walked down the hallway into the entryway. Frustrated, I didn’t stop to consider who might be on the other side of the door. I just unlocked it and swung it open.
The last person I expected to see was standing there.
“Blakely.” Surprise was evident in my voice, the way I stuttered out her name.
Her eyes widened, obviously just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.
“Umm…hi. I’m sorry. Is your mom here?” she asked.
“Yes?” The word came out more like a question than it did an answer.
She readjusted her bag on her shoulder and nervously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Her long, black hair was in natural waves that fell well past her shoulders. And her black top clung to her arms and torso. The black skirt she wore hit mid-thigh, and wrapped around her legs were sheer black tights.
“She invited me over for dinner,” she said through a shiver. Her voice and the cold air whipping in through the door made me spring into action.
“Come in,” I said, opening the door wider and stepping to the side.
Cautiously, she stepped over the threshold and stood right inside the door, giving me only enough room to close it.
“You said she invited you over for dinner?”
Blakely nodded.
“Are you sure she…” The pieces began to fit together, and I cursed under my breath. “I’ll be right back. You can, umm…make yourself at home.”
The words sounded weird, but that was what people usually said, right? When they had guests over and were trying to be polite?
Blakely took another step into the house, glancing around at our quaint space. I pivoted, ready to march back into my mother’s bedroom and demand to know what the hell was going on. But when I turned, I almost ran her over instead.
She quickly recovered, stepped around me, and greeted Blakely with a warm smile and open arms.
“Blakely, you’re here. Did you find the place okay?”
“Umm…” Blakely stuttered. “Yeah, I did.” She released my mom and stepped back until she was at arm’s reach. “You’re really dressed up for dinner here.”
“I’m so sorry, Blakely. I got my days mixed up. I promised a friend I would have dinner with her tonight. She’s going through a divorce, and…anyway, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to reschedule our dinner.”
Blakely’s cautious smile faltered, and sadness flitted over her features. There was a tight pang in my chest like I could feel that sadness, too.
But she recovered quickly. The smile didn’t reappear, but she didn’t look like she would crumble either. And I knew I would do anything to never see that look on her face again .
“Oh, yeah,” Blakely said. “It’s no problem. You can just let me know when you’re free.”
She brushed a hand over my mom’s arm and took a step toward the door. Her hand reached for the knob.
“Wait.” The word was out of my mouth before I could consider what I was doing.
Blakely stopped and peered at me over her shoulder. Wide, gray eyes met mine, and I had to force myself to swallow. “You can come with me.”
She turned, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom take a step back with a small smile on her face. Blakely straightened and reached behind her to grasp the back of her neck. Her hand fell to her side a moment later, and I held my breath, waiting for her response.
“Okay.” That was all she said. She didn’t ask for any details. I even waited another few seconds to see if she would, but she just held my stare.
“I can drive myself,” my mom said, a mischievous yet triumphant smile still tilting the corners of her lips.
She’d never admit it, but I knew it had been an elaborate setup. My ability to lock down my facial expressions wasn’t a trait I inherited from my mother. She was an open book.
She reached for her jacket on the bench near the door and grabbed her purse and keys. She promised to text Blakely, and as she stepped out the door, she yelled over her shoulder, “Have fun!”
The door clicked shut, and silence echoed through the house.
“Let me grab my jacket.” I waited for Blakely to nod, then I turned and walked through the living room to the kitchen. I grabbed my stuff from the kitchen table and shut off the lights.
I braced myself before I walked back into the entryway, but I stopped in my tracks when I rounded the corner. It was like she was an apparition. I still couldn’t believe she was there.
Blakely’s back was to me, and she was scanning the framed photos that Sydney made me hang on the wall above the long wooden table I’d made to perfectly fit the space.
Woodworking had been a solace. A way to fill the time and keep my hands busy.
Blakely’s eyes dropped to look down at the table. Her fingers carefully brushed over the edge, and I swore I could feel the touch over my shoulders and down my back. She traced the wood, circling a large knot in the center and dragging her fingers across it like she was admiring the craftsmanship.
I shivered and made sure my next step was loud enough that she heard me approach. That didn’t keep her from jumping ever so slightly when she heard me.
I motioned toward the door, and without a word, she reached for the handle. She walked outside, and I locked the door behind us.
Blakely had stopped at the end of the short walkway. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her skirt, and she glanced back and forth between her car at the curb and mine in the driveway.
“I’ll drive,” I said, walking by her and opening the passenger side door. She hesitated for a moment before she stepped forward and climbed into the car. She brushed past me, and the clean, sweet scent of her shampoo wafted toward me. I sucked in a sharp breath and ground my teeth together.
The moment she was in her seat, I shut the door. Probably harder than I should have.
Rounding the front of the car shouldn’t have taken more than a second, but I stretched it out as much as I could. I needed those seconds to get my mind straight.
I pulled open the car door and hopped in, trying to hold my breath. I cranked the engine and flipped the heat on.
Backing out of the driveway, I was able to keep my focus on the road for most of the longest fifteen-minute drive of my life. It required an insane amount of self-control not to glance over at her every other second. My hands cramped from how hard I clenched the wheel, and the muscles in my legs and back burned from how still I was trying to stay.
But my control slipped when we stopped at a red light a block away from Murphy’s. It wasn’t the tension in the car that made my attention gravitate toward her. It was the nervous energy thrumming from her seat.
Her knee bounced, and in her hands, she twisted a small tube of cherry-flavored ChapStick. She’d applied it twice already in our short drive. My hand itched to reach over and grab her knee to calm whatever was causing her anxiety. But I knew touching her would have backfired.
Instead, I opened my mouth, prepared to tell her she had no reason to be nervous. But a horn behind us blared, and I glanced up to see the light had turned green.