Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Blakely
Slipping into my favorite pair of sweatpants, I pulled a T-shirt over my head and threw my hair up into a clip.
Tato was staring at me intently from my bedroom door.
“I know, I know. I’m coming. Hold your horses,” I muttered to my adorable, deaf dog.
After a long day of work, pushing out several completed projects and proposals, and a long therapy session that had me emotionally drained, Tato and I were scheduled to curl up on the couch and watch a new horror movie I’d been excited to see.
The microwave beeped, and I walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. Tato excitedly trotted after me. That seemed like the only time he was actually excited—when he knew we were going to cuddle up on the couch.
I nearly dropped the steaming bag of popcorn but managed to dump it into the waiting bowl. Tato quickly took care of the few pieces that landed on the floor before I even considered picking them up.
I popped a piece into my mouth and grabbed a soda from the fridge. Tato impatiently stood at the end of my narrow alley kitchen and looked from me to the couch to his left.
“Oh my gosh, I’m coming. Go ahead,” I said, gesturing to the living room over the small bar top. Tato huffed and sauntered to the couch. He hopped on his end and spun in two circles before he plopped down.
I grabbed the popcorn and my soda. I used my shoulder to turn off the kitchen light and set the bowl on the coffee table as I scanned the room for the remote.
But my search was quickly forgotten when someone knocked on my door. I looked at Tato, but of course, he hadn’t heard it. The blinds on the window next to the front door were drawn, and the door was locked. I wasn’t expecting anyone and my heart hammered in my chest.
There was no reason for that to trigger my fight or flight response, but it happened all the same. On soft feet, I tiptoed over to the door and took a breath. I pressed my hands against the door and leaned to peek through the peephole.
My breath left me in a relieved whoosh, but confusion replaced my unease.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open. The cold air wafted into my warm house, and I immediately shivered.
“Devon,” I said by way of greeting.
“Hey…umm…I brought dinner.”
I glanced down at the bags in his hands and stepped to the side. He had to duck a little to walk through the doorway, and suddenly my little place felt so much smaller.
“I’m sorry to just drop in. My, uh, my mom made veggie chili and wanted me to bring some over,” he explained.
He surveyed my dark yet colorful living room as I said, “Well, that’s nice of her.”
His eyes stopped on Tato, who hopped off the couch and cautiously walked to us. “You have a dog.”
I chuckled and took one of the bags from his hand, flipping the kitchen light back on and setting it on the counter. “Yes, this is Tato. I rescued him when I moved back.”
Devon sat the other bag on the ground as he stooped and offered Tato one of his hands. Tato sniffed it once, then a second time before his entire butt started wagging. He got up in Devon’s face and licked up one of his cheeks.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Tato,” Devon murmured as he scratched under his chin.
“Oh, and he’s deaf,” I added from the kitchen. Devon glanced up from his spot on the floor and then looked back down at my dog.
“Good to know.”
I reached into the bag and pulled out a container of chili and a bag of Fritos. “This was so nice of your mom,” I said.
Devon stood and retrieved the other bag. He rounded the bar-top counter and set the other bag next to mine, pulling out another container filled with freshly shredded cheese.
“You know how she is,” he said under his breath. “But I didn’t want to interrupt your evening. I’ll let you get back to…” His words trailed off, and he glanced back to see the movie cued up on the TV screen.
I saw the spark of interest in his eyes and remembered the countless nights we spent together binge-watching horror movies. Our mutual love of anything scary was one of the first things we bonded over back in college.
“I haven’t even started it yet. You should…stay?” It wasn’t meant to be a question, but my voice went up at the end. He peered back at me, a real question in his eyes, and I tried again. “You should stay,” I said with all the confidence I truly did feel.
I really did want him to stay.
It had only been three days since Josie was born, and I had a full breakdown in a hospital hallway. And I’d been thinking about it ever since. Not just the reaction I’d had, but how Devon followed me and comforted me without hesitation .
And how much it’d helped. A breakdown like that would have lasted several hours a few months or even weeks ago. My thoughts were spinning out of control so quickly, I had no chance of slowing them down, let alone stopping them. I contributed the change to the work I’d continued doing inside and outside of therapy, but Devon’s impact couldn’t be downplayed.
The man was like a walking Xanax. And I’d missed him so much. I wanted him around even if it was just as a friend. We had always been friends; it was an easy relationship to fall back into. Although now, after everything, friendship felt like it wasn’t near enough.
But I would be respectful of his relationship. I would never cross a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. And friendship would be enough. It had to be because, more than anything, I wanted Devon back in my life. However that happened was enough for me.
“Okay,” Devon finally said, and I grabbed two bowls from an upper cabinet.
“Have you eaten already? Do you want some?”
Devon shook his head. “I haven’t eaten. A bowl would be nice.” He slipped into one of the small, precarious barstools on the other side of the counter. I’d picked them up from a thrift store a few weeks ago, and although they were cute, they were at the end of their lives.
Devon’s eyes widened, and he gripped the counter to save himself from falling out of it.
“Sorry,” I said, slightly embarrassed by my inability to provide safe, reasonable seating. However, it wasn’t exactly my fault—I wasn’t expecting much company when I moved in. “They are a little wobbly.”
“A little,” Devon repeated with a small laugh. “I could make you two better ones.”
I spooned enough chili for the two of us into a pot and set it on the stove. Spinning, I examined Devon, who had managed to steady himself on the stool .
“You could, but from what I’ve seen of your work, I’m not sure I can afford a Devon Graham original.”
He shook his head and tugged his jacket off, dropping it onto the other stool. “I wouldn’t make you pay. I wouldn’t let you.”
“Let me, huh?” I said with a small smile. He held my gaze for a moment, his hazel eyes appraising me at the same time I watched him. It felt like a miracle that he was sitting in my kitchen. Something I only thought I’d get to dream of and never truly experience again.
My cheeks flushed, and I turned back to the stove.
“I haven’t talked to you since the hospital on Saturday,” he said. “How are you?”
“Good,” I said automatically. It wasn’t necessarily a lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. I was doing better. The entire experience had stirred up memories, feelings, and emotions that I thought I’d worked through. But that was the thing about healing—it wasn’t a straight line. It was a long, winding road that had forks and rest stops and sometimes looped backward when you were least expecting it.
Sometimes my only solace was knowing that I wasn’t the first person to live through something traumatic. Other people had survived, so I could, too.
I mindlessly stirred the chili, and Devon’s deep, concerned voice yanked me from my spinning thoughts. “Blakely, you know, you can talk to me.”
A small smile crept across my lips. Still staring down at the quickly heating soup, I said, “I know. But I’m a little talked out right now. I had an hour and a half long therapy session earlier. That’s pretty much all we talk about.” And it was mostly the truth. Dr. Mann and I had spoken endlessly about my reaction to Josie, but I hadn’t mentioned Devon comforting me. For some reason, I didn’t want to share that information with Dr. Mann.
For the first time since I’d started seeing him, I lied to my therapist. I’d told him it was Amanda, not Devon, that followed me down the hallway and comforted me while I cried, and he hadn’t questioned it. But then again, why would he? It was the first time I’d ever lied.
The lie itself was trivial, but the reason for the lie was telling. I wanted to keep those moments between us. Sharing them with Dr. Mann felt like I was undermining Devon or making it impersonal.
Not to mention that I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. His strong arms, perfectly manly smell, and calming presence.
Behind me, Devon hummed. “You go twice a week?”
I nodded. “Down from daily only a little over a year ago.” I chuckled. I had meant it as a joke, but Devon wasn’t even close to smiling when I set the bowl in front of him. “I promise I’m okay,” I said. “I’m sorry I worried you. But I really appreciate…you.”
I didn’t give him a chance to respond. Emotion was already thick in my throat, and I’d hit my quota of crying for the past two weeks in three days. “Let’s eat on the couch,” I said quickly.
I grabbed two spoons and napkins. Devon took the cheese and the bag of Fritos, and we sat down on the couch. I sat at my usual end, but Devon unknowingly sat in Tato’s designated spot. My very particular dog stared at Devon until he noticed.
Devon glanced over at me, his bowl of chili in his hands, and then back at Tato. “What did I do wrong?”
I suppressed my laughter with a hand over my mouth. “You’re in his spot.”
“Oh,” Devon muttered, and scooted to the next couch cushion. The one closest to me. Tato hopped up into his spot and did his standard two circles before plopping down. Devon chuckled under his breath, and I continued sprinkling cheese in my bowl and pretending that Devon’s proximity didn’t affect me.
“Oh, crap,” he muttered, and I glanced over to see that my journal I’d left on the table had fallen. Before I could react, Devon leaned forward and scooped it up. “Some of the pages are—” he began to say, trying to straighten the pages .
But I reached for it and yanked it from his grip as I said, “It’s fine.” Only the words came out more like a yelp.
Wide-eyed, Devon turned to me and willingly gave me the journal back. It was so quick, he couldn’t have seen any of my handwritten entries. But my reaction was startling enough that even if he hadn’t seen anything, he sure as hell was curious now.
Standing abruptly, I tossed the journal on the counter and asked, “Drinks?” I opened the fridge and peered at its contents. “I don’t have much, but I have a few sodas and water.”
“Water is fine,” Devon said, and I grabbed a bottle, preparing myself to go back into the living room and sit next to him like my skin wasn’t on fire just being near him.
With as pleasant a smile I could manage, I walked back into the room, set his water on the table, and stirred my chili.
“Sorry, I don’t have beer or any other alcohol,” I said.
Devon shook his head and took a swig of his water. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his Adam’s apple bob with the movement. He recapped the bottle and used the side of his forefinger to wipe the excess water from his lips. Lips surrounded by dark red, nearly brown stubble.
“It’s not a problem. I’m not dependent on alcohol,” he said, leaning back into the couch cushions with his bowl in his hands. “I noticed you haven’t been drinking, so I’m not surprised.”
I followed his lead and made myself comfortable, kicking my feet up onto the couch and tucking them beneath me. The screen had gone dark while I was preparing our food, so I turned it back on.
“Yeah, I stopped…a while ago,” I said, forgetting the exact timeline. “I still drink occasionally if I really want to, but with the anxiety medication I’m on, it’s not the best idea.”
“They can interact?”
“Yeah, and I don’t want to deal with the side effects of that.” What I didn’t say was that I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the help those meds provided me. I wasn’t na?ve, I knew a drink or two every once in a while wouldn’t cause an issue, but I also didn’t want to tread into that unknown water.
Especially when, without the medication, I knew the thoughts would come back. Dark, uncontrollable ones that, when they finally got their hooks in, were impossible to shake.
“I’m good with water or soda,” he said, turning his knowing, hazel eyes on me. I glanced back down at my bowl and picked up the remote. “I just really hate to see you cry.”
Devon’s words startled me. So much so, I nearly dropped the remote.
I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest until he continued, “And I’ll never let you cry alone.”
Then, I think my heart stopped altogether. “You don’t have to say that. I’m?—”
“I know you’re fine, Blake,” he said, accurately guessing the next word out of my mouth. “And I don’t say things just to say them. I mean it. Every word.”
And I knew he did, which made it more difficult not to lean over and wrap my arms around him and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Imagining it wasn’t helping matters either. But the force it took to look away from him was immense.
Somehow I managed, though. I looked away, cleared my throat, and turned on the movie.
“You cannot truly believe that The Conjuring is a better horror movie than a classic like The Exorcist .”
Devon raised the hand that wasn’t rubbing Tato’s head in surrender and shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s objectively better or not. I’m saying that I enjoyed it more,” he argued.
I scoffed and popped a sour gummy worm in my mouth then handed him an orange and green one—the ones I didn’t like, but he happily ate. “You can be wrong then. I guess that’s fine as long as you accept it. ”
“I’ll accept it if you agree that of M. Night Shyamalan’s movies, The Village is better than Signs .”
I gasped and pressed my hand to my chest like I was offended. But I wasn’t. Both movies were two of my favorites. “There will be no Signs slander in this house.”
“Can we at least agree what the best M. Night Shyamalan is… The Sixth Sense, ” we said at the same time. And he mirrored the uncontrollable smile that spread across my face.
We’d finished one movie and moved on to one that neither of us were all that interested in. Hence the argument about our favorite horror movies.
At some point, we’d sunk further into the couch. Devon was lounged back with his feet kicked up on an ottoman I’d pulled over for him. One of his hands was idly rubbing the soft spot on top of Tato’s head while his other draped over my blanket-covered legs that were curled into his side.
We didn’t talk too much through the first movie—both of us were too invested. But we still covered quite a few topics. Like how his sister, Sydney, was doing in her first year of college and his mom’s upcoming appointments.
I didn’t want to talk about my parents, but it undoubtedly came up, as it always did. He asked if they were still as awful as always, and I’d confirmed that they were. I could see that wasn’t all he wanted to ask when he suddenly got quiet, so rather than force him to ask me questions, I told him about how they’d begrudgingly retrieved me from Colorado and taken me back to Arkansas as quietly as possible. Because what was most important to them—especially my mom—was that no one learned that her one and only daughter had gotten herself kidnapped.
“You’re serious?” Devon had asked, and all I could manage was a nod. “Hateful fucking assholes.”
His sadly accurate description of my parents made me laugh, and we moved on to lighter topics. Like asking all the questions I’d been waiting to ask since I returned about every one of our friends .
It was the first time in more than two years that life had felt normal. Or better than normal.
Devon shifted and picked up his phone that had been lying face down on the coffee table. The time flashed across the screen, and I hadn’t realized how late it was.
“I should probably head home,” he said, and although I knew it was coming, it wasn’t any less disappointing. Miserable attempts at pointless excuses flitted through my mind. None of them made any sense, but I still searched anyway. Because hours with Devon weren’t nearly enough.
Without a good reason why he should stay and several very good reasons why he shouldn’t, I found myself saying, “Sure.”
He stood with only a little difficulty and started cleaning up our empty bowls and trash. I argued, but he waved me off.
While he took the dishes to the kitchen, I found my ChapStick I kept in the side table and applied a little before I returned it to the drawer.
“I’ll put them in the dishwasher later,” I said when I heard the water turn on. Devon set the bowls in the sink and dumped the rest of our stale popcorn in the trash.
“You can keep the bags.” He motioned to the reusable grocery bags on the counter as he walked back into the living room, where I stood near the door. “Mom forgets them every time she goes to the grocery store, so she just ends up buying more.”
I smiled and tried not to appear as awkward as I felt. “Tell her I said thank you, okay? That was really, really sweet.”
I hadn’t realized I was staring down at my hands, fidgeting with the string of my sweatpants, until I felt Devon’s large hand cup my cheek and tilt my face up. His thumb brushed against my cheekbone, and I held my breath when he wetted his lips.
All the alarm bells were going off in my head. He was going to kiss me. I knew it, and I was too weak to do anything to stop it. Fuck, I wanted it so bad.
His eyes bounced between mine, maybe looking for agreement, and he must have found it because he leaned forward. I braced myself and held my breath, clenching my hands into fists and preparing to wrap them around his neck when our lips connected.
Except it didn’t happen. His lips made contact, but it was with my forehead, not my mouth.
It was sweet, but the sinking in my gut soured the moment. He dropped his forehead to mine and took a slow, deep breath. We stood like that for several seconds until he said, “Thank you for tonight, B. Just…thank you.”
I nodded, and the movement was awkward with us still pressed together, but Devon didn’t appear to care. His hand shifted from my cheek to the back of my neck, and I tensed when his fingers brushed the spot at the base of my neck and the top of my spine. If he felt it, he didn’t react. He just held me tighter.
“Sometimes I see you,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “And I still can’t believe you’re real.”
I chuckled but understood. “I’m real.”
He hummed deep in his throat, and I wasn’t certain what the sound meant. As disappointed as I’d been when he hadn’t kissed me, I was more bummed when he pulled away and walked out the door.
Tato and I turned out the lights and went to bed. I can’t speak for Tato, but I dreamed of Devon.