Chapter 8 Devlin
EIGHT
DEVLIN
I wasn’t expecting Atlee to cook me dinner and wasn’t expecting to enjoy it as much as I did.
I’ve never met a woman who is as intriguing as she is.
Although she’s so much younger than I am, she seems to have the same type of life experience I do.
She’s wise beyond her years and compliments me more than anyone else ever has.
When I came home from the military, I came home to a shit show. I’d purposely ignored home after my parents died and left everything here for Jesse to deal with. It wasn’t exactly my finest hour, and I had been so mad when I realized what he was doing to make sure the ranch stayed afloat.
At first, I was completely against the cattle rustling operation, and I wanted to go completely legit.
We’d argued, and he’d thrown my absence back in my face. It hadn’t been the only thing that had been thrown back in my face, either. My high school girlfriend had moved on too, although we’d never actually broken up. But then again, I’d never made her a priority either.
The story of my life—letting everything fall to the wayside while I stay stuck in my own world.
Which is why I’ve decided to be more present, no matter how difficult it is in the grand scheme of things, and why I’m trying to be the man I believe Atlee deserves.
“I need a shower.” I yawn as I stretch. “While it’s nice lying here with you, tomorrow morning is going to come early. I have a TV in the bedroom. Wanna watch something after I take a shower?”
She nods, her eyes meeting mine. There’s heat in her gaze. “Mind if I join you?”
We have to be careful. This relationship can’t be built on the physical, but I want to be close to her like that, so I nod.
My throat goes dry as she stands up, stretching her arms above her head. The way her body moves makes my pulse quicken. I’ve been with women before, but never one who affects me like she does, who makes my skin feel too tight for my body with just a look.
“Lead the way,” she says with a soft smile that’s equal parts shy and bold, her eyes heating.
I push myself up off the couch, acutely aware of how small this cabin suddenly feels.
When I first built it, it actually felt too big.
Taking her hand, I guide her toward the bathroom, my mind racing with thoughts I shouldn’t be having.
She’s been through hell, is still processing a traumatic experience, and here I am thinking about getting her naked.
But I’m not the one who suggested the shower, a voice in my head reminds me. She is.
Still, I need to be careful. This can’t just be about physical release, not with her. Atlee deserves better than that, and I’m not entirely sure I’m capable of giving her what she needs.
When we reach the bathroom, I turn on the shower to let it heat up. Steam begins to fill the room as I turn back to face her. The way she’s looking at me—like I’m her knight in shining armor, something worthy—makes my chest ache.
“You sure about this?” I ask, my voice rough, even to my own ears.
She steps closer, her fingers finding the buttons of her borrowed shirt—my shirt—and begins undoing them one by one. “I’m sure about you, Devlin.”
Christ, she’s going to be the death of me.
I watch, transfixed, as she reveals herself inch by inch. When the shirt falls open, exposing the curves of her breasts and the flat plane of her stomach, I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her.
“Your turn,” she whispers, and there’s vulnerability in her eyes that reminds me to take this slow, to be gentle.
I pull the T-shirt I wear under my flannel over my head, aware of her gaze traveling over my chest, lingering on the tattoos that map the story of my life across my skin.
When her fingers trace the scar that runs along my ribs, a souvenir from a mission gone sideways in a place I’m still not allowed to talk about, I shiver.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
“Not anymore.”
We undress each other slowly, like we have all the time in the world. When we’re both naked, I take a moment just to look at her, to commit every curve and line of her body to memory.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, because it’s the truth and because some things need to be said out loud.
Color rises to her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. “So are you.”
I lead her into the shower, the hot water cascading over us.
For a moment, we just stand there, letting the warmth surround us, her back against my chest, my arms wrapped around her waist. I press my lips to her shoulder, tasting the water on her skin.
My hand moves up, taking one of her breasts in my hands, and the other travels to curl around her neck, pulling the back of her head against my collarbone.
“This okay?” I murmur against her neck.
She turns in my arms, her hands sliding up my chest. “More than okay.”
When she kisses me, it’s different from before. It’s slower, deeper, like she’s trying to memorize the taste of me. I lose myself in the sensation of her mouth, her hands, her body pressed against mine under the steady stream of water.
I reach for the shampoo, pouring some into my palm. “Turn around,” I tell her.
She does, and I work the shampoo into her long, dark hair, massaging her scalp with my fingertips. A soft moan escapes her lips, and the sound goes straight through me. I’ve never done this for anyone before. I never wanted to. But with Atlee, everything feels different. New.
After I rinse her hair, she returns the favor, her small hands working through my much shorter strands, nails scraping lightly against my scalp. It’s such a simple thing, but it feels intimate in a way that catches me off guard.
When she reaches for the soap, I catch her wrist. “Atlee, we need to slow down.”
Her brow furrows. “You don’t want this? We’ve already done it before.”
“That’s not it.” I cup her face with my hands, forcing myself to say what needs to be said.
“I want you. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long damn time.
But you’ve been through something traumatic, and I don’t want to take advantage of that.
Last night was about me making sure you were okay. Tonight would be me being selfish.”
“You’re not taking advantage,” she argues, her wet hands coming to rest on my forearms. “I know what I want, Devlin.”
“I believe you,” I tell her, brushing my thumb across her cheekbone. “But I also know that sometimes, after something like what happened to you, you look for ways to feel safe, to feel in control again, and I don’t want to be just that for you.”
She’s quiet for a moment, water droplets clinging to her eyelashes. “Is that what you think this is? Me using you because I’m scared?”
“No,” I say quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I just…” I struggle to find the right words. “I want to be sure that whatever happens between us is happening for the right reasons. For both of us.”
Her expression softens, and she rises on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to my lips. “Okay,” she whispers. “We’ll take it slow from here on out.”
Relief and disappointment war within me as I nod. “Thank you.”
We finish our shower with gentle touches and soft kisses, nothing more. By the time we step out, the bathroom mirror is completely fogged over. I wrap her in a towel before securing one around my own waist.
“I’ll get you something to sleep in,” I tell her, heading to my dresser. I pull out an old T-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts for her and a pair of sweatpants for myself. Although Lennon gave me her clothes, I really love the look of her in my stuff.
When she emerges from the bathroom wearing my clothes, her hair damp and clinging to her shoulders, something primal and possessive stirs in my chest. She looks right here, in my space, wearing my things.
“Which side of the bed do you prefer?” I ask, gesturing to the king-sized mattress that dominates my bedroom.
“I usually sleep on the right,” she answers, hovering hesitantly at the edge of the room.
“Left side it is, then.” I pull back the covers for her, watching as she slides between the sheets. After turning on the TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed, I join her, careful to leave a respectful distance between us.
She notices, of course. “I don’t bite, you know,” she teases, patting the space beside her. “Unless you want me to.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.” She grins, and for a moment, all the shadows in her eyes are gone. “What are we watching?”
I hand her the remote. “Your choice.”
She scrolls through the options, stopping when she sees a familiar title. “Oh! Friday Night Lights. Have you seen it?”
“Have I seen it?” I raise an eyebrow. “Clear eyes, full hearts…”
“Can’t lose,” she finishes with me, her smile widening. “No way. You’re a fan too?”
“One of the best shows ever made,” I confirm, settling back against the pillows. “Used to watch it overseas whenever I could. Something about it just…helped, you know? Reminded me of home, even when I was trying to forget.”
“My comfort show too,” she admits, selecting an episode from season one. “I used to hide in my room and watch it when things got bad at home. It made me believe that somewhere people actually cared about each other like that.”
The casual way she references her childhood hits me in the gut. I know enough about the Walsh family to understand that her upbringing was far from ideal, but hearing her talk about it so matter-of-factly makes me want to hunt down everyone who ever hurt her.
“Come here,” I say, holding out my arm.
She scoots over, nestling against my side like she belongs there. I pull the blanket up over us both as the familiar theme song plays.
“I always wanted to be like Coach Taylor,” I admit, absently stroking her hair. “The way he led, you know? Firm but fair. Demanded excellence but showed compassion too. It’s what I imagined life would be like when I came home.”
“Mmm,” she hums against my chest. “I could see that. You’ve got that whole strong, silent type thing going.”
“That so?”
“Definitely. And Tami Taylor was my role model,” she says. “Strong, smart, didn’t take crap from anyone, but had the biggest heart. I wanted to be like that.”
“You are,” I tell her, and I mean it. “Strong as hell, but kind too.”
She tilts her head up to look at me, surprise in her eyes. “You think?”
“I know.”
We watch in comfortable silence for a while, her body warm against mine. Occasionally, one of us comments on a scene or quotes a line just before the character says it, making the other laugh. It feels…normal. Comfortable. Like we’ve been doing this forever instead of just one night.
As the episode ends, she yawns, her eyelids growing heavy. “One more?” she asks sleepily.
“One more,” I agree, though I doubt she’ll make it through. Sure enough, halfway through the next episode, her breathing deepens and evens out, her body going slack against mine.
I look down at her sleeping face, all the tension gone from her features. She looks younger in sleep, more vulnerable, and the need to protect her swells in my chest until it’s almost painful.
Carefully, I reach for the remote and turn off the TV, plunging the room into darkness except for the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.
I should probably move her, give her space to sleep comfortably, but I can’t bring myself to disturb her.
Instead, I adjust my position slightly, settling in with her head on my chest, my arm around her shoulders.
This wasn’t how I expected my night to go when I drove home from work.
Hell, this wasn’t how I expected any part of my life to go.
I came back to Grizzly River to make amends, to help Jesse, to try to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with the rest of my life now that the military was behind me.
I never expected Atlee Walsh to crash into my carefully ordered existence, turning everything upside down.
Yet, as I lie here with her breathing softly against me, her hand curled trustingly over my heart, I realize something that scares the shit out of me.
If someone asked me right now what my perfect life looks like, it’s this.
It’s her in my arms, in my home, in my life.
It’s shared showers, home-cooked meals, and watching our favorite shows together.
It’s the easy conversation and the comfortable silences.
It’s having someone who sees the darkness in me and isn’t afraid of it. Someone who’s got her own shadows but lets me see them too.
The realization should send me running. It’s too fast, too intense, too everything. But instead, I find myself tightening my arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“Sweet dreams, Atlee,” I whisper into the darkness, knowing she can’t hear me but needing to say it anyway.
As I drift off to sleep, I wonder if maybe, just maybe, I’ve finally found something worth staying for. Something worth fighting for.
And if that something is the woman in my arms, I’m pretty damn lucky.