Chapter 44
Chapter
Forty-Four
Devon
Fuck. Them.
Fuck their excuses, and fuck the half-assed apology that came decades too late.
I grip the armrest of my chair in the hallway until my knuckles turn white, attempting to breathe through the nausea curling in my gut.
The fluorescent light overhead flickers, humming in that same annoying pitch that my father's—grandfather’s—voice used to hit when he'd recite scripture at me through gritted teeth.
I can still feel the phantom pains in my knees from when he'd make me kneel on gravel for hours while he "prayed the gay away.”
Dropping my head into my hands, I grip my hair hard and try to banish those memories. My fingers twitch for a cigarette despite the ache in my lungs. Logan’s conversation with our parents replays through my mind.
“You were a second chance.”
“We didn't know it was that bad.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have been listening at the door, but I don't give a shit. What a fucking joke. So I guess that makes me the embarrassment, right? The mistake? They chose him, but I was just an extra line on a pregnancy test that threatened their perfect little Christian values.
The overhead light buzzes again, emitting a high-pitched whine that slices right through my already frayed nerves.
My leg bounces uncontrollably as my palms dampen.
I feel like I'm vibrating out of my own skin.
If it weren't for the fact that I have nowhere to go and no ride to get me there, I'd be long fucking gone.
The door to Logan's room finally creaks open. Sarah steps out first, her eyes bloodshot. Behind her, Joel meets my gaze with a tight expression. “He wants to see you.”
Tongue in cheek, I rise from my seat and reach for the handle.
Joel touches my elbow before I can escape inside. “For what it's worth, son, I really am so—”
“Don't,” I snap, wrenching my arm out of his grasp. “You don't get to call me that. You haven't earned the right.”
He opens his mouth, but it shuts quickly. When he looks away, I shoulder past them both without another glance and rush into Logan’s room, shutting the door behind me. My back hits the wood as I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on my senses.
The sterile scent of antiseptic, the steady rhythm of the monitor, my nails digging into my palms when I clench my fists. The faint taste of whiskey still coating my tongue.
It reminds me of that time in the RV when Logan spit liquor into my mouth before kissing me, and I slowly pry my lids open to face the man himself alone for the first time since the crash.
He's already watching me.
Neither of us speaks for a long moment.
“You sure you meant to ask for me?” I eventually ask. “Might’ve hit your head harder than they thought.”
Logan's lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. Just continues to stare at me cautiously, like he's not sure what I'll do. Still doesn't speak. It tears me up inside.
“I’m sorry. I don’t even know what part I’m apologizing for. Vegas? The accident? Fucking you and pushing you too far? Take your pick.”
With a painful groan, he shifts over on the bed. “Then come say it to my face.”
Goddammit.
I cross the room in three long strides before dropping down beside him, once again taking his hand in mine. Fuck, he feels warm. Alive. I can’t stop staring at him. His cheeks are thin under weeks of beard growth, hair long and unwashed around his ears.
“You look like shit,” I whisper.
He just snorts and wrinkles his nose. “You smell like shit. Jesus, Dev, I'm pretty sure your pores are oozing booze right now.”
Blowing out a breath, I glance down at my days old t-shirt and stained jeans. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Well. Surprise?”
A laugh leaves my throat, but it sounds brittle. Guilt settles heavily in my chest as I study his frail hand clutching mine. “I… I messed up, man. I should’ve never let you drive that bike.”
“You didn't crash it, Devon.”
“No,” I say, raising my gaze to his. “But I might as well have.”
Logan frowns in thought. “I don't actually remember much about what happened. They say I never might, but… I highly doubt you forced me to drive. This was just a shitty accident.”
“One that almost killed you.”
“But it didn’t,” he counters, guiding my hand to his chest. “I'm here, see? And so are you. That crash could have killed us both, but we're alive, Dev. We were given a second chance. So what are you going to do with it?”
Swallowing hard, I feel his heart thump a beat against my palm. Mine races to match it. “I don't believe in that divine bullshit. We got lucky. That's all.”
“Fine, call it whatever you want. We still made it. So now what?”
Tilting my head, I study his face as if it’ll give me the answer to whatever the fuck he's talking about. “Now what, what? We kiss and make up?”
I mean, I wouldn't be opposed.
Logan rolls his eyes, effectively dismissing the idea, but I don’t miss the way his ears turn pink. “No, I mean what are you going to do with your second chance?”
“Same thing I've been doing,” I shrug, moving my gaze to the window where starlight peeks through the opened blinds like an albatross.
“And what's that? Drink, snort, and fuck your way through life?”
My heart twists at that, but I slip my mask into place with a sneer. “If it works, it works. No need to fix what ain't broke.”
“Don't do that,” he murmurs quietly. “You don't have to pretend with me, Dev.”
“Pretend what?” I laugh cruelly and raise our joined hands between us. “That we're a cute little couple or some shit? Is this what we do now, talk about our feelings?”
“You're the one who grabbed my hand, asshole.”
Letting go instantly, I jump to my feet and cross to the window. “What about you, then, huh? What's Logan gonna do with his shiny new outlook now that he isn't knocking on death's door?”
“Well, first, I'm going to find my wife. And then after that… who knows.”
That one word tears through me sharply. Wife. Of course.
“Right,” I grit out, fists curling at my sides. “Yeah. That fucking tracks.”
Logan sighs behind me. “Dev—”
“No, it’s fine.” I spin to face him and flash a condescending smile I don’t mean. “Go be a husband, Logan. Play house, make up for lost time, all that shit. Should I expect a pregnancy announcement soon?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, expression crumpling.
Bitterness bleeds from my tone. “But that’s what you said. You said 'wife.' It makes sense, honestly. She's the right choice, huh?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth, I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration, the heart monitor kicking up a notch. “Jesus, Dev, I'm not… It's not like I'm making a choice. This isn’t black and white.”
“No, it’s not.” I slump against the windowsill as the anger leaves me in one swoop. “It’s gray, and messy, and fucked beyond repair. Just like me. So go play the perfect life with Salem and let me go back to being the mistake everyone regrets.”
Just like my parents. Just like Christian.
“You were never a mistake,” he says quietly.
But I’m already halfway to the door, silently daring him with every step to stop me.
He doesn’t. Why would he?
I pause with my fingers curled around the handle, just long enough to look over my shoulder. The pity in his golden eyes makes me want to light a match, soak everything in gasoline, and burn whatever the fuck was happening between us to the ground.
I can do that for him. I can give him this second chance without all my baggage weighing him down.
“You know, it’s almost poetic. You spent your whole life pretending to be someone you’re not… and now you’re running after the person who only loved that fake version of you.”
Logan pales, but I twist the knife deeper by giving him an ugly grin. “Hope she’s worth it, man.”
And with that, I flee the scene of the crime, those stars blinking after me like witnesses as I practically sprint down the hall.
Each step feels heavier than the last, but I don't turn around. There's no point.
I was put on this earth for the sole purpose of being used by others, and it's time I accept my place.