Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Devon
“I shouldn’t be here.”
Scowling, I stand on my parents’ front porch with Logan and Salem beside me. The place looks pretty much the same as it did ten years ago. Maybe a little more paint chipped in places, but overall still a nice house.
It’s what’s inside of it, though, that has me wanting to puke into the perfectly manicured flowerbeds.
“You don’t have to go in,” Logan says quietly, holding his wife’s hand. Both of them look fancy as hell in their holiday best, and I feel like an ass in the sole black button-up that I own.
I shake my head and swallow hard. “If I don’t do this now, I never will. Plus, what else am I supposed to do? Hang back at home alone like a sad fuck?”
Seriously. Owen’s at his own family’s house, and so is Christian.
Despite how amazing things with him have been over the last two weeks, it felt weird to accept his invite to Thanksgiving dinner.
I know we’ve agreed to be exclusive, but that’s as far as the conversation has gotten. Even if I’m desperate to ask for more.
Salem releases a slow breath. “Well. Guess we'd better let them know we’re here.”
She’s nervous as hell, too. Apparently, she hasn’t seen Sarah or Joel since last year, when we all thought Logan died. Same as me. And he also didn’t tell them we were coming to dinner, so we’re in for one hell of a night.
My hand shakes slightly when I lift it to press the doorbell. A chime rings inside the house, cheerfully festive. Completely fucking inappropriate for the dumpster fire that’s about to ignite. Blood rushes to my ears as soon as the door opens, and my mother freezes the second she sees me.
For a moment, she just stares with one hand gripping the doorframe. Her hair’s longer than it was last year, blonde streaked with silver. Her face twists in disbelief, revealing new lines around her brown eyes. “Devon?”
“Hey,” is about all I can dryly manage. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
Behind her, my dad appears with a dish towel slung over his shoulder. His jaw tightens instantly when he spots us, but he says nothing.
Sarah moves first.
She steps forward and wraps her arms around me before I can react, breath hitching against my shoulder. “You’re here,” she whispers.
I don’t hug her back. My arms stay glued to my sides.
Joel clears his throat. “You should all come inside,” he says gruffly. “It’s cold out here.”
He's nervous. I can see it in the way he shifts his weight, in how his grip tightens around the towel like he needs something to do with his hands. I don’t think he’s ever been good with his emotions—a trait I clearly inherited.
The mouthwatering scent of turkey and rosemary hits my nostrils when we step inside. It’s overly warm, and wearing Christian’s heavy leather jacket suddenly feels like a mistake, but I don’t take it off.
“Oh—” Sarah starts, then stops. She swipes at her eyes quickly as she pulls Logan in for a hug. “I didn’t know you all were coming.”
“Surprise,” Logan replies sheepishly.
Joel shoots him a look for that, then sighs. “You should’ve called.”
The living room looks different. New color on the walls, different furniture. Family pictures hanging around that don’t include me. Not that I’m surprised.
Salem clears her throat. “Sorry, we should’ve given you a heads up.”
“It’s fine,” Sarah says quickly. “Of course it’s fine. You’re all welcome.”
Her eyes keep flicking back to me, and I can’t tell if she’s worried that I'm here or worried that I might leave.
Joel gestures toward the dining room. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Nobody moves.
The silence stretches uncomfortably until the sound of loud laughter echoes down the hallway.
My stomach drops when three boys come barreling around the corner like a small stampede, socked feet sliding across the hardwood: identical faces, identical messy brown hair.
I haven’t even seen them since they were babies.
The triplets skid to a stop when they see us.
“Logan!” one of them shouts.
Another crashes into his side. “You’re late!”
“Mom said you might not make it,” the third adds accusingly.
They start tugging at his sleeves, talking over each other about video games and snowball fights. I watch them swarm him, their older brother. The only one they think they have.
A set of eyes finally notices Salem and me lingering near the doorway. “Who’re they?”
Sarah inhales sharply. I can feel it before she speaks, the rejection coming. Briefly, I wonder what she’ll tell them—long lost uncle, maybe, or Logan’s friend. Hell, maybe I’m Salem’s friend. Anything other than the truth, which is—
“Salem is Logan’s wife,” she says quietly. “And Devon is your older brother.”
Shock ripples through my system and the room spins. I have to grab onto the wall to keep from stumbling.
All three boys blink at her.
“… Like, older than Logan?” one of them asks slowly. I hate that I can’t tell who is who.
“Yes,” she replies. “He’s my firstborn.”
Their gazes snap back to me in unison.
“So you’re old,” another one says, making Salem snort. “Do you play video games?”
“Sometimes,” I rasp, still in a complete stupor.
“Do you like football?”
Logan watches from the doorway, eyes wide and warm. Joel looks as stunned as I am.
But Sarah doesn’t back down. She steps closer and places a hand on my arm. “He’s been gone a long time, but he’s home now.”
Home now.
Those words settle into my chest, ripping it wide open.
One of the boys shuffles forward to peer up at me. “Why didn’t we ever know about you?”
My mother swallows hard, but it’s my father who answers in her stead.
“Because sometimes adults make mistakes,” he says, gazing at me pointedly. “We lost him, but we’re hoping he’ll forgive us for it.”
The boys seem to accept that answer, which doesn't surprise me.
They're ten. The world is still simple enough for them to believe that people can screw up and still be okay.
They scatter into the dining room a moment later, arguing loudly about whose turn it will be on the Xbox after dinner. Life resumes.
I stand there shaking, unable to speak, when Sarah turns to me with glassy eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should have told them sooner. They’ve just barely started to understand that Logan isn’t their blood relative, and we weren’t sure if… Well, we didn’t know if we’d ever see you again.”
All I can do is nod. Pat the hand she still has on my arm, and turn into the dining room without a word. I feel like if I say something, I’ll break completely. There are so many emotions swirling inside of me, too many to grab hold of.
Shame at having stayed away for so long.
Anger at their decision to give me up in the first place.
Maybe a little bit of sadness, too, at the years with my brothers that I’ll never get back.
But most of all, though…
As I slide into a seat across from the triplets and watch them shove each other over who gets to sit next to Logan, there’s one feeling that pushes itself to the forefront of my mind: soul-aching relief.
Like a weight that’s crushed me down since I was a kid finally let up, and now I can breathe.
“How old are you?”
I blink, pulled from my thoughts to find all three sets of eyes staring at me. “Uh… thirty.”
Their faces fall in perfect unison.
“He is old,” one of them whispers solemnly.
Sarah scolds him as she sets a plate down in front of her husband. “Zachary, that’s not nice.”
“You gonna eat, Dev?” Joel asks, tipping his chin toward the kitchen counter covered in various dishes.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, pushing my chair back. “Sorry.”
I stand and grab a plate, suddenly hyper aware of every movement I make. Logan and Salem are grabbing food as well, hovering near the stove where my mother has laid everything out.
Salem thanks her stiffly when she hands over the serving spoon, but Sarah’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
There’s a chilly air around them both, and from the way Logan’s jaw tightens as he drizzles gravy over his entire plate, he notices it, too.
Clearly, whatever happened between them last year hasn’t been forgiven.
I just keep my eyes down and take whatever’s offered to me, even if I don’t plan on eating most of it. Logan and Salem are not my mess to clean up. I’ve probably caused enough damage to everyone already trying to deal with my own.
When we make our way back to the table, Joel clears his throat. “Alright,” he says, nodding toward the far end of the table. “Eli, you wanna say grace?”
One of the boys straightens instantly. “I did it last time.”
“Then Gabe.”
Gabe groans dramatically but still folds his hands. “Fine.”
Everyone follows suit. I hesitate for half a second before doing the same, fingers laced together awkwardly. Memories of silent dinners spent with my grandparents run through my head.
“Okay.” Gabe squeezes his eyes shut. “Um. Thank you for the food. And for letting the Ravens win their football game last night.”
Sarah lets out a soft laugh when the other two agree wholeheartedly.
“And for Logan being home,” he adds. “And for… his wife, I can’t remember her name, sorry, and for Devon. Amen.”
My throat tightens slightly as everyone murmurs amen, followed by Logan repeating Salem’s name in reminder. When I open my eyes, my mother is staring at me like she’s trying not to cry again, and I don’t really know what the hell I’m supposed to do with that.
“What were you doing all this time?” one of my little brothers—Zach again—suddenly blurts at me with narrowed eyes. “Were you in jail?”
Logan chokes on his sip of water. “Dude, seriously?”
“That’s enough from you,” Joel warns.
I take a deep breath and open my mouth to answer, or at least try to, but my mother beats me to it.
“Your grandparents raised Devon,” she says, meeting my gaze before addressing her younger sons. “Remember how we talked about Logan being adopted? Well, your grandparents adopted him from us. From your father and me.”
Eli twists his face into a grimace. “But why?”
There’s a brief moment of silence as silverware scrapes on porcelain. I don’t really know what to say, so I poke at the green bean casserole on my plate, feeling nauseous.
Eventually, Joel wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans back in his seat. “We were young when he was born. Your grandma and grandpa agreed to… take care of him for us until we were ready, but life got a little sidetracked.”
It’s not the full truth, but it’s not quite a lie, either. Maybe it’s enough, without mentioning all the ugly details—how my grandparents forced their hand because they were sixteen and unmarried.
The boys seem to accept it anyway.
“Do you have a dog?” Gabe asks around a mouthful of food.
I shake my head and smile. “Sadly, no. But my roommate has a python. And a motorcycle.”
Zachary’s face lights up at that, the little hellion. “Cool,” he declares. “You’re the fun brother.”
Logan takes immediate offense, but an unexpected joy makes me grin.
Across the table, Sarah watches us with a watery smile.
So does Joel as he asks about my life. What I’ve been up to since last year, who I’m seeing, what I do for work.
All questions that only send me further into a spiral, because I don’t know how to answer them. I don’t know if it matters.
Honestly, I don’t know how forgiveness works or how long it’s supposed to take for the ache inside my chest to disappear.
Maybe it never will.
But as my younger brothers talk over one another, trying to convince their parents to get them a snake for their birthday, I start to feel that maybe the ache just became a lighter burden to carry.