“I’m not,” he cuts Devon off bluntly. “I’m just a friend, and I wouldn’t dare think of putting Gracie in harm’s way.”
I grimace. There it is again –my name.
The air grows stagnant, nobody daring to say a word or make a sound. These situations are always the most awkward of them all. When you are drunk or high, making conversation is the absolute easiest because it’s always utter and complete bullshit. Sober, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, let alone say.
“All right,” Devon finally speaks, shaking off the odd situation, and releases his grip upon me as he points to the door. “You can leave now.”
The golden-haired man blinks, the movement seeming to jerk him out of whatever daze he was in, and he moves back towards the door. He’s slow, hesitant, as if he really doesn’t want to go. The flickering of his eyes between Devon and me says it all. He looks almost desperate for one of us to invite him to stay. Stay for what, though? At this point, it would simply be going to bed, and that is it.
I’m almost tempted to ask him, though.
Until I remember that I don’t know his name.
After a moment that feels excruciatingly long, he leaves, pulling the door closed with a snap behind him, and no goodbye. No goodnight. I have a feeling this isn’t going to be the last time we see him. First, because I doubt that he’s leaving for good. Second, because I need to know his name. I can’t explain it, but the clawing desire to know is practically ripping my insides open at this point.
“Gracie,” Devon starts on me, his voice tight.
My gaze snaps to him and then to Kate, who is staring right at him, eyes narrowed, daring him to keep going. I press my lips together, trying to warn him with one look. Apparently, it works better than I could have hoped because Devon merely turns sharply and drops his gaze to Kate.
Clearing his throat, Devon huffs out a breath of air, and throws his arms up in defeat. “You know what, I don’t even know anymore.” With that, he storms off to his room and slams the door.
Both Kate and I jump at the sound. She shakes her head, reaching up to drag her fingers through her hair. “He really loves you, you know.”
Her words drop my jaw, stunting my ability to talk. Realizing I’m just standing there looking like a complete buffoon, I slam my mouth shut, teeth clacking together, and pull myself together. “What?”
She smiles sadly at me, shoulders drooping in defeat. Even the corners of her eyes are tugged downwards. “Devon. He really loves you. You scared him to the death the last time you ended up in the hospital when you overdosed. He was a wreck. Like, a physically ill wreck. He’s always making sure you’re okay.” She slides off the couch and rounds it, my breath held as I wait for her to advance on me. “Between you and I, he has that locator thing on his phone to keep an eye on you when you aren’t around. He’s always checking it if you aren’t home.”
I stare at her. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I can’t admit shit to her to possibly confirm whatever she’s thinking. I also can’t comment because if I do, I’m just going to look like a pining ex-girlfriend.
“But it hurts him, and I hate seeing him hurt. You’ve caused him so much pain,” she steps closer, lowering her voice. “You’ve hurt him so many times, you know. You’ve even hurt Owen. Now, there’s nothing I can do regarding Owen, but Devon is mine.” There it is, the slap in the face. “You need to stop hanging around, lingering. Living here, basically. It’s actually really sad. Living with both of your ex-boyfriends, who are best friends, by the way, and tell each other everything. They’re practically brothers at this point. You’re so sad, Gracie. You literally are clinging to a past you fucked up and can never get back. How do you not see that?”
When her words are done exploding from her lips, I open mine to say something but only the sound of choking emerges. My shoulders drop, and I clamp my mouth shut again, unable to defend myself. What is there to defend anyway? She isn’t wrong. I’m mourning relationships I can never get back. Iampathetic.
Kate shakes her head and turns on her heel, following Devon to his room. Getting to the door, she stops and lingers for a moment before turning to face me, jaw set tight as she glowers. My stomach twists. She’s the nice one. Her eyes are stone-cold, and it slashes a dagger through my heart.
“You need to figure out what you want to do with your life, Gracie. Because you’re going nowhere right now, and you’re dragging the guys down with you.”
I flinch, nodding in agreement, but she doesn’t notice as she turns and slips into the bedroom. The door isn’t slammed this time, but it may as well have been. The prickling of oncoming tears poke at the corners of my eyes, and I blink rapidly to push them back. My ears pick up on the sound of muffled voices, one a deep baritone that tells me Devon is trying to speak out in frustration. I feel lousy all over again. Why had I ever agreed to live with them?
I snivel and pull at my damp shirt, turning away from the door of the bedroom and glancing around. I’m alone. Which tells me that Owen is gone. Owen always gets random hours, twelve of them at a time. The life of a cop is wild, and he does a lot of overnight shifts at that. My eyes flicker towards the fridge. Devon drinks, but not excessively. It takes him weeks to get through one six-pack, but he always has a few in the fridge at a time. It probably isn’t a good idea, I don’t think I’m stable enough to have them around me, but I’m not a bitch who would order him not to drink or to force him to hide his drinking. It does help a little, though, to keep myself steeled, knowing I can be around them. I know it’s only a couple or at a time, but it’s enough to keep my interest and push me to want to stay sober. A reminder.
I feel my feet moving before I can even consciously think about it. Before I can take in what I’m doing, my fingers curl around the refrigerator's handle and tug it open. It squeals as I pull it open, and my eyes drop instantly to the three beers still sitting in their holsters. Right smack in the front.
My fingers tighten, my teeth clenching tightly together.
The shrill of my phone draws my attention away and to the table where I’d left it earlier. Snapping the door shut, I cross the floor to my phone, and scoop it up, sliding the green arrow over.
“Daddy?” My voice cracks.
“Gracie. Gracie, Owen called – are you all right?”
I look over my shoulder at the fridge, the alcohol within singing my name. I grip tighter to my phone. “No. No, I’m not. I want to drink, and I don’t want to.”
“I’m coming over. Just – just sit tight until I get there, all right?”
I nod even though he can’t see me and hang up, sitting my phone down before sinking into one of the kitchen chairs, my nails tapping against the screen erratically, my eyes on the refrigerator.
Chapter8