When it beeps, I draw my head back and watch as my father looks at the numbers, eyebrows scrunched together. Confusion twists his face as if he just can’t believe the machine or he can’t believe how I could fool it in his mind.
“Well?” My mother demands. “What does it say, Reuban?”
“Zero,” he says loudly. “She doesn’t have a single ounce of alcohol of any kind in her.”
“But she smells—”
“I already told you, an ass spilled it on me,” I cut my mother off, my lips wobbling as I force sobs back. “Anything else?”
“I found coke in your bedroom,” Devon states flatly.
I blink at him. “What?”
“Coke. Cocaine. Ice. Or whatever it’s called, I don’t know. I found it in your bedroom. I flushed it down the toilet.”
I stare at him in aghast. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Devon glares at me and descends the steps of the porch, jaw tight as he approaches me. He’s a head taller, and when he’s angry, he seems like a fucking giant. So, when he towers over me, I instantly cower. Devon isn’t one for anger. Owen, I can handle. Devon? Not a damn chance.
“I found it in your fucking room.”
I shake my head vigorously. “That wasn’t mine. I haven’t even been home—”
“Don’t lie,” Devon growls and jabs a finger into my chest, but the unshed tears I see this close give him away. “Just tell the truth, Gracie. Tell the truth so we can get you help again.”
I square my shoulders, raising my chin. “I am not on drugs, and I am not drinking again,” I tell him loudly, so my parents to hear clearly as well. “It wasn’t mine.”
“It was in your room!” he bellows, and I shrink back again. “Just fucking admit it.”
I feel the crack or at least what I imagine is my insides cracking. I know I did a lot of shit in my past. I know I put everyone through bullshit. I know things I did were wrong. I lied and stole and didn’t care. But I care now. I care so damn much, and I have been trying so fucking hard. I will not allow anyone, not even Devon or Owen, to force me to take the blame for something that isn’t mine.
I stand straight up and step toward Devon, whose eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He takes a step back. “I didn’t,” I say calmly. “It’s not mine. The whiskey wasn’t mine. I am fucking sober. You can accuse me all you want, everybody can, but I know the truth. I do!” I scream.
This time, he doesn’t say anything as I spin on my heel and storm off. I hear my name called, but exactly by who I don’t know. I don’t care right now. Maybe I’m not thinking too straight at the moment. Maybe I should’ve grabbed my purse, but I won’t have anyone accusing me of shit I didn’t do.
I get it; I do. Don’t get me wrong, I know exactly why no one believes me, and I understand it, but for fuck’s sake – just one damn time, I want someone to believe me.
And what the hell was Devon doing in my room anyway? That’s my room, my private quarters. That cocaine, though. It wasn’t mine. What the hell was it doing in my room?
A blaring horn turns my head around, and the shine of headlights throws my hands over my eyes as I stagger back before it comes to a stop feet from me. As the driver's window rolls down, I turn to keep walking in a completely different direction with no real destination in sight.
“Gracie, get the fuck in,” Devon demands, a plea in his voice.
I flip him off and hear him groan. After a moment, the rumbling engine cuts, darkness swirls around me again, and the car door slam tells me he’s gotten out to follow on foot. I keep walking, pretending I didn’t hear shit. Until he grabs my wrist and spins me around, that is. His free hand cups my face, and his lips press against mine. My body and heart betray my want to run, and I fall prey to the kiss. I break it quickly, though, and wiggle out of his grasp, which isn’t hard as he isn’t holding me hostage.
“Leave me alone, Devon.”
“Were you keeping the cocaine in case you did relapse?” he asks.
I stop, and for a moment, I linger before facing him. “It’s not mine,” I repeat, my voice cracking. “It really isn’t. I didn’t buy it, put it there, or anything else. I want to be sober, Devon. I really, truly want to be sober. I haven’t wanted something so bad since I wanted to just live after I got shot.”
He’s silent for a moment and then looks over his shoulder before looking back at me. “Get in the car, and we can talk. Please.”
Chapter31
Devon
Iwait until Gracie is buckled up to say anything. I don’t move the car; not yet. We need to talk first, and then we can go. To be safe, though, I flick the locks into place. I know well enough it won’t entirely stop her; she’s got a button on her door as well, but at least it’ll stall her long enough for me to grab at her if I need to.