He knew that, damn it. But she'd left them all the same.
Suddenly, he remembered the sensation of his mother's arms around him, the scent of her: lemon verbena. Remembered the way she sang to him at night. It hadn't all been bad. In fact, while she'd been there, loving them both, it had been pretty damn good. And now he was going to turn his back on the one woman to offer him love, to offer that kind of feminine comfort. And why? Because his father was an asshole who had shut down after his mom died. And had raised him to be the same kind of asshole. Maybe he didn't need to be that anymore. Maybe Devin was
already teaching him that he could be different, if only he was smart
enough to pay attention. He pulled over in front of a thrift store, the
colorful window display a sharp contrast to the empty, foggy morning,
to the panicked desolation he felt inside. He pulled out his cell and dialed her number.
She 'd taken the elevator back up to her apartment
made herself a cup of tea to warm her ice-cold hands, her aching and frozen heart. Now she stood by the window, looking out, but seeing nothing, trying to stop shaking. When her phone rang the sharp sound made her jump, her tea splashing on the hardwood floor. She pulled her cell from her jeans pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Devin.”
“Shaye?” Her heart tumbled in her chest.
“I need to talk to you.”
His voice was commanding again, certain. She did her best to prevent her voice from quavering as it wanted to.
“Yes, I need to talk to you, too.”
“I'm coming. Wait there for me. Will you do that?”
She gathered her strength around her, felt the sensation of her body filling up with it. And oddly enough, she drew even more from him. From Shaye. “Yes. I'll wait. But not forever.” “You have every right to be pissed at me. Furious. I understand that. And I'm going to try to get this all straightened out. Just. . . wait for me. I'll be there as soon as I can.”
Twenty long, nerve-wracking minutes passed before she heard his knock on her door. When she opened it, the first thing she noticed was the torn expression on his face. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to make him feel better, to make herself feel better. But she needed to hear what he had to say for himself first. She tucked her hands in her pockets and stood back. “Come in.”
He closed the door behind him, stalked over to the sofa but didn't sit down. He stood and stared at her, his eyes dark and so full of emotion she wanted to cry again. Strong. Be strong.
Finally, he dropped his head, took in a deep, sighing breath, then raised his eyes to hers, locked there.
“I had no idea this would be so hard.”
She took a step toward him. “What?”
“Being with you. Being with anyone. It's always been easy for me.
Just have my fun, then move on. But I can't live like that anymore.” “What do you mean?” Her pulse was racing, her blood hot and thick in her veins.
He ran a hand through his short thatch of hair. “Fuck it, Devin. I love you. I'm in love with you.”
Tears rose, clogged her throat. All she could do was shake her head, all strength draining out of her in a warm rush of longing. “I know. It's insane. We hardly know each other. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm finally feeling something, for the first time since my mom died. And it's because of you.” In two long strides he was across the room. He held her arms.
“You're shaking, Devin. Say something.”
She had to take a deep, gasping breath before she could speak. “Please don't say this unless you mean it, Shaye. Don't say this unless it means you're going to stay with me. I can't take it.” “Jesus. I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you again.” He paused, tightened his grip on her arms. “Do you love me, Devin?” His eyes were absolutely blazing.
She nodded her head slowly. “Yes. I love you. Goddamn it, you know I do!” With that admission came her strength, flooding
Suddenly, he remembered the sensation of his mother's arms around him, the scent of her: lemon verbena. Remembered the way she sang to him at night. It hadn't all been bad. In fact, while she'd been there, loving them both, it had been pretty damn good. And now he was going to turn his back on the one woman to offer him love, to offer that kind of feminine comfort. And why? Because his father was an asshole who had shut down after his mom died. And had raised him to be the same kind of asshole. Maybe he didn't need to be that anymore. Maybe Devin was
already teaching him that he could be different, if only he was smart
enough to pay attention. He pulled over in front of a thrift store, the
colorful window display a sharp contrast to the empty, foggy morning,
to the panicked desolation he felt inside. He pulled out his cell and dialed her number.
She 'd taken the elevator back up to her apartment
made herself a cup of tea to warm her ice-cold hands, her aching and frozen heart. Now she stood by the window, looking out, but seeing nothing, trying to stop shaking. When her phone rang the sharp sound made her jump, her tea splashing on the hardwood floor. She pulled her cell from her jeans pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Devin.”
“Shaye?” Her heart tumbled in her chest.
“I need to talk to you.”
His voice was commanding again, certain. She did her best to prevent her voice from quavering as it wanted to.
“Yes, I need to talk to you, too.”
“I'm coming. Wait there for me. Will you do that?”
She gathered her strength around her, felt the sensation of her body filling up with it. And oddly enough, she drew even more from him. From Shaye. “Yes. I'll wait. But not forever.” “You have every right to be pissed at me. Furious. I understand that. And I'm going to try to get this all straightened out. Just. . . wait for me. I'll be there as soon as I can.”
Twenty long, nerve-wracking minutes passed before she heard his knock on her door. When she opened it, the first thing she noticed was the torn expression on his face. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to make him feel better, to make herself feel better. But she needed to hear what he had to say for himself first. She tucked her hands in her pockets and stood back. “Come in.”
He closed the door behind him, stalked over to the sofa but didn't sit down. He stood and stared at her, his eyes dark and so full of emotion she wanted to cry again. Strong. Be strong.
Finally, he dropped his head, took in a deep, sighing breath, then raised his eyes to hers, locked there.
“I had no idea this would be so hard.”
She took a step toward him. “What?”
“Being with you. Being with anyone. It's always been easy for me.
Just have my fun, then move on. But I can't live like that anymore.” “What do you mean?” Her pulse was racing, her blood hot and thick in her veins.
He ran a hand through his short thatch of hair. “Fuck it, Devin. I love you. I'm in love with you.”
Tears rose, clogged her throat. All she could do was shake her head, all strength draining out of her in a warm rush of longing. “I know. It's insane. We hardly know each other. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm finally feeling something, for the first time since my mom died. And it's because of you.” In two long strides he was across the room. He held her arms.
“You're shaking, Devin. Say something.”
She had to take a deep, gasping breath before she could speak. “Please don't say this unless you mean it, Shaye. Don't say this unless it means you're going to stay with me. I can't take it.” “Jesus. I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you again.” He paused, tightened his grip on her arms. “Do you love me, Devin?” His eyes were absolutely blazing.
She nodded her head slowly. “Yes. I love you. Goddamn it, you know I do!” With that admission came her strength, flooding
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