Devon

Devon sat in the back of his father’s 1934 Bentley Lagonda tipping back his flask. Empty. Again. Yesterday he’d found solace in the Aston Martin. The day before, the Bugatti. Each day he sat in a different car, with a different bottle of whiskey and tried to hold on to the memories he’d shared with his father in each of the cars. They all belonged to Cara now. But she couldn’t keep Devon from sitting in them. Besides, the garage had become his favorite hiding place.

No one ever went out to the garage. And its eight bays of windows gave Devon the perfect vantage point to see people coming and going from the house—not that Devon wanted to interact with any of them. The only person he wanted to see, he couldn’t. He couldn’t face Sam. Not when he had all this pain in his heart. It was just as well that she’d moved out. She hadn’t given up though. Sam still called and texted every day since his father died. Every message said the same thing. “I’m still here.”

She hadn’t given up on him. And he couldn’t make up his mind if he wanted her to.

Selfishly he wanted to keep Sam forever. But at the same time, Devon loved her too much to do that to her. He was a mess—a giant, broken, disgusting mess. And Sam deserved so much better than that. She deserved the Devon from before. The Devon from the camping trip. The Devon she’d given herself to. Maybe she even deserved someone better than him. But at least that version of himself had been whole and good. This new, broken version only spewed hate and regret and anger.

Devon had never been so mad in his life. Everything made him angry. One second he’d be so furious that he’d trash his room, then the next he’d be in tears for destroying something from his father.

Each day he awoke to a new nightmare. One morning, he’d seen his father in his reflection and wept until he vomited. The next day, he punched the mirror until it shattered and his knuckles were bloody. He was like Jekyll and Hyde. He didn’t trust himself and he wouldn’t allow that monstrous version of himself anywhere near Sam.

Plus, when he thought about Sam, he thought about their night together. And that made him think about his father, and how Devon should have been by his side instead of off selfishly chasing his desires. He didn’t regret his night with Sam, but he couldn’t separate it either. Everything was a furious, confusing mess and so far, drinking was the only thing that helped dull the pain. Devon was lost and broken, but he still knew enough to keep Sam safe. And he wasn’t safe. He wanted Sam to be happy. She deserved that. But Devon would never be able to bring her happiness now.

From his perch on the Bentley, Devon saw Zander pull up in his BMW. Zander had moved into the house after the funeral. At least the bastard had the decency to wait until his father was in the ground, Devon thought viciously as he watched Zander saunter into the house. His house. His father’s house!

Sometimes at night, Devon heard Cara and Zander laughing. Laughing for fuck’s sake! What in the hell was there to laugh about? If Cara had ever loved his father, she wouldn’t be laughing. She would never laugh again. She would be just as destroyed as Devon. But no, she was laughing it up with Zander and planning all the ways they would redecorate his house. Like the first thought in her stupid little head was how fast could she permanently erase Henry from existence?

Devon wished they were dead—Zander and Cara. Why did his father have to die? It wasn’t fair! Henry wouldn’t do something like this to Cara if she had died. He’d probably have erected a statue in her honor. But life wasn’t fair. And Devon was stuck with Cara and no one left who gave a shite about him.

His phone pinged and Devon stared down at a text message.

SAM: I’m still here.

His finger hovered over the reply button. Christ, he missed her.

Devon slid the phone back in his pocket. He couldn’t talk to Sam—perfect, beautiful, Sam. He would just ruin her. And if he did that, he would have nothing left to live for. He was barely hanging on as it was. If he hurt Sam, it would kill him, and he’d probably end up doing the world a favor and killing himself.

I could easily do it, he thought looking around at all the cars in the garage. The room was sealed up tight. It would be easy. Probably only take a matter of minutes . . .

Devon hopped out of the car and quickly exited the garage before he got any other stupid ideas. He just needed another drink. Just something so he could sleep and not think for a while.

* * *

Devon ran into Zander in the hall.

“Jesus! You look like shite, mate,” Zander said. He was blocking Devon’s path to his room.

“Fuck off,” Devon growled.

“I talked to her today,” Zander said, not backing down. “She still asks about you.” He snorted. “Lord knows why?”

“Did you tell her?” Devon asked.

Zander shook his head and Devon felt his rage bubbling up. But then Zander spoke. “Yeah. I told her.”

“Good,” Devon said pushing past Zander to get to his door.

“She cried, mate. She fucking cried.”

Devon stopped. But he didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. Something inside of him was tearing and he couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t ask me to clean up any more of your shite. From now on, if you have something to say to Sam, you say it yourself. It’s been three weeks, mate. It’s time to start picking up the pieces, or someone else will.”

Devon snapped. It happened so fast, he didn’t even feel it at first. It barely registered that he was crushing Zander against the wall by his throat. Words were rushing out of Devon in a hot hissing voice that he didn’t recognize. “If you fucking touch her, I’ll kill you. Do you hear me, Zander. You’re dead!”

But Zander wasn’t phased. He pushed back hard. He was shorter than Devon, but broader, built more like a pro rugby player than any teenager had the right to be. He laughed in Devon’s face. “Oh, so you do care about her, then? Because I wasn’t sure. It seems she’s not sure either.”

“Leave her alone, Zander,” Devon growled. “She’s none of your fucking business.”

“She is my fucking business when she’s crying on my shoulder every day about you. You’ve made her my business, making me deliver messages that you’re not man enough to. Do you know she walks to school every day, crying over you? And you don’t even care. You just sit around feeling sorry for yourself all day.”

Devon felt pain shoot through his hand and Zander stumbled away from him, clutching his nose as blood spurted from it. Devon clutched his fist, realizing he’d punched Zander square in the face.

Zander spit blood as he stumbled down the hall. “She’s too good for you, Dev.”

* * *

Devon lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling. His hand was swollen and throbbing. He hadn’t bothered to get ice for it. He wondered if he broke something. It would serve him right.

Eggsy whined at his feet. Devon rolled off the bed and opened the door, figuring the dog needed to go out. But Eggsy trotted across the hall and paced in circles in front of Sam’s door whining even louder.

“She’s gone!” Devon shouted.

Eggsy flattened his ears and settled on the floor, stretching out like he was prepared to stay there all night.

“She’s not coming back, Eggsy! She left us. Everyone’s left us.”

Eggsy lowered his head sadly and huffed out an obstinate breath.

Devon sunk to the floor too exhausted to care that he was in a pile of dirty clothes, and he cried. He cried for his father, and how much he missed him. He cried for how much he loved Sam and for how scared he was of losing her. He cried for not being man enough to face her. He cried until he couldn’t feel anything at all.