Page 48 of Inseparable
I sigh, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Ayden hasn’t done anything. This is all on Devin.”
“But is it?”
I frown. “What aren’t you saying?”
“Just that you might not have all the facts.”
I sit a little more upright. “Like what? It’s pretty black and white to me, and he’s been with Becky these last seven weeks.” Not that I’m counting or anything.
He cranks out a laugh. “Please don’t tell me you’re buying into that. He hates her.”
My eyebrows climb up to my hairline. “Eh, yeah, I don’t think so.” I’m recalling her loud and very vocal recount in the library of Devin fucking her under the bleachers after school on Wednesday. Unless she’s got him under some hypnotic spell, I’d say Devin likes her enough. Guess there’s no accounting for taste.
I put my popcorn down, feeling a sudden bout of nausea swim up my throat. I shouldn’t care. I’ve got Ayden, and Devin’s made his own bed.
But, unfortunately, I do.
“I don’t know what’s going on, because he still treats me like I’m a little kid, so he doesn’t confide in me, but I’d bet a hundred bucks that she’s forcing him into this.”
“Can we change the subject? The last thing I want to do is spend my Friday night talking about those two.”
“I know he still cares about you. Like, a lot.”
I childishly block my ears. “Stop, Luc. Please, I’m begging you.”
Reluctantly, he nods, redirecting his attention to the TV.
Later, when I’m tucked up in bed, just before I fall asleep, I think back to Devin’s words from the day of the fight. “She was mine, but you took her anyway,” he’d told Ayden.
She. Was. Mine.
I hate the little well of hope that churns inside me at those words.
And I hate the part of myself that’s still craving that.
Massive guilt comes crashing down on me, and I turn over in the bed, squeezing my eyes shut and willing my heart and my head to just get with the program.I’m happy withAyden, and Devin has already proven unworthy of me, so why can’t I evict that stupid notion frommy mind?
I’m woken from sleep sometime in the early hours of the morning to the sound of raised voices outside. Screams and shouts have me flipping the covers off and racing to my balcony to investigate. Brisk chills accost me the second I open the French doors, and I snatch my robe from the top of my dresser, tying it securely around my waist. The shouts are coming from the front of the house, and I can’t see from here, so I run back into the house, toeing my sneakers on at the front door, and tiptoe outside.
The lights on Devin’s truck are fully on, bathing his house in luminous light. The driver side door is open, hanging off the hinges and trailing the ground. I gasp as I spot the massive dent in the side of the truck. The rear fender is mangled and hanging loose. Flooded with nervous adrenaline, I hop over the fence between our houses and race toward the Morgans’ front door. A massive thud is followed by the sound of wood splintering from the rear of the property, so I run around the side of the house toward the backyard. A door slams shut at the back of the house, and all the windows rattle.
I almost trip over the body on the ground. “Oh my God!”
A low moan rings out as the person curls into a fetal position. I drop down on my knees, clamping a hand over my mouth as my eyes widen. “Oh my God! Devin! Are you okay?” Gingerly, I touch his face, panicking when warm liquid trickles between my fingers.
“Ange?” His speech is garbled, and judging by the pungent smell of whiskey in the air, I’m going to hazard a guess that he’s totally smashed. He reaches out a hand, circling my wrist. “Ange?”
“It’s me. Can you stand? Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere,” he whispers. “I hurt everywhere.”
“We need to get him out of here,” a voice says from behind, and I almost jump out of my skin. Lucas’s hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my scream.
“Holy fuck, Luc. You scared the shit out of me.”
He slides his arm under Devin, pulling him up. Devin cusses, cradling his ribs as he wraps his arm around his brother’s shoulders. I prop him up on the other side, and together, we manage to get him into my house.
I flick the lights on in the kitchen and pull out a chair. I burst out crying when the true extent of Devin’s injuries is revealed. His face is covered with blood, his hair matted with the stuff. He’s wearing an open gray button-down shirt with a plain white T-shirt underneath, and both are spattered with blood. One sleeve is ripped. He winces as Lucas lowers him into the chair. Drying my eyes, I dash to the sink, filling a bowl with warm water. “Can you get the first aid kit from the bathroom upstairs, please,” I ask Luc over my shoulder.
