A Deal With the Devil

by Angel Lawson

  And then, nothing.

  I’m trying not to be ‘clingy.’ I might not know a lot about being with boys, but I’ve heard enough from Emory to know that’s not something a girl wants to be. It’s hard, but we’re still an hour away from when we usually meet at the window for a call. That’s what I keep telling myself as I stare at the text on my screen.

  Thanks.

  Suddenly, there’s a text below it, though.

  Warren’s gone.

  I sit up, thumbs flying as I type in a response. The same moment I send it, I get one from him, too.

  Can you come over?

  Can I come over?

  I smile so wide my cheeks actually hurt.

  Yes!

  He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. I spend a moment in the bathroom, making sure my hair doesn’t look stupid, before I hear the subtle sound of his footsteps outside my window.

  He enters quietly, like Firefly slinking though the garden. I smile when I see him look up, but it fades quickly. He’s wearing a senior class shirt with a smirking devil on the front and soft, loose sweats. He looks tired. Hard-edged. Still.

  “Hey,” I say, reluctantly reaching for him. “Are you okay?”

  He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. It’s deep and intense, biting, full of his harsh breath and insistent tongue. The spark in my belly ignites into a disorienting inferno. I grab two handfuls of his shirt and try to meet his fervor, but somehow I suspect that’s not what he needs. This is frustration and anger. Catharsis. Reyn kisses like he’s trying to give something to me, and that’s exactly how I kiss him back. Like I’m accepting it, taking it into myself and packing it away, nice and tidy.

  Just as suddenly as it came, it’s gone.

  He pulls back and sweeps the pad of his thumb against my cheek, all of his hard edges softening. He smiles. “Am now.”

  Still reeling from the kiss, I watch his red lips form the words, but take a second to actually parse them. “And before?”

  His hands slide away, smile falling. “Shitty day.”

  “What happened?”

  He turns, eyes taking in my room. “Started with Fucking Jerry pulling me over on the way to school to ‘check my paperwork’, which made me late as fuck, so Dr. Ross gave me detention. Then that bullshit at lunch with Dewey. And Coach was on a rampage about the detention because it proves I’m not ‘taking the team as a whole into consideration’, which is not fucking true. I’m busting my ass out there for the team.” His jaw clenches. “And don’t even get me started on the food situation over at my house and the fact my father cannot bring home any fucking dinner, but he sure can bring home another chick, and she’s usually closer to my age than his.” His chest rises with a hard sigh, fingers raking through his hair. “Thanks, by the way. For dinner. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I didn’t mind.” I reach for his hand, relieved when his fingers instantly lace with my own. I confess, “I thought you might be mad at me. It felt like maybe you were avoiding me earlier.”

  He sweeps my hair from my shoulder, green eyes tracking the motion. “Would you believe me if I said I was avoiding you so you wouldn’t think I was mad at you?”

  I search his eyes, finding nothing but truth there. “Yes.”

  His forehead creases with a frown. “I don’t play games, V. If I’m mad at you…” His cheek pulls up into a crooked grin. “Well, I wouldn’t be, but if I were, I’d just tell you. That’s sort of how I operate.”

  I nod. The exhaustion and irritation make more sense. “I’m sorry you had a bad day.”

  His face falls. “I didn’t want to dump all my shit on you.”

  “No, dump away,” I insist. “Please?”

  His hand slides up my side, thumb setting just below my breast, and I think he must understand what I’m asking. “I meant it before.” He kisses me again, mouthing against my lips. “With you, I’m good. None of that shit matters.”

  If this is what he needs, I can gladly give it to him. I like knowing that I make him feel good, that I soothe the impulsivity of his fingers and elicit the hard arousal in his pants. I love the rush that he gives me. The way my skin, my nerves, my body blaze beneath his touch. It seems like the past few weeks have been all about things we’ve taken from one another, but there’s also this.

  There’s the give.

  Reyn’s hands move behind my thighs and he lifts me off the ground, my legs latching around his waist. I plant kisses on his neck, tugging the shirt aside to suck on his collarbone. My core heats against his hard, taut belly, craving more. I want so much more—more than I know how to properly express. When he carries me to the bed, I exhale in relief.

  We haven’t talked about it, but I want it.

  I’m ready.

  He lays me on my back and stands over me, staring at me as though I’m already naked. I’m not, I’ve got on a T-shirt and shorts, but my nipples peak under his intense gaze and every inch of my skin pebbles with goosebumps. I remember what I was thinking earlier in the day, about wanting to give him what he likes most, and I spread my thighs, toes curling at the look on his face at the sight of it. He’s caught mid-expression, like he’s trying to decide if he should take what he wants or control himself.

  “Don’t,” I say.

  His forehead furrows at my incoherence. “Don’t?”

  “Don’t control yourself.” I lift up on my elbows and get an eyeful of his long, lean body.

  His lips twist into a dimpled grin as he bends to meet me, voice hot in my ear. “I always knew you were cute, Baby V, I just didn’t realize you’d be this incredibly sexy.”

  Sexy.

  Not pathetic. Not weak. Not broken. Not defective.

  Reynolds McAllister sees the real me, the girl underneath all the history and hurt. A rush runs through me and we reach for one another. He pulls off his shirt and drops it on the floor, giving me the hard expanse of his abs to kiss. His breath sucks in, just as a loud knock bangs on my bedroom door.

  “V,” Emory calls, jiggling the doorknob.

  “Shit,” I say, instinctively pushing Reyn off as I scramble off the bed. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  “V—I need to ask you something.” Again, the knob twists. “Why is your door locked?”

  “Bathroom,” I whisper, shoving Reyn out of the room. He’s already two steps ahead of me though, eyes blank as the door shuts in his face. I cross the room and open the door.

  “What?” I ask this with a perfect façade of calm, as though my heart isn’t about to beat out of my chest.

  Emory assesses me. “Why was your door locked?”

  “Because it’s my room, Emory. Sometimes I want a little privacy.”

  He huffs, like the thought of me expecting a grain of autonomy is downright absurd. I can’t even recall the last time I went into the dungeon he calls a bedroom. He frowns, studying me. “And why are you so sweaty?”

  “I, uh.” Shit. Why? Because your best friend was about to ravage me on my bed, that’s why. Have you seen him shirtless? Logic prevails. “Because I was doing my PT.”

  That seems to appease him. “Well, I thought you’d want to know that I talked to Mom and Dad about Reyn.”

  “Oh,” I try to compose myself a little, furtively straightening my shirt. “About him sitting with us at school and stuff?”

  “Yeah.” Without an invitation, he steps into the room, pushing past me. “I told them things have chilled out a little with everyone and you two were getting along—which they knew, since they invited him and his dad to the football party. I said neither of us wanted him to be excluded at school.”

  “What did they say to that?” I ask, realizing that my bed is completely rumpled, from the foot up. My eyes bug out when they land on Reyn’s shirt, still discarded on the floor. Damn it.

  “They agreed that any kind of social isolation was probably not in his best interest, but most of all, they’re just worried about what you think.”

  I fight a snort. Now the
y’re worried about someone’s social isolation? Where was this concern when I had no friends and sat at home alone all the time? “Did you tell them that I’m okay with it?”

  “I did, but you’ll need to tell them yourself.” His eyes sweep over my room and I shift to block the messed-up bed, foot covertly extended to kick the shirt beneath the dust ruffle. “Hey!”

  “Huh?” Heat spreads up my neck. “What?”

  He reaches down and grabs the shirt, holding it between two hands. “Is this my senior shirt?”

  “Oh, uh, yes.” I nod. “Must have gotten mixed up in the wash.”

  He scowls. “Damn it, V. You know I don’t like it when you steal my shirts.”

  “I’m sorry, seriously. I didn’t realize I had it.”

  He balls the shirt in his hand and continues with our prior conversation. “They think I’m just backing Reyn up because he’s my best friend. No one cares about what I think here.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I agree, nodding. “I can do that. I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” he says. “I can tell he’s struggling a little. This has been a big change for him. Not just school but all the other stuff. Girls, the Devils, Fucking Jerry riding his ass all the time.”

  For some reason I blurt out the one thing my mind held onto, “Girls?”

  He gives me a conspiratorial look. “Yeah, not that he’s told me anything, but there’s a rumor going around that he hooked up with some chick in the library. Plus, he was looking pretty damn satisfied the morning after the bonfire.” He raises an eyebrow. “Did you see him with someone?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “He, uh, walked me home and left. I’m sure Mom told you. It was a short walk.”

  “Right.” He finally moves toward the door. “Well, talk to Mom and Dad tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure. Happy too.”

  He pauses and rests a hand on the door jamb. “All this stuff with him has really sucked. I know if people just let him prove it, they’d see he’s not a bad guy. So thanks, I guess.” He knocks his knuckles into my shoulder. “For giving him another chance.”

  I feel my face soften. “Yeah, of course.”

  He knocks on the door jamb before pushing away. “Night, V.”

  “Night, Em.”

  When he’s left, I press my ear against the wood, not moving until I hear the soft click of his own door down the hall. I relock my door and pad to the bathroom, swinging the door open.

  Reyn is standing at the counter, his back is to me. All I see are the muscles spread across his broad shoulders, that wide swath of dark scarring that always makes my own itch.

  I say, “He found your shirt, but luckily, he decided it was his shirt, so we’re all good. I mean, you’re out a shirt, but…” I sigh, eyes dropping to my feet as I admit, “It’s hard deflecting him, especially when he’s trying to do all this nice stuff. I hate lying.”

  That’s when I notice the jewelry box open in front of him. The velvet pouch is in Reyn’s hand, a small pile of pills gathered in his palm. My breath catches in my throat, our gazes meeting in the mirror’s reflection.

  “Do you?” he asks, turning to face me. “Hate lying?”

  I swallow heavily, all the blood draining from my face. Even now, just seeing the pills makes my heart skip a beat.

  “You told me you weren’t taking pills anymore.” His voice is low and flat, those green eyes watching me, searching. “For the record? This is me, being mad at you.”

  “I haven’t been.” The lie is heavy. Stupid. “I’m not—I’m not using. Those are just old.” My mind runs frantically, latching onto the first thing it sees. Apparently, that’s indignation. “And what are you doing digging through my stuff, anyway? Feeling impulsive? Trying to steal my things now? Is nothing off limits?”

  His fist closes around the pills and he crosses his arms over his chest. “I was poking around, sure. But only because I was stuck in here.” His green eyes bore into mine. “I wasn’t going to take anything.”

  “And I’m not using anymore.” Bitterness coats my tongue at the thread of anger in my voice. I exhale slowly, measured, trying to rein it in. “But, when you first got back, I’d had myself weaned down to two pills a day. Even that was…” I laugh miserably, looking away. “Such a fucking struggle, you have no idea, Reyn. Then we fell asleep that night at your house, and we started hanging out more, and we kissed, and now we’re…” I swallow. “We’re doing whatever this is. And it’s been… good. It feels good. It’s easier to do it now—to just stay away from it. Being with you makes my…”

  “Your what?” he prompts when I stumble. His eyes are less harsh and he’s listening. Thank god he’s listening.

  “It makes my craving for it almost like background noise. Honestly, I haven’t even thought about them until just now. It’s been a while.”

  “But you were before?”

  I beg him with my eyes to understand. “That night we recorded our confessions, I knew Emory would flip out, and he did. He lost it when we got home. But I was down to two, Reyn, and I know you don’t get it—how big of a deal that already was, but it’s true. Emory wouldn’t have seen that for what it was, either. I just needed some more time to step myself down to nothing, and I got it. I’m done with it now.”

  He watches me closely then holds out his hand, revealing the pills. With his other hand, he opens the toilet lid. “Then toss them.”

  The request hurts. It’s scary, the thought of not having them here like a life preserver—just in case. But the thought of losing Reyn over something stupid like this? I take the pills and drop them into the water. “There—happy?”

  “Is that all of them?” he asks, catching my gaze. “Are there more in your room?”

  I pause, thinking of how he’ll look at me when I begin pulling pills from my desk drawer. My shoeboxes. My purses. My nightstand. The lipstick tube he’d stolen back for me, all those weeks ago.

  “No,” I lie. “That’s it. No more. I’m telling you, I’m done.”

  I’ll get rid of the others later.

  He closes the gap between us, tucking me into the curve of his body. I mold gratefully against his chest. “I’m just worried about you,” he says into my hair. “That shit is scary, V. I can’t stand the thought of you doing that to yourself.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have tossed them before.” Tears prick at my eyes and I cling to him, panic gripping a tight fist around my heart. “Please don’t leave me.”

  “What?” He pulls back and touches my chin, tilting it up for our eyes to meet. His eyes sharpen in alarm at the look on my face. “Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t know.” The tears flow now and I’m powerless to stop them. “But I’ve spent so much time alone, I don’t know if I can do it again.”

  “Hey, no, that’s not—” He tips forward to press a gentle, lingering kiss against my lips. “No.”

  I sigh in relief, but cling harder. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry for going through your things. Sometimes, when things get bad, I just—I want to say I can’t help it, but that’d be a lie.” He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear and cups my face. “I get it, bad habits are hard to break. I’m not exactly a saint here. But if shit gets hard, you can tell me, okay? I’m not going to bail.”

  “You, too,” I say, leaning into the touch. “When things get hard, when you feel like you need to take things, you can tell me.”

  His lips meet mine a second time, and it feels like a promise. An absolution. An understanding that we both have these demons inside of us, and they’re always right over our shoulders, waiting for that perfect moment to twist us up.

  For the first time, I feel like I may truly not be alone.

  24

  Reyn

  “Put both feet on the ledge, crouch.” I whisper, keeping a sharp eye toward the road, “Sit, and then you’ll just ease off. I’ll catch you.”

  I peer up at Vandy, positioning herself on the side of the sma
ll overhang under her window. When it came time to get out of the house for the fourth rite, V wanted to legit sneak out. Now that we’re here, I see the fear in her eyes.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I say, hating that spark of terror in her eyes. “You can go back. Tell your mom Sydney is having some kind of crisis, and just get Emory to drive you to the school.”

  “No,” she says with a determinedly set jaw, “I want to do this on my own, the right way.”

  I’m not sure she knows what that means, but everything we do is backwards, so I get it.

  “Then jump.” I shift on the ground beneath her, holding out my arms. “I’ll catch you.”

  She wiggles forward, until she’s almost dangling. She peers over the edge, eyes widening. “What if I fall and I can’t walk, and I won’t have any explanation when—”

  “Come on, baby, look at me.” I make sure I look like I’m patiently waiting, but patient is the last thing I feel. If her dad comes out here, or if Jerry drives by, I’m fucked. I wait until her apprehensive eyes meet mine to say, “I promise I won’t let that happen. You’ve got this. Remember the fence?”

  She sucks in a shuddering breath and I see when she finally crosses that line, eyes clenching closed. Despite everything I just said, I still feel this sharp spike of panic when she releases her grip, pitching forward and falling.

  I lunge, catching her with both arms, body folding quietly around hers.

  Her face is still tightly scrunched, bracing for impact. “Did I hit the ground?”

  “Nope.”

  She opens her eyes and looks up at me, face smoothing into a soft, relieved smile. “Thank you.”

  I ease her feet to the ground, hands on her hips, making sure she’s steady. “They don’t call me a wide receiver for nothing. Catching stuff is my job.”

  Her head tilts. “Did you just call me wide?”

  “If I’m calling you anything,” I press a kiss to the tip of her nose, “it’s beautiful.”