by Laura Kaye
Almost holding her breath, she crossed to the kitchen. Coffee would make everything a lot less confusing. The first thing she noticed was the plastic carton from the strawberries on the kitchen counter. Her father hated strawberries, so Evan never made anything with them when he handled meals. So who’d eaten them?
Devlin? Her imagination provided a picture of big, dark, hard-edged Devlin eating a strawberry, his lips wrapping around the redness, his tongue swiping at the juice, and her brain absolutely scrambled. Or maybe that was just proof she really needed some coffee.
Soon, the pot was brewing and the rich fragrance of the French roast filled the air. Just the smell dispelled some of the fog in her brain, which made her realize that she was starving. With them sleeping in the next room, she didn’t want to make a bunch of noise cooking, so she poured herself a bowl of cereal, fixed her coffee, and ate at the table as the morning light finally brightened the room.
As she ate, she couldn’t stop shaking her foot. The more she satisfied the physical need for food, the more her mind focused on the other things stressing her out—how to get her father to agree with leaving, where to take him, whether Devlin’s father would actually come here, what he would do if he did, and what returning to Aeolus’s with Devlin actually meant. Questions popped one after the other into her mind, and she really didn’t have the answers for any of them.
When she was done eating, she settled her bowl and mug in the sink and peeked into the living room again. They were still asleep. And she was still mind-boggled.
Her gaze lingered over Devlin—from the way his long black hair fell across his eyes, to the bulge of his biceps under the cotton of the shirt, to the ripped jeans he’d worn the night before. How the heck had he dried them after the shower? She couldn’t begin to imagine.
What she did know was that, if she’d thought Devlin could be tender and gentle before, the fact that he was allowing her father to sleep against him like that—a man Devlin didn’t even know—proved it. And endeared him to her all the more.
The memory of Devlin calling himself a wretched waste flashed through her mind. As did what he’d said about himself last night—that he didn’t deserve her, that he wasn’t good for her, that he, himself, wasn’t good. Standing there watching him sleep, Anna’s heart ached for him. Why did he believe those things about himself when absolutely none of it was true? The possible answers to that question intensified the ache in her chest. She resolved at that very moment that before this day was over, she was going to tell him how wrong he was. About all of it.
As if her thoughts had conjured him into consciousness, Devlin’s eyes blinked open and settled on her as though he’d known right where she’d been standing. His gaze slid to her father, then back to her. Emotions she wasn’t sure she was correctly identifying slid over his expression in quick succession, but one thing she definitely recognized was discomfort.
Anna crossed the living room to him and knelt by his knee. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “What happened?”
Uncertainty. She recognized that emotion, too. “I didn’t mean to wake him,” Devlin said, his low voice gravelly and so damn sexy.
“It’s okay,” she said, shaking her head. “I—”
Her father shifted. Licked his lips. Blinked open his eyes. “Michael!” he called out. Anna barely had time to react to that when her dad looked toward Devlin, grasped his arm, and said, “Oh, thank God, I didn’t dream you. My son.” He leaned his forehead against Devlin’s shoulder.
A roar of confusion and emotion filled Anna’s ears as she dragged her gaze from her father’s relieved and almost content expression to Devlin’s look of mortification. He actually blushed.
“Um, Dad—”
“Can you believe it, Anna? Can you believe our Michael’s back?” her father said, such happiness on his face.
She was like a cartoon character being hit over the head with a two-by-four. She was so stunned the world wobbled in front of her eyes. Her dad thought…Devlin was Michael? Yet he was lucid enough to call her by her own name—something that happened less and less these days.
“Uh…” she said, unable to manage a response yet. For a moment, she studied Devlin—not the man, sitting there so visibly uncomfortable she felt bad for him, but his features. His hair and eyes were darker than Michael’s had been—she and her brother had always been complete opposites in their coloring, her pale where he’d been dark. And he was a good bit taller. And Michael never wore his hair long. All that meant Anna had never noticed any similarity. But she supposed, in the broadest sense of both men having dark hair and eyes and being tall, she could see how her dad, in his Alzheimer’s-riddled brain, had made the leap that Devlin was Michael. Add in a heaping spoonful of grief and missing him and it made even more sense. In a totally crazy way. “Yeah, Dad,” she finally managed.
“Um, Dad, if you don’t mind,” Devlin said, his gaze flickering to Anna’s and then away again, as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to see her reaction to what he was saying. “I’m going to freshen up, and then Anna and I had something we wanted to talk to you about.”
Worry crept into her dad’s eyes, but he nodded. “Of course, Mikey,” he said, using a nickname Anna hadn’t heard in years. Her heart squeezed for how much Dad obviously needed Devlin to be Michael—and for the fact that when Devlin inevitably went away, Dad would lose his “son” all over again.
Devlin gave her father’s hand a squeeze and rose without looking at Anna, and then he crossed to the hallway and headed upstairs.
Anna forced a smile as she looked at her dad. “Want some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” he said with a smile. Between the politeness and the eye contact and happy demeanor, it was like having her old dad—her before dad—back again. Devlin had done that—through his kindness and tolerance and patience, he’d given her the gift of a moment with the father who knew who she was and, at the same time, her father the gift of a moment without grief for the loss of a child.
“Okay,” she said, pushing to her feet. She returned to the kitchen before he had the chance to see the tears filling her eyes. “Want some cereal, too?”
He came through the doorway, and she had to force herself not to gape. When was the last time he’d gotten up from sitting without her having to cajole him into the movement? For that matter, when was the last time he’d sat anywhere besides his recliner? “Sure, honey, that sounds good.” He kissed her on the cheek.
Anna dashed away a stray tear. As he crossed to the table, she busied her hands with fixing his coffee and his breakfast. “So, um, when did you see Michael?”
“Last night. Heard him raiding the fridge,” he said with a laugh. “Boy always did have a bottomless stomach.”
The pressure building up inside Anna’s chest made it hard to breathe. “Yeah,” she said, hoping he didn’t pick up on the way the tightness in her throat strained her voice. “Here you go,” she said, sitting his breakfast down in front of him.
“Thanks. You not eating?”
“Oh, uh, I already ate.” She returned the milk to the fridge.
“How are the urban gardens paintings going?” he asked, digging into his bowl.
She frowned and met his open, interested gaze, and all the while her brain was trying to figure out— “Oh.” Oh my God. She’d worked on that series of paintings six years ago. Heart sprinting inside her chest, Anna held back the pain rising within her long enough to squeak out an answer. “Um, really great.”
“I’d love to see them, when you’re ready.”
How long had she yearned for him to take an interest in her work again, as he always used to do? “Of course. Be right back,” she said, thumbing toward the doorway. He saluted her with his spoon and took another bite. Anna darted out of the kitchen and almost crashed into Evan in the living room. “Sorry,” she said.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head. If she opened her mouth, she was going to lose it. And she really
didn’t want to do that within earshot of Dad. “You sure?”
She nodded.
“Uh, I need to tell you something.”
“About Michael?” she asked.
“Oh. Yeah. Guess you already know.” The expression on his face was all sympathetic understanding, and it added to the pressure sitting on her chest and squeezing her throat.
“Yeah. Stay with him, ’kay?” She squeezed Evan’s arm and pushed past him, making a beeline for her bedroom. Once inside, she slid down the closed door and buried her face in her knees. Tears fell. And she didn’t try to stop them. Between everything that’d happened yesterday and this, it was all too much. Her body felt too small to hold all this emotion inside, as if she might break apart at the seams if she didn’t find a way to release it.
She just needed to hide from the world for a minute while she screwed her head back on straight.
“Anna?” came Devlin’s voice from the direction of the bathroom.
She lifted her face— The room was pitch black. As in middle of a cloudy, moonless night black. In fact, it was so dark that it even swallowed the light that should’ve been coming in from the windows. Unease prickled down her spine. “Oh, God. What’s happening?”
A hand fell on her knee as if Devlin had knelt in front of her. “This is you, Anna. Somehow, you’ve shrouded the room in darkness.”
“Me?” she whispered. “I…I…”
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s like before. Concentrate on restoring the light.” His thumb stroked reassuringly, the touch warm through the denim.
Like before. Right. Restore the light. Nothing. In her mind, she latched onto one of a thousand memories of her bedroom in the early-morning light. Restore the light, damnit! Throw back this darkness. She gave a hard mental push that had her fisting her hands against her legs.
The light returned. Not all at once, like the last time when the lightbulbs flashed back on. But incrementally, like a sunrise captured on time-lapse photography. Within just a couple of seconds, the room went from black to gray to light again. And Devlin was right there with her.
“That was me?” she whispered.
“That was you.”
Her stomach flip-flopped, making her regret having eaten. “I’ve never been able to do this stuff before. Or at least, I couldn’t command it, and I wasn’t aware that I was doing it if I was. Why is it happening now?”
Devlin shook his head. “I don’t know.” He withdrew his hand from her knee and dropped his gaze to her shins. “Listen, Anna. About your dad. He just assumed, and I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t mean to deceive him,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Devlin,” she said, grasping his hand and pulling it onto her knees again. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
His gaze remained lowered.
“Hey, please look at me.”
Slowly, he raised his eyes. For the life of her, Anna couldn’t understand why his expression resembled that of a kid who knew he’d done something wrong—and gotten caught. It was all the more incongruous for the fact that he was a freaking god. Given the way he’d described his father, though, it seemed pretty likely that he was also a god who’d been ill-treated. Maybe even abused. Between the scars all over his body, his lack of trust, his feelings of being worthless and damaged, and the way he flinched at the possibility of being touched, she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that was true.
“You did absolutely nothing wrong. You can’t help that he mistook you for my brother. And, frankly, I can’t thank you enough for going along with it. He doesn’t respond well when his memory and other lapses are corrected. It’s very jarring and upsetting to him. So you were incredibly gracious to humor him.”
Devlin’s gaze dropped somewhere between them again.
“Help me up, please?” She squeezed his hand.
He rose, pulling her to her feet as he did.
“Sit,” she said, pointing to the unmade bed. Devlin frowned, but perched on the edge of her mattress. Anna stood between his knees, able to look him in the eyes this way. She debated exactly what to say for a long moment, and then she decided to let him have some input into the decision. “How much truth can you handle?”
Tilting his head, his gaze narrowed, but then his lips twitched. “Depends on the day.”
His words tempted a small smile. “How’s today looking?”
The left corner of his mouth lifted, just the smallest bit. “I’m not sure yet. Just say what you want to say.”
“Okay.” She stepped even closer. “Can I hold your hands while I talk?” The debate was clear on his face, but then he slipped both of his big hands into hers. She held onto him tight. “What you did with my dad? You gave him a gift. And you gave me a gift, too. Because whatever joy you brought him by reuniting him with his ‘son’ has brought my dad back to me, too. It won’t last. I know that. But for this morning, he knows who I am. He knows me for me, Devlin. That happens so rarely anymore. You made that happen.”
His jaw ticked and his struggle to maintain eye contact was clear. It hurt her heart. “I didn’t do anything, Anna—”
“Yes, you did. You were kind and generous and compassionate. I know it must not have been easy to deal with him when he first saw you. God, I can only imagine. And to let him sit so close to you. And sleep next to you. I know none of that was easy for you, Devlin. But you did it out of the goodness of your heart, and I—”
“No,” he said, pulling his hands free and crossing his arms over his chest. “I have no such thing.”
Anna threaded her fingers between his forearms and his sternum. “Oh my God, Devlin. Yes, you do. I don’t know what’s happened to you in your life, but I know it’s something bad. And I’m telling you right now, you didn’t deserve—”
“Move,” he said, pushing off the mattress.
Heart slamming against her breastbone, Anna stepped in front of him. “No. You are a good person, Devlin. Whoever told you otherwise was wrong. And a monster.”
He stepped to the other side, a storm rolling in across his expression. “Stop.”
She blocked him again. And the fact that he wasn’t using his greater strength to force her out of the way when he could’ve easily done so proved the point yet again. “I won’t stop telling you that you’re good. And worthy of love. And deserving of good things and good people and good treatment.”
Sparks of electricity flickered all around him. “Anna, stop—”
“Why? Why should I stop telling you how glad I am I met you? Or that I like you? Or that I admire the things you said about fighting your father? Or that I regret we were interrupted last night because I wanted—still want—to make love with you? How ’bout that?”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip just shy of painful. “Because you’re a fool for thinking any of that,” he exploded.
Anna deflected the hurt that threatened at his words and his tone. Her gut told her it was all a defensive measure. And he still hadn’t just stormed past her. Hell, couldn’t he just disappear if he wanted? She nailed him with a stare.
“No, I’m not. I’m not. I’m right.”
His expression, the cast of his eyes, the strain in his muscles—she was holding him right on the edge of his tolerance, and she knew it. No doubt no one had ever pushed at him like this, either. If the awkwardness and tension between him and the other gods was any indication, it didn’t appear they’d ever sat him down and tried to work through any of this.
“Am I a good person, Devlin?”
Confusion flashed across his face, and he gave a sharp, single nod. “Yes.”
“How do you know?” She laid her hands gently on his chest. “How do you know?” she said softly.
“Because…” Under her hands, his heart moved faster than a hummingbird’s wings. He licked his lips, confusion and uncertainty flashing across his expression. “Because…you took care of me and worried about me and didn’t hurt me even when you were angry.” Light flared from behind shiny eyes. “
And you fed me. And you were kind. Accepting. Gentle.” He shook his head. “I know what you’re doing.”
She smoothed her hands upward, over his chest and his neck, to hold his square jaw in her hands. Stroking her thumbs over his cheeks, she said, “Last night, you took care of me like no one has since I was a child. I am the one who takes care of others, but I haven’t had anyone take care of me in years. And you worried about me. And you got upset, but you didn’t hurt me.”
“Anna,” he whispered.
She smiled, but her heart was absolutely throbbing for the pain Devlin radiated, a pain that someone had clearly spent a long time hammering into him. Maybe even literally, judging by all the scars on his body. “You fed me, Devlin. You were kind to me and my father. Accepting of my magic, like again just now, when no one else in my life would’ve been, and accepting of my father’s misunderstanding, too. And despite the fact that you fear your roughness, you are really so gentle.”
He closed his eyes. For a moment, his body became translucent and his skin felt lighter under her touch. The bed was visible through him, and then he was back again. Like he’d fought the urge to run away, and won.
“I can use all the same ways of identifying goodness in you that you used with me. Every last one.” When he didn’t respond right away, she pushed onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
Devlin sucked in a great breath and threw his arms around her shoulders, crushing her to his chest. He buried his face in her hair and whispered her name over and over. “Anna. Anna.”
Relief and affection flowed through her so hard and so much that it took her breath away. She threaded her arms around his neck and held him back. He…was he shaking? “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
She wasn’t sure how long they stood there like that, with his tall frame bent down around hers, but she didn’t care. Right at that moment, he was the most important person in her life and he needed her more than anyone else. And she intended to be there for him as much as he’d let her.
That thought led her to another. I’m…oh, man…I’m falling for him.