Daisies & Devin

by Kelsey Kingsley

  “You do know it’s going to cost you a ridiculous amount of money to make this happen, right?” he pointed out, putting his knowledge of construction and real estate to use. “I mean, buying the place, renovating, inventory and—”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” I said, not wanting to mention the savings account my parents and I had been working on for years. “I have the money, or I will when this happens, and it’s going to be awesome. I want it to be a hangout for creative misfits and guys who think they’re the love child of Kurt Cobain and John Mayer.”

  “Hey, fuck you!” he shouted around a throaty laugh.

  “I never said it was a bad thing,” I defended. “Anyway, that’s what I’m going to do, and I want you there.”

  “Well, let’s hope you pull it off,” he said, nodding. “because you know I’d be there every single day.”

  I didn’t doubt it.

  ♪

  We pulled into the parking lot of the Mansfield Hollow Park. After parking the truck, Dev grabbed his guitar from the backseat. He turned to me, flashing me a quick wiggle of his eyebrows in his smooth, confident way, and climbed out. I opened my door, hung my feet over the edge of the seat and eyed the ground below me. It didn’t seem that far in the darkness, and I moved to step down, gauging if I wanted to take that leap. Before I could make any brave decisions though, Dev was at my side, his arm wrapped around my waist.

  “I really don’t want you planting your face to the ground tonight, okay?” he said, curling his lips into a smug smile, as I hooked one arm around his neck.

  “Always the hero,” I grumbled.

  “Hey, if I wasn’t here, you’d have a busted nose right now,” he said, and as he lowered me effortlessly to the ground, I had to wonder: Where would I be if it weren’t for him?

  The past year had been the worst I could remember, with my dad and the severity of his sickness: the cocaine addiction. He had checked into rehab for the fourth time in my life and spent three months under strict supervision, with little contact to the outside world. No daisies came to my dorm for twelve, whole, miserable weeks, and I relied on Devin a lot.

  I never talked to him about the darkness in my life, afraid of what could happen if he found out. How he’d react. So, I never told him about my mom’s undying love for a man who couldn’t shake the devil off his shoulder, or my unwillingness to see him as anything other than the man who loved me unconditionally, despite it all.

  But, I still called him a lot, needing the distraction of his friendship and his presence. Needing to hear him play his guitar and sing. Because, when Devin sang, he went somewhere else and he took me with him. Somewhere far away, where the only emotions running rampant were pure and good and affectionate. I fed on that, and on those nights where my mind was filled with worry and longing for a life I could never have, I craved it. Him and his music.

  But this was a good day.

  I had daisies, and I had Devin.

  We walked out to the lake and sat on the grassy bank, facing darkness and the mystery of the other side. The moon cast little light on us, not doing much to guide Devin’s fingers to the frets he needed. It didn’t matter, he could play blind, never needing to watch his fingers, and he cleared his throat.

  I looked up to the sky, to the glow of the moon, and in a whisper, I recited, “’For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams, of the beautiful Annabel Lee.’”

  “’And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes, of the beautiful Annabel Lee,’” Devin continued in a rasped tone that sent the soda in my stomach swirling, and I looked back to him.

  “You’ve been reading Poe?”

  He shrugged. “Just a little.”

  And that was another thing about Devin, another thing that made it impossible to believe he was single. His attention to all the details and the effort he put in.

  I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, and I was wishing that things were different.

  He coughed and cleared his throat. “So, uh … this one is called ‘Edge of a Blue Existence,’”his silhouetted hands positioned on the neck of his old guitar.

  “Ooh, I like the title,” I said, rubbing my hands together with anticipation. “What’s it about?”

  “Like I’d tell you,” he teased, chuckling.

  “Oh, it’s a secret song. Must be about a girl,” I countered, jabbing him with my elbow. Maybe he wasn’t as single as I thought.

  “Must be,” he grumbled. “Now, shut up or I’m not playing it.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  The light from the moon was enough to see the shape of his hand strumming up and down over the strings. Enough to see his chin tip toward his chest and his forehead crumple. Enough to see the gentle back-and-forth sway of his body in time with the music.

  It was a slow song, seasoned with emotion, and as his whispered voice competed with the hushed noises of the night, my mouth fell open with a gasp.

  I must be a fan of torture,

  Of punishment and such.

  But I’ve never been the type of man,

  To ever fall in love.

  I sing about it, I play about it,

  But if I’m in, I’m lost.

  But to say it, to really say it,

  I’m scared I’ll suffer the cost.

  Not quite there, not quite here,

  The distance is stifling,

  While being so near,

  On the edge of a blue existence.

  But as long as I’m here,

  As long as you’re here,

  I’d keep from falling,

  Keep myself stalling,

  To catch a glimpse,

  Of that blue existence.

  Yeah, I might be a loser,

  But I know she could do worse.

  I also know I’m terrified,

  And that would be a first.

  So, I’m not quite there, not quite here,

  The distance is stifling,

  While being so near,

  On the edge of a blue existence.

  But as long as I’m here,

  As long as you’re here,

  I’d keep from falling,

  Keep myself stalling,

  To catch a glimpse,

  Of that blue existence.

  I’ve lost my cool,

  Lost all control.

  Lost all my desire to play.

  I’ve given up,

  I’ve been taken down,

  And I just want to stay …

  Not quite there, not quite here,

  The distance is stifling,

  While being so near,

  On the edge of a blue existence.

  But as long as I’m here,

  As long as you’re here,

  I’d keep from falling,

  Keep myself stalling,

  To catch a glimpse,

  Of that blue existence.

  I saw the nervous bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he straightened his neck. His eyes fixed on the lake, not daring to look my way, and the tightening in my chest could only be explained by the atmosphere thick with emotion.

  “Who is she?” I asked, ignoring the quivering of my lips.

  He turned to me, the moon reflecting in the whites of his eyes. “It’s a song, KJ,” he said grinning. “But you bought it, right? It sounds real?”

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to take in the sight of him in the darkness, trying to see if he was pulling my leg. “What I’m not buying is that it’s not real.”

  He shrugged. “Do you think Gordon Lightfoot really knew what it was like to sail on the Edmond Fitzgerald?”

  I cocked my head. “What?”

  “Or that Michael Jackson was really fighting for his life in a killer thriller?”

  My groan shook my entire body. “You’re just refusing to admit that you have a crush on someone, even though you had no problem calling me earlier to tell me you took a massive shit in the Porta Potty at work.”

  Devin broke out in a bubbly laugh,
throwing his head back. “Oh my God, it was so fucking funny Kylie! You should’ve seen the look on Pop’s face when he went in there and got a whiff—”

  “I really don’t need to hear the story again,” I said, shaking my head, unable to keep the giggles at bay. “What I’m saying is, I can handle it if you want to spend your time with a, uh, girlfriend.”

  That part was a lie.

  “KJ,” he said, his laughter quelling. He leaned toward me, the wavy ends of his shaggy brown hair brushing lightly against the orange strands of mine. His brown eyes melted into my blues and his intense stare pinned me down, leaving me incapable of turning away. “I swear, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  The moment hung in the summer air as a gnawing swelled in the pit of my stomach. He didn’t move. I didn’t move. We sat there—hair touching hair, gaze holding gaze—and the anxiety rolled over me in waves. It was the unmistakable whispering of intuition, telling me something was about to happen. Something that could either be good or bad, depending entirely on which side that proverbial coin landed on, and I swallowed at the irritating dryness of my throat.

  Devin’s eyes hooded, shifting his gaze toward my lips. Involuntarily, they parted, feeling instantly chapped and annoying, and I quickly flicked my tongue out. Wetting the bottom, wetting the top. Devin’s eyebrows raised just a bit, my mouth closed and I swallowed.

  I was panicking and my palms were sweating. My brain was urging my body to move the fuck away from him, back the fuck up, don’t allow a song in the moonlight to ruin the perfect thing I had with my best friend, friend, FRIEND.

  But there was also that nagging little thing about guys and girls being friends: it was hard and it was so hard to ignore when we were both unattached. When he looked the way he did, when he paid attention to all those little details.

  “De—”

  His cellphone rang loudly from his pocket, and our trance was broken. He reeled himself back, pushing his fingers through his hair.

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” he chanted before he could even reach his hand into his pocket. Shaking his head and berating himself for … what, exactly?

  He pulled the phone out, read the glowing window on the front and flipped it open to put it to his ear. Glaring at me all the while with a despair that even the shadows couldn’t hide.

  “Yeah?” he asked irritably. I heard the hurried rambling on the other line, but was unable to decipher the words. Devin pinched the bridge of his nose, breaking out into a reluctant grin. “Fuck. Yeah, okay … we’ll head back … I know dude, I just—yeah, okay. Later.”

  And he snapped the phone shut, and sighed. “I abandoned Trent,” he said sheepishly.

  My palms flew to cover my face. Why was I embarrassed, like we had been caught doing something we weren’t supposed to? “Oh God, we’re assholes.”

  “Well, in our defense, I kind of thought Trent would’ve spent the night,” he said.

  I cringed. “I really don’t want to think about your cousin walking around naked in my dorm. Brooke’s other, um, conquests haven’t exactly been modest.”

  “Nasty,” he agreed, wrinkling his nose.

  He placed his guitar into its case, the lyrics of his song ringing in my head against the buzz of the zipper sliding into place. Our moment suddenly felt like it never happened at all, except I knew better. It did happen, and I wasn’t sure it should go ignored. Because what if it meant something, what if it …

  “Dev.” My tone was urgent.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing at me as he stuffed his pick into his pocket.

  “I’m just thinking,” I said with a meek voice, stunted by a powerful moment.

  “About what?”

  I clenched my trembling fists, determined to be honest and asked, “What would’ve happened just now if Trent hadn’t called?”

  I was afraid to look up at him, scared to know what he might have been feeling in that moment. Embarrassment? Shame? I would have hated to see his regret, but when I thought about the alternatives—affection, love, longing … My heart skipped several beats and the shallow puffs of air passing through my nose to my lungs tripped over themselves.

  “Oh.” He uttered the tiny word as one of his hands pushed into his hair, tousling the waves and leaving them wrecked as he dropped his hand back to his lap. “Nothing.”

  “Really?” I asked doubtfully. “Because, um … I kind of thought …”

  “You shouldn’t do that,” he said, pointing a finger at my face. “You’re overanalyzing and turning things into something they’re not.”

  I looked up to him. The moonlight still didn’t provide much, but I could see the casual demeanor of his features. The carefree smile that pulled at his lips. Overanalyzing … the word ran a circuit around my head, and I exhaled with understanding.

  I had imagined the whole thing. There was no moment. There was only Devin, being his usual innocently flirty self. There was only me, floating on the lyrics and the melody, feeling good in the way I always did with his music.

  I had seen what I wanted to see.

  ♪

  “Where did you guys go?” Brooke asked, lounging on the couch, wearing a smile she couldn’t wipe away even if she tried. “God, Trent is such a good kisser.”

  I knew this. She’d already told me six times in twenty minutes. “We went for a drive, and Devin played me a new song.”

  “Where?”

  “By the lake,” I offered and regretted it immediately as she sat upright, her eyes opening wide.

  “People make out by the lake,” she said like a high schooler talking about the hottest spots to get felt up. “Did you guys make out?”

  “God no,” I shot at her, and there was that gnawing in my stomach again. The pangs of disappointment against my heart. “Anyway, I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She bid me a good night with a slight wave as I grabbed the vase of daisies and headed into my room, sinking further with every step taken. I placed the etched crystal on the bedside table and flopped onto my bed. Staring at the ceiling, gripping my hands over my chest.

  I’d done such a good job for so long, guarding my heart and keeping the boys away. Afraid of being hurt, of being judged. But I never counted on meeting someone with a presence so large, he practically forced his way in.

  Now, the only way I could protect myself was to keep him at arm’s length and pray that with enough time, it would get easier to ignore the way my heart sang to the tune of his name.

  CHAPTER THREE

  2007

  Devin

  The phone was ringing, and my eyes reluctantly opened to the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock.

  It was 3AM.

  Immediately I bolted upright, knowing it must be Kylie. She did this sometimes—the late-night calls, the moments of sadness she wouldn’t explain. I never pried, assuming she’d tell me eventually, and so I settled for simply being there for her. Taking comfort in knowing that she needed me.

  Trent thought she took advantage of me, and maybe he was right. Maybe she was using me and maybe I was a pushover for allowing it, but my gut told me that wasn’t it. My gut said she truly just needed the arms of someone who wouldn’t dig their fingers in and pry her open.

  I grabbed the phone from the bedside table and yanked it from its charger. The wire snapped back against the wall of my bedroom and I flipped the phone open before my eyes had a chance to focus on the Caller ID.

  “Hello? Kylie?”

  “Devin?” It was a female’s voice, but it wasn’t her.

  “Brooke? Why are you—"

  “Something’s wrong with Kylie. Like, really wrong Dev.”

  My throat was sucked of moisture and my tongue swelled. I swallowed frantically, imagining every possible scenario given the vagueness of her words.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, jumping out of bed and grabbing my discarded jeans from the floor. I held the phone between my ear and shoulder as I pulled them on.

 
“Sh-she’s in her room, and she, um … she’s crying a lot. She threw some things, I think, or maybe, um … maybe she pushed stuff over? I don’t know.”

  I stuffed my feet into my work boots. “Brooke, did something happen?” I asked impatiently, as I grabbed my keys from the dresser and left my room, walking through my dark apartment and to the door.

  “Well, she was out for a long time today …”

  “Uh-huh, and?” I locked the door behind me and walked with purpose down the hall to the stairs.

  “When she got back to the dorm, she didn’t say anything to me or Trent, but she looked really upset.”

  “Okay, anything else?” I encouraged her to go on as I ran down the two flights of stairs, jumping down the last few to save those extra two seconds.

  “Uh, just that a little while later, I heard her phone ring, and I wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying, because Trent and I were, uh … well, you know.” I groaned with a roll of my eyes as I pushed the outside door open and ran down the walkway to the parking lot. “Anyway, shit went to hell after that.”

  Eloquently put. “Have you gone into her room?”

  “I can’t. The door is locked.”

  “Where’s Trent?” I opened the truck’s door and got in. I tried to put the key in the ignition, missed. Tried again, another miss. My fucking hands. They were shaking and useless, and I gritted my teeth as I smacked my palm against the steering wheel. “Fuck!”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I growled, angry with myself as I finally got the key in and turned. “Where the hell is Trent, Brooke?”

  “He’s, uh … he’s right here.”

  “Put him on.”

  There was a shuffling on the other end as I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, heading toward UConn.

  “Dev.” Trent’s tone was short. Concerned. “She’s really flipping out in there. Your girlfriend’s insane.”

  The teasing had been going on for two years and normally I took it in stride, but now wasn’t the fucking time. “Shut the fuck up asshole. Why aren’t either of you trying to see what’s wrong?”