I didn’t know how to say all of that, when I was afraid I’d pop her bubble of happiness. The one she had waited so long to find.
“I can’t tell you,” I replied honestly, regretfully, and she sighed.
“Can’t, or don’t want to?”
Sniffling softly, I said, “I don’t want to.”
“Kylie, hon … there’s nothing you can say that will hurt me.”
I sighed, gazing up at the ceiling. “I caught him smoking weed, and I just … I don’t know, I just …” Those words felt weird and cumbersome on my lips. Big and awkward, like they didn’t quite fit in my mouth and I couldn’t spit out how I felt, or why it bothered me so much.
But I didn’t need to. “I see,” Mom said quietly. “Honey … that’s not what makes someone addicted. You do know that, right?”
My eyelids pinched shut, blacking my vision from the bright ceiling. “I know that, but it scares me. Everything is changing, he’s changing, and—"
“Kylie, you’ve wanted this for him for a very long time,” she reminded me.
“I know that!” I shouted into the phone. “And I still do, but I wanted it for him and his music. I just don’t think I recognize either of them anymore.”
“So, what? You gave up on him?”
That stung. “I didn’t give up, Mom.”
“Yes, you did. You didn’t like what was happening and so, you gave up.” Her tone was harsh and very unlike the way the conversation had started. “You want to know how I did it, Kylie? You want to know how I let your father go?”
I couldn’t respond, but she didn’t make me.
“I didn’t. I didn’t give up on him, because I loved him. I didn’t leave him, because I loved him. I stuck it out, even when maybe I shouldn’t have, because I loved him.” She was adamant and firm. Each word struck me and each word pulled another tear from my eye. “I loved your father, Kylie.”
Then I blurted out, “Do you love Richard?”
Mom sighed. She hesitated, then said, “I do.” And there it was; my mom was in love with another man. I knew it, since that night we first met him. The night when he changed Devin’s world. It wasn’t even about seeing them together, but I could feel it. It pulsed from them like an aura. “I love him differently, Kylie,” she continued, needing to justify herself. It was the guilt, I guess; the guilt of moving on. “It’s not any better, or any worse—it’s different.”
“I get it, Mom,” I said gently, nodding at the ceiling.
“Are you okay with that?”
“Come on, Mom; you don’t need my permission.”
She let out a little laugh. “I’m not asking for your permission, but I’d still like to know if you’re okay with it.”
I closed my eyes and searched for that sliver of pain inside me, insisting that the world would end, if my mom felt something deeply for another man. I scoured my heart, every bloody vessel and vein and was startled to come up empty. Nothing but acceptance, and with that came a new kind of ache. The pain of letting go.
“Of course I’m okay, Mom,” I said as another tear worked its way over my cheek. “You deserve to be happy.”
Silence met my ear and I wished she’d say something, just to keep those tears from flowing into my pillow with the distraction of words. But she stayed silent, until I asked if she was still there and then she replied, “Yeah, honey, I’m here. I’m just relieved to hear you say that. And you know, you’re right; I do deserve to be happy. So do you.”
And then, there was the guilt of walking away.
♪
Three.
That was the number of times I tried calling him after my phone call with my mom. I eventually got the point and gave up, just as Brooke rounded the coffee shop’s counter, with her bag slung over her shoulder.
“Still no answer?” she asked, looking at the phone in my hand.
I shook my head.
A couple of weeks ago, I had confessed the whole thing to her and Trent—the truth of the trip, the changes, the fight. After years of holding in the pain from anybody but Devin, I’d finally had enough.
They were confident that things would work themselves out, but I had shaken my head, playing the martyr. Yet, deep down, I hoped they were right, but now? My hope was running out.
“He’ll call,” she said encouragingly.
“Or he won’t,” I offered with a small smile.
Trent cleared his throat from the table he sat at and Brooke announced, “Okay, I guess we’ll get out of here.” She flashed me a concerned look. “Ky, you’re sure you don’t want to go out with us tonight?” she asked, the reminder of her engagement, glinting away on her ring finger.
I nodded, picking up a rag to wipe down the wood until it shone dark and clean under the dim lighting. “Yeah, I’m sure. I might just go home and watch a movie or something.”
Trent threw his hands into the air. “Whoa, watch out! Wild night going down over at your place! Might have to stop by with some Yahtzee later on.”
“Ha-ha,” I said with a dramatic roll of my eyes.
Brooke reached out to playfully flip the ends of my hair around her fingers. “Okay, if you’re sure, but you know, I’m worried about you. You haven’t done anything but come to work and hang out in that freakin’ apartment for the past few weeks and I just don’t think it’s healthy.”
She was worrying about me too much, forgetting that I had already been to hell and back. I could do it again.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Or, I will be.”
She sighed, looking back to Trent. “Should I be worried?”
“Babe, if she says she’s fine, she’s fine,” he confirmed, nodding. “Although, I don’t know how the hell you could even pretend to get over Devin. There’s no moving on from perfection. It runs in the family.”
With another roll of my eyes, I stuffed the rag into my back pocket. “Get out of here. You’re going to miss your reservation. Bring me a piece of cake or something.”
Brooke pulled her coat over her shoulders and stepped under Trent’s arm. “Okay, but you promise to call if you feel even the tiniest bit lonely? I’ll come right over.”
“Oh my God,” I groaned, throwing my head back. “I promise, okay? Now, get the hell out of here.”
After a few more protests, Trent eventually coaxed her from the shop and I was alone with all of my dead poets. I thought about my absolute favorite poem from Edgar Allan Poe, Annabel Lee. The tragedy of love after death, after letting go. One line filtered through my melancholic mind as I rounded the counter to box up the leftover pastries.
“‘We loved with a love that was more than love,’” I recited to the empty room and to Mr. Poe, sitting on the shelf some feet away from where I stood. My lip trembled with the words, because dammit, I knew how that felt. To love so deeply, it surpassed physical connection and spoken confirmation. And I had thrown it away out of fear and the need for self-preservation.
“But Annabel Lee was dead,” I said, reminding myself that it wasn’t the same. Devin wasn’t gone. He was out there, now traveling to Texas for a show in Dallas, and although he wasn’t answering his phone, I wondered if maybe he was waiting for someone to save him. Just as he’d saved me more times than I could count.
“I need to go to him,” I decided, making up my mind and chasing away the residuals of poetry and sadness. Just like that. It was the only thing I could do, to make myself okay and to make sure he was too.
I walked into the store room, to put the pastries in the freezer before heading home and packing a bag, when the bell above the door chimed and I groaned.
It was always my luck that a customer showed up just as I was finishing up for the day. That was the curse of owning a store, I’d convinced myself over the years, and I stuffed the box hastily into the freezer, shutting the door. I wiped my hands on my apron, holding tight to my plans of finding him as soon as I could, and I pressed my palms to the door.
And then, there came the strumming of guitar stri
ngs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Three Hours Earlier
Devin
I didn’t have a plan when I landed in Providence and I kicked myself on the hour-long cab ride back to River Canyon.
Because when you fly approximately 1,400 miles over the span of eight hours, with two layovers in less than desirable airports, solely to win back the girl, you should really have a fucking plan.
I asked the driver to drop me off at the apartment, instead of Black & Brewed. I spotted my truck in the parking lot, right where I’d left it a little over a month and a half ago and immediately craved the freedom of being behind the wheel. I reached into my pocket for the keys and then smacked my forehead, remembering I had left said keys at home.
“Fucking hell,” I groaned, because the keys to my truck were also connected with the keys to the apartment. I could just see them, hanging on that little hook next to the door, and I shook my head.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone. The battery meter read that I was left with a whopping 2% after the long flight and car ride. I grumbled under my breath all about what fantastic luck I was having as I dialed Brooke’s number and prayed to the cellphone gods that I wouldn’t be left without a phone.
“De—”
“Are you at B&B?” I hissed, keeping my voice low.
“Uh, yeah, D—”
“Do not say my fucking name,” I warned, enunciating every word to ensure she realized just how serious I was.
“O-kay,” she drawled, mocking me with her tone and I heard the passing of voices and a door close. “I’m in the bathroom. What’s up and why are you calling me?”
“Listen to me carefully. My phone is two minutes away from dying. I need you to get away from the store and bring me keys, okay?”
“Keys? Any keys?”
“Yes, Brooke. Any fucking keys. Surprise me,” I deadpanned around a groan, shoving a hand through my hair. “The keys to my fucking house!”
“What? You’re home?”
“I’ll talk to you when you get here. My phone is going to fucking die. Hurry up. Oh, and don’t tell anyone I called.” I hung up before she could respond and hoped to God she’d actually deliver on my request as my phone alerted me of its demise.
♪
The first thing she said after getting out of her car was, “Ugh, I hate your hair.” The spare key she had to the apartment dangled from one finger and I snatched it from her before I gave her the chance to jump on me.
“Jesus Christ,” she said, arms around my neck and my arms around her waist. “I’ve fucking missed you, you asshole.”
“I’ve missed you too.” I let go and hurried for the door. “Come on, I need my car keys.”
Together, we climbed the stairs to the apartment and I opened the door to the scent of girly candles and perfume. I sighed. It smelled like her, and it was going to kill me not to bury my face in her pillow.
“So, are you going to tell me why you’re not on tour?” Brooke asked, as I sat on the floor to hug Eddie.
“Oh God, I’ve missed you, buddy,” I said, nuzzling my face against the squirming black ball of mush. His sandpaper tongue raked over my cheek and I had to resist the urge to do the same as I looked over my shoulder at her. “We canceled it.”
Looking immediately taken aback, she gave her head a little shake. “Canceled it? Why the hell would you do that?”
I reluctantly stood up, much to Eddie’s dismay and I walked into the living room to find my guitar. It wasn’t where I usually kept it and instead I immediately found it on the couch. I took a glance into our bedroom, noting that my pillow wasn’t in its place, but on Kylie’s side of the bed instead. It held an hourglass shape, as though someone had kept their arms around it, and I found myself torn between wanting to smile and wanting to beat my head against the wall.
She never should’ve been allowed to sleep alone.
“Are you going to answer me?” Brooke asked impatiently.
“It’s not what I wanted,” I said simply, before stepping into the room to grab some clean clothes.
She appeared at the door, arms crossed. “What does that mean?”
“It means, I’m not sure I want anything that keeps me from being here.”
Her features softened and her palm pressed to her chest. “You gave up your dream for her?”
“Oh my God,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “What is it with the two of you? I already did.”
“And you’ve done it again,” she clarified, and I shrugged. “Oh God, Devin, why the hell are you so perfect?”
“Okay, before you get excited, I’m not giving music up entirely. Richard and I are going to work something out, but in the meantime, I’m going to keep things low-key.”
She nodded as her eyes grew misty. “You’re still perfect. I mean, fuck … I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Yeah, yeah … you should get back before Kylie gets suspicious,” I warned.
Brooke rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Dev. I leave work all the time to meet up with Trent. I’ll just tell her I had to stop off at a worksite to get a quickie.”
My face screwed up with disgust. “What? You guys do that shit?”
She nodded adamantly. “Oh yeah. We’ve been doing it for years,” and then she laughed. “Oh my God, get it? Doing it, for years?”
“Yeah, you’re hilarious,” I said with a sigh. “Now, please, go. She’s going to start questioning shit.”
“Okay, fine, I’m out of here,” she said and turned to leave the room.
“Oh, hey, Brooke?”
She looked over her shoulder with a light smile. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for bringing the key.”
She nodded. “Thanks for being a good guy, and good luck.”
♪
“Ms. Scott!” I exclaimed, approaching the receptionist’s desk at the nursing home.
Startled, she looked up from her crossword puzzle and then, a miracle happened.
The woman smiled.
It looked painful and horribly unnatural, but holy hell, the woman was actually smiling.
“Mr. O’Leary,” she said with a small nod of acknowledgement.
“You missed me,” I said, pointing over the counter at her, and she shrugged, tipping her head toward one shoulder.
“It hasn’t been the same around here, I’ll give you that much.”
My grin hurt. “I’ll take what I can get.”
“How’s your girlfriend?” she asked, handing me the clipboard to sign in.
“Well, since you’re now smiling in my presence, I guess I can be honest and say, I think we broke up,” I said, scribbling my name across the sheet. “But don’t you worry, Ms. Scott. I’m going to get her back.”
“You’re persistent,” she said in her usual monotone, and I nodded, pointing again.
“Damn straight, Ms. Scott. Some would call it crazy and obsessive, but you have a knack for seeing the good in everything. I can tell.” Her smile faded and that straight-lipped glare was back. “Ah, there’s the gal I know and love. I knew you were in there somewhere.”
“God help that girl,” she grumbled, shaking her head.
“Yeah, well, God help me if she turns me down,” I said, equally solemn, and her stern lines softened.
“She’d be crazy if she does,” she said gently. Then, clearing her throat, she looked back to her crossword puzzle. “Your grandfather is in the game room.”
“Of course he is,” I said, drumming my exit against the counter and I took a step back before heading down the hallway, scented with ammonia and age.
Remembering how long it had been since I walked that hall, made the guilt course through my bloodstream. I wasn’t a selfish man—never had been—but those months since meeting Richard had made me unrecognizable to myself.
I found I didn’t like me very much anymore.
One of the nurses spotted me and her jaw dropped. “Oh my God, Devin!”
There were t
hings I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to hear again, and my name, spoken as though I were more important than the Pope, was one of them. My spine locked and my feet froze as I turned to her, immediately expecting her to rush forward with a demand for an autograph, or a request to spend the night with me. But instead, she reached out, touching her hand to the elbow of Billy’s jacket, and smiled genuinely.
“It’s so good to see you again. Your grandpa has missed you a lot.”
Fuck, to be treated like a normal person … it blocked my throat with the strength of my happiness and I coughed, nodding. “Yeah, I bet.”
“He’ll be so glad to see you,” she said, smiling again before tending to another patient I recognized, but who no longer recognized me.
A lot can happen in just a short period of time. I knew that now.
I turned into the game room and spotted Billy immediately. Not in front of the chess board, but stationed at the television, cane clutched between his weathered hands. Approaching him, I considered surprising him, and then, I thought better of it. Giving the old man a heart attack wasn’t something I wanted on my conscience, so instead, I pulled up a chair beside him and sat down. I waited for him to acknowledge me, and when he did … well, shit.
His dulled eyes widened and sparkled as he let the cane go, letting it clatter to the floor. One hand came up to press against my cheek. “Devin! You’re back!”
“Yeah, Grandpa,” I said, and his hand rounded to the back of my neck.
Pulling me closer, he pressed his forehead against mine and pat my cheek with his opposite hand. “I’ve missed you so much, kid.”
Reciprocating, I pressed both hands to his cheeks and nodded. “I missed you too. But don’t worry—I’m not leaving again for a while.”
“Got it out of your system for now?” he asked, hesitantly pulling away, composing himself.
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