His fingers tighten around my arm, but he ignores my question. “There's no other choice.”

“Okay. Fine. While you’re at it, why don’t you bring in all the other women you’ve been with, too? Maybe we can bond over the size of your dick.” I shake off his hand and walk to the bathroom. I take off my shirt, which was the only item of clothing I had on, and turn on the water for the shower. I take my sweet time, knowing that when I walk out Devon will be gone.


DEVON

I find Hayley sitting on the floor in front of my room, wearing the same clothes she did the day before, all wrinkled. She looks tired, there's no glow to her cheeks like there usually is, and her blonde hair is a mess. I'm guessing she slept here, or something. Or didn't sleep at all.

I sit down next to her, not saying anything. By now, my anger has subsided. If anything, I know it was directed at the wrong person. I'm the one who fucked up; she didn't lie to Leighton.

“I'm sorry about last night,” she says. “And for everything.” She looks at me when she says the last part.

I take her hand in mine and squeeze. I'm the one who's supposed to say sorry.

“Sometimes when I look at you, I still see that thirteen-year-old boy sitting in front of my father's office.” She sighs, letting go of my hand. I get a flashback of a little blonde girl with pigtails sitting next to me, and offering me her chocolate. She looked like an angel sent from heaven when my world was falling apart. “You were so lost. I wanted to make things right for you even back then.”

“I know.” I find it hard to swallow. “It’s me who has to apologize. I used you.”

“Eh, you're not the only one to blame. I always wondered what it would be like between the two us.” She leans her head on my shoulder. “So, will you tell me what’s going on?”

“It's a long story,” I say after a couple of minutes. It's not that I don't trust her, or anything like that. I just feel like what happened between Leighton and me isn't something I want to share. Not just with her, but with anyone.

She waits another beat for me to continue. When I say nothing else, she moves to sit across from me, putting her hands on my knees. “Long enough to love her?”

I hang my head in shame.

“You've lost so much, Devon,” she finally says. “And you've said it yourself, you're almost there. You can't let her get in the way.”

My head snaps up at her words. “Hales. All my life I've worked for this. You, of all people, should know I'd never let anything get in the way of that.”

“Would you, though? Even—” She looks toward the end of the hallway, then whispers, “—even Leighton?"

I think of Leighton, last night, a year ago, all those years ago. I've hated her far longer than I've loved her. I've hated myself for wanting her, then I've hated us both for loving her. It seems everything about her is just . . . hate.

“Even her.”

* * *

“Nice of you to join us,” Stevie says when I enter my uncle's office. Frank's eyes follow me curiously as I approach the desk and sit in one of the two empty chairs. I ignore him.

“I've had something to do.”

“Or someone,” Stevie says, laughing. I still, trying not to panic. How the fuck does he know what I did last night? Nobody saw me go to her room. We weren't even that loud, we never are. He slaps me on the shoulder like he does every time he approves of something I do. I look at Frank to find him still watching me, studying me. He drums his fingers on the table, and if I didn't know better I'd think he was nervous.

When Stevie sees my expression, which is probably guilty as hell, he laughs again. “Is that the Fletcher girl's car in the driveway? Mac’s kid?”

I relax. He thinks I was with Hayley last night. “Yeah.”

My uncle's fingers still drill the table.

“Been seein' a lot of her lately. She spend the night?”

“Yeah.” It's not a lie, technically.

“You two back together or what?” the nosey bastard asks.

Finally, I look at Stevie. “What's with the interrogation? Do you want to know about my sex life? Not getting any at home?” I ask harshly.

He lifts his hands up in a calming gesture. “Easy, boy.” Then he slaps me again on the shoulder. “Just sayin', good pick. Would be good to officially have a DA in the family.” He turns to my uncle. “Right?”

“Right,” my uncle says, but his attention is on his computer screen.

“So,” he says to me, his eyes still on the screen, “we've only lost one shipment this month. That's good.” He nods approvingly.

He might as well have patted me on the head. That's how I feel.

He glances at me quickly. “Do you know what happened out there?”

I'm about to open my mouth to tell him everything when Stevie says, “It was one of the fucking Moore men.”

Frank looks at me, asking for confirmation. “Yeah, he admitted to working for Keith. Stevie was there.”

“I expect you handled that?” This directed at me.

“He did.” Stevie answers for me again, imitating a gunshot with his fingers.

“Speaking of Keith,” Frank says, abandoning his computer. He leans his elbows on the table, connecting his palms. “Did you speak to George?”

“George, yeah,” I say. “He can arrange the meeting at one of the warehouses.”

“I don't like it,” Stevie says suddenly. We both look at him. “I don't like it,” he repeats. “It should be on their turf.”

“We don't want to start a war,” I tell him calmly, hoping he understands what I'm trying to say. I turn back to Frank, dismissing Stevie. “I think it's ideal. We'll say we want to discuss handing over the warehouse control. You know they’ve wanted it, ever since my parents disappeared.”

My uncle shakes his head. “I have to agree with Stevie,” he says. Stevie grins in triumph.

What the fuck?

He is trying to start a fucking war.

“Leave,” I tell Stevie. He looks unsure, but he doesn't move. “I said, fucking leave!” I yell at him.

Frank nods at Stevie, and only then does he get up and walk out of the room. I wait for the door to click shut.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don't speak to me like that, Devon,” my uncle says, calm as ever. It pisses me off even more.

“Was that really necessary?” I point toward the door where Stevie went. “To disrespect me like that?”

“I didn't disrespect you.” He shakes his head condescendingly. “You didn't think it through. It won't work. We only get one chance. One chance, Devon.”

“So you let me think I’m the one calling the shots, when you’ve secretly been working behind my back? Are you doing this just to prove how incapable I am? Unworthy of my name?”

He just looks at me.

“Is that what you think? Fucking answer me, for once.” I slam my fist on the table. He doesn't even flinch.

“Contact George, see when the next family meeting is,” he says, as if I said nothing at all.

“Are you serious?” I ask in disbelief. I literally can't believe he's doing this. Somewhere in the back of my mind, doubt rears its ugly head.

What if it was him? If this is all a setup?

“Tell Stevie to come back in on your way out.”

Wordlessly, I get up and exit his office.


LEIGHTON

I scribble out the face on the paper, and then crumble the drawing in my hand. I try to throw it into the basket, but miss.

I suck at life. Not for much longer, though. For some reason, this thought has me giggling hysterically, and then I stop.

I’ve been sitting on my bed brooding ever since Devon walked out. It pisses me off that I’m stuck here in this damn room while he’s out doing God knows what. There's nothing on TV. Nothing. The books on Hayley's reader annoy me at this point.

I place the pencil down gently and lie flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling, following the swirly pattern in the plaster with my finger in the air.

Stupid happy endings. I'm the living proof they don't exist. Soon to be dead proof.

Another fit of giggles, these interrupted by Hayley, who finally decides to come in with lunch. I don’t pay her any attention when she enters, but tilt my head when she stands next to the bed.

“Here’s your lunch,” she says, her voice a little tight.

“Thanks.” I take the bag from her hand and put it down on the bedside table. Then I resume my interesting task of staring at the ceiling, hoping she'll take the hint and leave.

She doesn’t.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asks, her voice hesitant. I stare at her as she pushes her hair behind her ear, her watchful gaze on me. She looks . . . well, she looks like hell.

“Didn't sleep much last night,” she says as if reading my thoughts.

“Neither did I.” I grin at her. I don't know why I said it. To rub it in, or something.

“Oh, retract your fucking claws. I told you, it's not like that between us.”

But it was. I take her in from head to toe, seeing her in a whole new light. I see her as someone Devon held, kissed. Fucked. That earns me a horrible visual in my head, making me cringe.

Obviously he found her attractive. For that alone, I hate her. It pisses me off—even tired, with dark circles under her eyes, and her hair has definitely seen better days—she's gorgeous. Aside from the color of our eyes, we're nothing alike.

It soothes the ache just a little bit. It makes it worse at the same time. I can actually see why he went to her to get away from me. She's as different as he could get.

I turn my head away from her. “You’re not staying, are you?” I ask, deciding it's better to be left alone. No need to torture myself any more than I already have. I sit up against the headboard and glance into the bag, seeing what food she brought.