Page 108 of My Fallen Saint

Chapter Thirty-Three

I’m still numb when I step through the door to Brandy’s place. I hear her squeal of laughter followed by Lamar’s baritone chortle, then Christopher saying, “No, it was crazy. The gull was chasing Jake all over the beach.”

“It was the funniest thing,” Brandy says. “I feel so disloyal to poor Jake, but I couldn’t stop laughing.”

“Who needs more wine?” Lamar asks, and I take a step backward. This isn’t where I need to be.

I bump into the shoe bench, and it clatters against the wall, and even though I freeze in place, I can’t ignore Brandy when she calls out, “Ellie? Hey, we’re in the kitchen. Come have—Ellie?”

She’s at the end of the hall, and then she’s not. Then she’s right in front of me, pulling me into her embrace. “Ellie, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Should I call Devlin—”

“No.”

The word is ripped out of me, and I cling to her, my face buried against her chest. One hand strokes my back, but I can tell that she’s moving the other. Probably signaling to the others, and that’s another thing Devlin can feel guilty about. Because of him—because of me—I’m ruining their evening, too.

“I’ll see you later,” Christopher says, and I look up to see him press a soft kiss to Brandy’s lips. I swallow, hating myself for feeling jealous of the tender moment. “I’m sorry, Ellie. Whatever’s going on, I hope it works out.”

He gives my shoulder a friendly squeeze, then heads out the door.

“You want me to stay?” Lamar asks as I move from Brandy’s arms to his.

I shake my head, my face buried against his chest.

He eases back, then uses his finger to lift my chin. “Girl, you know you can tell me anything.”

I nod, then rub my dripping nose with the back of my hand. “Sorry. But really, it’s just bullshit stuff. A fight. All I want is to go to sleep.”

He looks over my head, and I know he’s taking his cue from Brandy. “Okay,” he finally says. “But I want one of you two to call me with an update in the morning.”

She promises, then locks the door behind him as I go to curl up on the couch, the box of tissue in my lap and the afghan over my feet.

“Did you mean it?” she asks, coming to sit on the other end of the sofa. “About going to sleep?”

I nod, then shake my head. “Part of me wants to sleep for a hundred years.”

“This is about Devlin, right? I’m not totally on the wrong page?”

I actually laugh at that. “Yeah. It’s about him.”

“And those pictures that have been going around? They’re pretty hot. Did some donor or something get on him about those?”

I wince. It hadn’t even occurred to me that the foundation might lose donations because Devlin and I groped each other in the dark when we thought we were alone. “No,” I say. “It’s not that.”

“What happened? A fight?”

“Yes. No. It’s—” I cut myself off and suck in air. “I can’t right now. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

“No, of course. It’s fine. I’m here when you need me, though. You know that, right?”

“Thanks.”

“Coffee? I can get you coffee.”

I manage a smile and a nod. She stands and is on her way to the kitchen when someone rings the doorbell. Then again. And again.

I meet her eyes and shake my head.

She frowns and goes to the door. I lift myself up off the cushion enough that I can lean back and see the entrance hall where Brandy is looking through the peephole.