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SEVENTEEN
SHELLY
Sleep evadesme as I lie in bed and stare up at the hints of moonlight slipping through the blinds. And for the hundredth time since I sent thegoodbyetext hours ago, nausea rolls in my belly.
If letting go of Devlyn was the right thing to do, why am I sick to my stomach?
The urge to rip my phone from the charger and type out a new message hits me like a freight train. I want to delete the message. Rescind it. Pretend like the thought never crossed my mind.
In its place, I want to send my longest apology. An extensive plea for him to forgive me for crossing the line. To beg him to take me back as his friend. Something. Anything.
God, I am such a fool.
How many times did Devlyn tell me he could only be my friend? So many times, I hate the word more than moist. Did I listen and respect his boundaries? No, but with good reason.
There is no possible way I read him wrong. Right? In our last week together, he threw one hint after another. Showed me his interest with small gestures and sentiments. His romantic interest. By no means can I professionally read people, but I picked up every hint and smile and longer-than-normal stare he sent my way. Honestly, I thought it was his way of telling me he wanted more without using words.
Obviously, I am an idiot. And supremely horrible at body language and gauging others.
“Ugh,” I huff out, throwing the comforter and sheet from my body. I sit up and stare at the clock on my bedside table. The dull-blue numbers stare back and mock me—3:21. “Fuck you,” I whisper to no one as I rise from the mattress.
Maybe a steaming mug of chamomile will settle my mind enough to allow sleep. Even if only a few hours, some sleep is better than none.
The electric kettle comes to a boil just as I hear something outside. Flipping the switch to off, I abandon the kettle and tiptoe to the window near the door. Slowly, I inch back the curtain and part a slat of the blinds to peek out. A gasp leaves my lips.
Why is Devlyn on my porch?
Hands shoved in his hoodie, he paces back and forth in front of the door. Every other direction change, he stops and looks at the door. In the artificial light, I watch the lines of his forehead scrunch and flatten then repeat. It’s obvious he wants to knock on my door, but refrains from following through.
After watching him pace the same ten feet several times, I close my eyes, drop my hand from the blinds, and take a step back. Part of me wants to ignore Devlyn outside my door. Ignore him and hold firmly to the goodbye I sent earlier. He hurt me when he left here without explanation. He hurt me when he ignored my obsessive texts and calls.
Until I sent the one that hurt him.
Much as I want to ignore the upset man on my porch, I also want to fling the door open and give him a chance. Allow him the opportunity to explain why he flipped. Let him grovel and beg for forgiveness. Not that it would take much for me to forgive Devlyn. My feelings for him would override any stint of torture my mind wanted to inflict.
My fingers wrap around the door handle as my lungs take one last deep breath.Give him a chance.After I unbolt the lock, I twist the knob and swing the door wide.
Devlyn stops his trek past my door, his back to me goes rigid. Then his head drops, shoulders cave, and his entire frame deflates. Neither of us speaks, but the tension between us is a living, breathing entity. Harsh energy radiates off him and spills over me, causing a shiver. Devlyn is angry, but it isn’t directed at me. Perhaps that is why he hasn’t faced me yet.
Minutes pass before he lifts his head. Measured and hesitant, he spins around and meets my waiting gaze.
Translucent-green irises hold my blues. He takes a step in my direction, eyes darting between mine, silently asking why. Then with another step, he stands inches away. It’s now that I notice the red veins hugging his irises. The puffiness around his eyes. The dampness on his lashes. The permanent valley between his brows.
“No,” he whispers, his eyes holding me prisoner.
My brows bend in the middle. “No?”
He shakes his head slowly. Steps impossibly closer. Slips his hand around mine and holds it like I am his lifeline. “No goodbye.”
I open my mouth to rebut him. To tell him I won’t be the recipient of mind games. That I won’t always wait in the wings while he melts down and abandons people who care about him—including me. That I won’t let him break my heart because he is too scared to feel or own what he wants.
But I say none of those things. Don’t even get the chance.
Devlyn lifts his free hand and cups my cheek. Captures my eyes with his as our breaths turn ragged. Then, ever so slowly, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. I freeze at the initial connection but melt when he lightly sucks my bottom lip between his.
Warmth spreads through me as our lips dance together. His hand abandons my cheek as his fingers weave through my hair. I fist his hoodie, walk backward and drag him inside. The door shuts behind us and I assume he kicked it. He lifts our joined hands between us, between our hearts, and trails kisses along my jaw, my ear, my neck.
“So sorry,” he mutters between kisses. “Such an ass.” At this, I chuckle. His lips break free of my skin, eyes meeting mine. “I want to explain. Please, let me explain.”
