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Sitting forward, I press my forehead to Nova’s, inhaling a cleansing breath of her scent. “Thank you, Spitfire.”
Her sputtered laugh washes over my lips. “That’s me.”
My lips graze hers before I sit back.
Not a minute after the Audi’s headlights flash across the front of Tara’s house, the curtains part, then the front door opens. From where I sit, the woman standing beneath that lone light isn’t much different than the one who drove off driving a U-Haul with Damian in the front seat.
Nova grabs her cell phone and twists, reaching into the backseat for her purse. “Come on. Let’s say hi, and we can get our bags in a bit if you’re comfortable.”
She opens her door, and after a moment I follow, my gaze sweeping over the yard trying to picture the life Damian had in this small house on the other side of everything he’d grown up with, as Nova calls out a greeting and Tara’s light, “Welcome,” reaches my ears.
“Dev?” My head swivels to Nova standing at the hood of her car, her arm raised and fingers wiggling for mine. I’m standing in my open door like a statue. Numb. My gaze lifts to hers, and she nods with encouragement. She’s the reason I take the first step and the next. The spitfire girl with breathtaking dimples and the heart to forgive crimes against her. Nova provides the courage I lack to face a woman who has no idea what I know. Or how I know it.
Joining her, I throw my arm around Nova’s neck in a blatant display of coupledom for Tara’s benefit, and haul her into my side, kissing her temple as I whisper, “Thank you for being here with me. I couldn’t do this on my own.”
Her hand brushes over my abs in a side hug before she takes my hand, and we head toward the house.
“Sharon wasn’t kidding. You have grown.” Tara sniffs, her bare feet stepping onto the walkway as she meets us a few feet from the front door. “And look at how handsome you are.”
She lifts her arms like she’s preparing to hug me, and Nova attempts tugging from my grip, but I tighten my hold, sidestepping the contact in a not so subtle way that has Tara’s brow furrowing and her feet backtracking.
“Well, come in.”
We walk inside and the air swooshes from my lungs. Seven years, but the couch is the same tan suede I sat on as a child. The framed pictures on the wall opposite the entrance are a collage of pictures I’ve seen, with updates I recognize as an aging Damian. My vision falters, black spots narrowing my view, as we move further into the living room and the front door closes at our backs.
“How has your trip been?” Tara asks, but my tongue seems to swell, silencing me.
I vaguely register Nova’s finger grazing my knuckles, her voice making conversation, and the light twittering of Tara’s laughter.
My stomach twists. “Can I see his room?” My request is sharp, a bark compared to their friendly chatter. My jaw works as I meet Tara’s eyes for the first time.
She blinks, her lips parting, as realization clicks in her light eyes. “I don’t think that’s—”
“Where’s his room?” I release Nova’s hand, moving toward the dark hallway to the right. I’ll find it with or without her help.
“Devin.” My name is an aching whisper from Nova’s lips. “I’m sorry. He’s been…”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. He can go back. I know he must be upset. Everything is still fresh.”
Growing up, Mom said I was one of those kids who would retreat so deeply into my head at times she once feared I’d fallen into some sort of waking coma. We’d be doing something, and I’d be with her, then I just…wasn’t. As I turn the knob to the one closed door in the narrow hallway, I revert to that little boy who hid in his head as I find a bedroom waiting for its occupant to return. A backpack discarded and spilled onto the floor. Rumpled sheets and a pillow awaiting his head. A cap and gown never worn to the celebration. A life cut short.
“Devin?”
Her scent surrounds me, tugging.
“Dev?” Her soft curves press against my back. “I’m so sorry.”
I blink into awareness, my face damp with tears and her arms locked around my waist. Swiping at my cheeks, I ask, “Where’s Tara?”
“She disappeared out the back door to call your mom. She was worried.”
“Worried?” A derisive laugh falls from my lips. “Oh, I bet she’s worried.”
“You’ve been standing in the middle of his room like a zombie for twenty minutes.” My spine stiffens, and Nova’s arms fall from my body. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Wetting my dry lips, I shove a hand through my tousled hair. “He wrote me a letter.” I turn with fists at my sides. “The day he…the day he ended it. It was her fault.”
Nova spares a glance over her shoulder toward the open bedroom door and steps into my space, lowering her voice. “What do you mean?”
