Page 56 of Surrender

Her expression sobers, and she nods. “Well, maybe after one more.”

Bree follows a few paces behind me. Just as the dim lighting gives way to a darkened room with strobe lights, a body steps in my path.

“Excuse—” I freeze.

They take a measured step forward. I counter with an apprehensive step back.

It has to be the alcohol, even though I’m not drunk. My mind swirls, refracting light and playing tricks on me. The face in front of me twists into a familiarly sloped nose and angled cheekbones.

My breath catches, stuttering from my lungs like a slowly deflating balloon.

“What’s the matter?” Bree brushes into my back and moves around me. I catch her slender wrist in my palm.

“This can’t be real,” I stammer.

Devon stands in front of me, looking very much alive.

“Hello, Whitney.”

“You’re dead,” I whisper, shock coursing like venom in my veins. “Y-you died.”

“Oh fuck,” Bree mutters beside me. She’s a flourish of hair and limbs, but I can’t take my eyes off Devon long enough to see what she’s doing.

“It’s so good to see you, sweetie. You look good.”

The endearment snaps me from the fog, and a white-hot rod of anger sears down my spine. “You’re supposed to be dead,” I spit.

“Ohhh, fuck. Jack?” Bree starts talking rapidly behind me.

“It’s a long story. We should go sit down.” Devon moves forward again, but I counter with another step back, bumping into Bree.

“No. No, no.” I shake my head. I hold my hand up between us to ward him off. A wave of nausea forces me to pull it back and cover my mouth. “How could you do this?” I hiss. I blink harshly against the burn in my eyes.

“I had to. I had to do what was best for all of us.”

“By faking your death?” I shriek. Tremors slip down my limbs as the ground becomes unsteady.

“You are not really taking this the way I thought you would.”

“I can’t imagine her taking it any other way,” Bree retorts.

Devon moves a threatening step forward. “You stay out of this!”

“Don’t talk to her like that!” I move in front of Bree, and the hallway tilts around me in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

Why did I think this was a good idea?

Maybe because ex-husbands aren’t supposed to rise from the dead.

“Please just listen to me. It’s important.” Devon swipes a hand through his dark, shaggy hair. It’s grown out since I last saw him. A full beard covers his face. I suppose when one pretends to be dead, it’s a little hard to visit a barber for a haircut. He looks unkempt. Nothing like the attractive man I married and tried to start a family with.

Thick saliva coats my throat, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. “Start talking.”

His eyes flick over my shoulder to Bree. “Can we go somewhere alone?”

“No.”

“Where are the kids?”

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