Page 67 of The Devil and His Sparrow

I cleared my throat of the raw emotion trying to climb up it and said, “Even with a lot of the burden off her plate, Mom realized she couldn’t handle both the workload of Harvard and taking care of a baby. So she dropped out of Harvard and went to a community college for her undergrad instead. She didn’t get into any of the law programs she wanted, she didn’t get a serious doctor for a husband like she wanted, and she didn’t get the child she wanted. Or rather, lack of a child. All her plans were … gone. The end goal still came partly true. She’s a very successful prosecutor making big money. But it took longer and was harder than she wanted it to be.”

I closed my eyes and fought the tremble in my lip as I whispered, “I think she’s always resented me for ruining her plans. I made her dream impossible, so now, she doesn’t want me to have mine. I … I feel like it’s my fault things were hard for her, so I always obeyed and did exactly what she asked. I wanted to pay her back for ruining her life.”

Saying that final truth out loud cut my soul into tiny pieces until I nearly felt empty. It was a bitter fact that I’d kept tucked away in the recesses of my mind, never allowing them time or energy to fill my thoughts. If I didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn’t true.

But that was just me deluding myself.

I could ignore it as much as I wanted, but that didn’t make the reality of how my mom viewed me any less real.

Zagan’s hand suddenly slipped into mine. He threaded his fingers between my own, and the warmth of his touch made some of the air come back into my lungs. It grounded me in the here and now, pulling me out of my head.

“I’m sorry your mom doesn’t realize how lucky she is to have you,” Zagan said, his deep voice wrapping around me like a hug.

I squeezed his hand. His words acted as glue, gathering up those tiny fragments of myself to reassemble.

Lucky.

Zagan saw my worth where she hadn’t. He saw how hard I fought for her, how desperately I clung to any sign that she might care about me, or how much I strived to be the daughter she wanted. I tipped my chin up higher as his words finally hit home. She was lucky to have me.

And I was done trying to make her see that.

“Where is your dad?” Zagan asked after a moment of silence.

Fresh pricks of pain stabbed my heart like needles in a pincushion. “He died when I was sixteen. He was grabbing dinner for everyone, and he got hit by a drunk driver.” I looked down at our joined hands and traced a lazy pattern over his tattoo with my free one. “It destroyed all of us, even Mom. She had come to love him by then after years of being married and having Gemma together. She found happiness with him and the new daughter she’d had. The one she’d planned for. So when he died and Gemma got sick shortly after, she took a turn for the worse. Got stricter. Quieter.”

“No excuse for how she’s treated you. You lost a father, too. You watched your sister fall ill, too. All without the support of your mom, I’m sure.”

It was true. I didn’t have her support. I had to grieve on my own. Nahla was there for me, but it wasn’t the same as the comfort of a mother. I guessed Mom was too broken by then to bother trying with me. I wasn’t worth the effort, and I realized with a deep breath that I never would be.

Chapter 21

Iyla

I FOLLOWED ZAGAN INTO HIS place. He carried my box up the stairs, and I trailed behind him until he stopped by a closed door near his own room.

“I thought this room could be yours,” Zagan explained, nodding his head toward the door.

My chest warmed with his generosity. “Thanks. I really appreciate you letting me stay here.” I grabbed the handle to open the door for him. “I might sleep on the couch until I have furn—”

The words died on my tongue, and my fingers slid off the doorknob, falling uselessly to my side. I’d just stepped into a dream. That had to be it, because … what?

The light gray bedroom was the size of my previous kitchen and living room combined. A four-poster black bed with a beautiful dark purple bedspread stood in the center of the white-carpeted room, the headboard pressed against the wall. A black dresser stood to one side by some doors that I assumed was a closet, and a large TV was mounted on the wall across from the bed. In one corner of the room was a set of bookshelves and a large plush reading chair and table. A record player and neighboring shelf stood in the other corner.

Zagan sat my box on the king-size bed, and he gestured at the bookshelf. “I went ahead and bought you some romance books that came highly recommended from the bookstore downtown, but I also made sure you had plenty of shelf space to start building a collection. Same with the record shelf. I didn’t get you any records since I wasn’t sure what you like as far as music goes.” His eyes suddenly glimmered with amusement as he smirked. “Except for a Sinners Do It Better record. I did get you one of those to start you off right.”

My heart thundered as I looked over my dream room. “How—How did you know that I—I mean, this is my …” I was at a loss for words.

He raised a dark, pierced brow. “You told me.”

I looked at him, dumbfounded. “I did?”

“Yeah. That first day I came over to the apartment. You mentioned this was the stuff you’d like to have in your room.”

Something light and warm filled my chest like an unfurling flower. That had been such an off-hand comment I’d made. It meant nothing, or so I thought. Yet he’d remembered it all. He’d heard me. And now he’d given me exactly what I’d always envisioned for myself. My hands shook with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and something else, too. Something unfamiliar yet startling strong.

I stared at the demon, too overcome with the blinding rush of emotions to even move. His thoughtfulness meant more to me than he’d ever know, and my chest constricted with the profound affection flooding it.

“Thank you, Zagan,” I said. My voice was tight, but I kept talking. “This is … incredible. You’re incredible. I-I have no words. Thank you for doing this.”

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