Page 55 of Wicked Devotions

“What?” Cy’s gaze swings in my direction, then Declan’s. “At your dad’s house?”

“No.” Declan motions for him to follow.

The temperature of the room drops by twenty degrees as soon as Cyrus sees the knife in the bed. “What the fuck!” he roars. I barely block him from going for it.

“Don’t touch anything. Dec’s cousins are coming down tomorrow to help us.”

“How did this happen?” Cyrus seethes. “We’ve been home this weekend. I don’t understand.”

“I know.” I put my hands on his shoulders and lean down to look in his eyes. “We’re going to get it figured out though.”

Chapter

Twenty-One

HARPER

Declan’s room here is so different from his room at Cillian’s house. This one has more of his personality present. From the black-drenched walls and bookcases to the black and white photos of planes in flight. On his bedside table there’s a framed photo of him and a woman I assume is his mother. She has blonde hair and fair skin but the same nose as Declan. They’re standing in front of a plane and smiling into the camera.

He looks so happy being tucked against her side.My heart breaks for him. It’s so clear how much he loved her, both by the photo and the way he talks about her. That must be why the further from the ground we got, the lighter he seemed this weekend.

“That’s my mom.” He closes the door behind him and walks over to me.

“I figured. She’s beautiful.”

“She was.” He pulls a rosary from his pocket and drops it on the table next to the spot where the photo sits. “I’m going to shower before bed, do you want to get ready before me?”

I take the opportunity and grab some pajamas, cleanser, and my toothbrush. I can’t help snooping a bit. Everything is so clean and minimalistic in his bathroom. The black paint continues in here, but it doesn’t feel heavy with the bamboo vanity and white marble flooring with black veins running through it. The shower has multiple shower heads and matte black subway tiles laid in a herringbone pattern. It’s luxurious and masculine, basically screaming Declan’s name from every corner.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling on his phone when I come out. When he looks up his eyes do a lazy sweep of my body from my toes to my eyes. My nipples harden at the hungry expression on his face. Shame quickly supplants thedesire I feel, though; I’m not sleeping in here for anything other than sleeping. I’m sure he’s not thinking about sex right now, especially with how upset he was earlier. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

“Is there a side you prefer me to sleep on?”

His brows lift as if he’s surprised by the question. “You want me to sleep in the bed with you?”

“Where else would you sleep?” My cheeks redden. Am I sleeping here alone? Did I just misunderstand what he meant to happen?

“The floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If anyone should sleep on the floor, it’s me. This is your room.” I look around, my eyes landing on the chair in the corner by the bookshelves. “I could even sleep over there, or the living room even.” Though I don’t like the idea of being alone tonight.

“No.” He stands up, towering over me, and puts his hands on my shoulders. “We can share the bed. I don't have a preference on which side I sleep on, but my charger is on the left.”

I’ll take the right then. The sheets are soft and cool as I climb under the covers and sink into the soft mattress. It’s comforting to be surrounded by his faint scent as I try to relax my mind. I know thatas soon as I shut off my own thoughts, anxiety and fear will surface.

This is one of the times prayer would have been comforting to me. I can’t even begin to count how many nights I’d fall asleep praying instead of allowing anxiety to consume me. But God and my father are so entwined to me that prayer feels wrong. The more time between finding out how corrupt my father was and now, the wider the gulf between my faith and myself becomes.

I hate that something that once brought me comfort has been so tainted. Part of me is so envious that Declan can attend church services and feel the presence of his mother. If I even drive past a church, I feel nauseous. Most of all I hate my father for giving me religion and then so violently ripping it away with his lies.

The bathroom door opens, and Declan steps out in nothing but his boxer briefs with a cloud of steam surrounding him. I should avert my eyes, but I can’t. I don’t want to. His body is that of an elite athlete, especially his legs which are thickly muscled from soccer.

He pulls the covers back on his side and gets in bed before turning the light out. We lie in awkward silence for a few minutes far apart enough not totouch but still close enough to feel each other’s warmth. He rolls onto his side, so he’s facing me, and while I can’t see him, I can feel him looking at me.

I force my eyes closed and will myself to relax. Unfortunately, the only thing that accomplishes is me immediately picturing the knife stabbed into my bed. My eyes fly open with an irritated groan as I roll to my side.

“What’s wrong?” Declan pulls me closer to him until my back is flush against his chest.

“I can’t relax to fall asleep. What I used to do won’t work anymore.”

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