Page 56 of Unbroken

Devon’s eyes widened, and he gripped the counter to save himself from falling out of it.

“Sorry,” I said, slightly embarrassed by my inability to provide safe, reasonable seating. However, it wasn’t exactly my fault—I wasn’t expecting much company when I moved in. “They are a little wobbly.”

“A little,” Devon repeated with a small laugh. “I could make you two better ones.”

I spooned enough chili for the two of us into a pot and set it on the stove. Spinning, I examined Devon, who had managed to steady himself on the stool.

“You could, but from what I’ve seen of your work, I’m not sure I can afford a Devon Graham original.”

He shook his head and tugged his jacket off, dropping it onto the other stool. “I wouldn’t make you pay. I wouldn’t let you.”

“Let me, huh?” I said with a small smile. He held my gaze for a moment, his hazel eyes appraising me at the same time I watched him. It felt like a miracle that he was sitting in my kitchen. Something I only thought I’d get to dream of and never truly experience again.

My cheeks flushed, and I turned back to the stove.

“I haven’t talked to you since the hospital on Saturday,” he said. “How are you?”

“Good,” I said automatically. It wasn’t necessarily a lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. I was doing better. The entire experience had stirred up memories, feelings, and emotions that I thought I’d worked through. But that was the thing about healing—it wasn’t a straight line. It was a long, winding road that had forks and rest stops and sometimes looped backward when you were least expecting it.

Sometimes my only solace was knowing that I wasn’t the first person to live through something traumatic. Other people had survived, so I could, too.

I mindlessly stirred the chili, and Devon’s deep, concerned voice yanked me from my spinning thoughts. “Blakely, you know, you can talk to me.”

A small smile crept across my lips. Still staring down at the quickly heating soup, I said, “I know. But I’m a little talked out right now. I had an hour and a half long therapy session earlier. That’s pretty much all we talk about.” And it was mostly the truth. Dr. Mann and I had spoken endlessly about my reaction to Josie, but I hadn’t mentioned Devon comforting me. For some reason, I didn’t want to share that information with Dr. Mann.

For the first time since I’d started seeing him, I lied to my therapist. I’d told him it was Amanda, not Devon, that followed me down the hallway and comforted me while I cried, and hehadn’t questioned it. But then again, why would he? It was the first time I’d ever lied.

The lie itself was trivial, but the reason for the lie was telling. I wanted to keep those moments between us. Sharing them with Dr. Mann felt like I was undermining Devon or making it impersonal.

Not to mention that I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. His strong arms, perfectly manly smell, and calming presence.

Behind me, Devon hummed. “You go twice a week?”

I nodded. “Down from daily only a little over a year ago.” I chuckled. I had meant it as a joke, but Devon wasn’t even close to smiling when I set the bowl in front of him. “I promise I’m okay,” I said. “I’m sorry I worried you. But I really appreciate…you.”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond. Emotion was already thick in my throat, and I’d hit my quota of crying for the past two weeks in three days. “Let’s eat on the couch,” I said quickly.

I grabbed two spoons and napkins. Devon took the cheese and the bag of Fritos, and we sat down on the couch. I sat at my usual end, but Devon unknowingly sat in Tato’s designated spot. My very particular dog stared at Devon until he noticed.

Devon glanced over at me, his bowl of chili in his hands, and then back at Tato. “What did I do wrong?”

I suppressed my laughter with a hand over my mouth. “You’re in his spot.”

“Oh,” Devon muttered, and scooted to the next couch cushion. The one closest to me. Tato hopped up into his spot and did his standard two circles before plopping down. Devon chuckled under his breath, and I continued sprinkling cheese in my bowl and pretending that Devon’s proximity didn’t affect me.

“Oh, crap,” he muttered, and I glanced over to see that my journal I’d left on the table had fallen. Before I could react, Devon leaned forward and scooped it up. “Some of the pages are—” he began to say, trying to straighten the pages.

But I reached for it and yanked it from his grip as I said, “It’s fine.” Only the words came out more like a yelp.

Wide-eyed, Devon turned to me and willingly gave me the journal back. It was so quick, he couldn’t have seen any of my handwritten entries. But my reaction was startling enough that even if he hadn’t seen anything, he sure as hell was curious now.

Standing abruptly, I tossed the journal on the counter and asked, “Drinks?” I opened the fridge and peered at its contents. “I don’t have much, but I have a few sodas and water.”

“Water is fine,” Devon said, and I grabbed a bottle, preparing myself to go back into the living room and sit next to him like my skin wasn’t on fire just being near him.

With as pleasant a smile I could manage, I walked back into the room, set his water on the table, and stirred my chili.

“Sorry, I don’t have beer or any other alcohol,” I said.

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