Page 99 of Aria

Sighing, I continued down the stairs, running a hand purposefully along the rail. It was cool beneath my fingertips. Eyeing the framed photos as I stepped down, I noticed the family photo with Ruby had been removed, replaced by a small cell phone picture of Sam and me eating ice cream together with goofy smiles on our faces.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I inhaled a frayed breath and continued my descent.

When I scooped up my purse, I pulled out my phone and checked the notifications. There were a ton of texts from Lisa, Julia, and Devon.

Lisa:Are you okay?

Julia:I just saw you on the news!

Devon:Where are you?

Lisa:Did they catch him?

Devon:Call me.

I shut off my phone and stuck it back into my purse.

Surely, Noah was going to follow me down the stairs and tell me not to leave. Then he was going to make his way into the kitchen to cook cinnamon pancakes, sausage, and scrambled eggs, while Sam helped crack the yolks and set the table. I’d help him wash the dishes as we exchanged familiar banter and discussed plans for the week.

But… none of that happened. The shower turned on upstairs, and I resigned myself to the fact that Noah was not going to pursue me. This time, I was on my own.

As I slung the purse strap over my shoulder, there was a persistent knock at the front door. My chin popped up, knowing exactly who it was.

I opened the door, revealing a sickly-looking Devon.

His eyes were bloodshot. His face looked gaunt, his skin lackluster—almost gray in color. “Devon,” I croaked out.

“Shit, Chelsie.”

He charged through the entryway and wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. My arms didn’t instinctively rise to return the embrace like they used to, and instead, remained at my sides, limp and apathetic. I let out a long breath, muttering, “I needed you.”

I was angry because he wasn’t there for me when I was being strangled. He wasn’t there to fight off my attacker when Ian had tried to murder me in cold blood on his living room floor.

Devon wasn’t there.

And not because he’d run to the grocery store, or left to pick up Chinese take-out at our favorite place on Cedar Street—no, he was coked-out somewhere, oblivious to the world around him. He had deliberately turned off his phone to cut off communication with me. He chose to remain camouflaged in his seedy world of drugs and darkness.

I was also angry with myself.

I’d kissed Noah. I’d allowed him to do things to me—things I’d enjoyed, things that currently had my heart rate increasing and my thighs clenching as hazy memories swept through me.

Things I wanted to do again?

Confliction poked at me, making me feel itchy inside.

“Fuck,” Devon whispered into the crook of my neck. “I’ve been blowing up your phone, worried sick. Did they catch that motherfucker yet?”

I pushed my palms against his chest and inched the sleeves of my sweater over my hands as I brushed a defiant strand of hair from my face. Devon skimmed my face with a blank look in his eyes, awaiting my answer.

A few beats of heavy silence ticked by.

“I kissed Noah last night.” The words escaped my lips with rebellion. I hadn’t planned on confessing my sins to Devon—not yet. Not in Noah’s house with Sam playing with hisHot Wheelsdirectly above us.

A wave of nausea unraveled in my stomach as I studied Devon’s face for some sort of reaction.

Devon flinched at the confession, albeit brief and subtle. If I had blinked, I could have missed it. “I figured,” he replied, his tone exuding nothing at all. Even indifference sounded like too bold of a reaction. “I figured it enough to come here and look for you.”

“He was there for me, and you weren’t.”

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