Page 71 of Aria

I wondered if he’d been depressed over our separation when I got a whiff of alcohol on his breath. He was hungover or drunk. I wasn’t sure yet.

“You have a key,” Devon said.

“I know.” He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Can I come in?”

Devon moved to the side to allow entry, his movements sluggish. Was he hesitant to let me in, or were the effects of the booze slowing him down? Either way, I felt a potent lump growing in the back of my throat as I made my way into the living room.

I hadn’t even set my purse down before he spoke.

“Are you fucking him?”

I froze. “What? No… God, Devon.” I decided I was offended by the question. I probably had no right to be, but I was. I was angry and insulted.

“Do you think about fucking him?”

Outrage bubbled in my belly as my face grew hot. “Devon. Stop.”

Devon began pacing the room, stopping only to grab a half-empty bottle of rum from his liquor cabinet. He took a swig straight from the bottle. “I’m not sure why you’re surprised by those questions,” he said, screwing the cap back on and dangling the bottle at his thigh.

My muscles locked. “I’m surprised you would think that of me.” I stood firmly in place, only following him with my eyes.

He shot me an incredulous look. “Really? After all your lies? After all the late nights and cuddle-fests you two have had? The entire world thinks you’re fucking each other, and you’re shocked the thought has crossed my mind, too?”

“The world doesn’t know me!Youknow me. I would never cheat on you. Noah is my friend. That’s all.”

Devon released a dry chuckle. “No. IthoughtI knew you.”

His words stung, but he wasn’t wrong. It was true—I had downplayed my life, omitting character-defining details about my past. I was prone to cowering and concealing, afraid of what Ian might think or do. I had progressed over the years, but old habits die hard when someone is programmed to constantly be afraid.

Devon was right… he didn’t truly know me.

Not like Noah did.

My shoulders slumped, my body draining of the tension it had been holding onto. I let my anger dissipate. “Devon, I am so sorry. You’re absolutely right. I made a bad call, and you have every reason to hate me for it.”

Devon stopped pacing and tapped the bottle of Bacardi against his leg. “I don’t hate you.”

Tears rushed to my eyes, and I wanted to claw at them. I hated being so vulnerable in front of him. “I didn’t mean to tell him,” I confessed, flinching when my voice cracked. “It was the night we all went out for the first time. The night he got me drunk and had to take care of me.”

“Okay.” His gaze stayed fixed to the flooring beneath his feet.

Maybe if he justlookedat me, he would see how much I cared; how much I was breaking inside.

“I don’t even remember telling him, Devon,” I continued. “I was drunk, and I guess it just came out. Noah stopped by my apartment the next day to tell me what I’d said. I would neverwillinglytell him something like that. Especially over you.”

Devon finally glanced up at me. “Why didn’t you just tell me that he knew? I asked you, and you lied. I’m just… I’m having a hard time getting over this,” Devon bit out, taking another swig of the liquor. He set the bottle down on the coffee table before collapsing onto the loveseat across from where I was standing.

My bottom lip quivered, so I bit down hard. “I screwed up. I was so afraid of losing you,” I pleaded. “I spent years of my life having to monitor every word that came out of my mouth because there might be consequences. This is my first relationship since Ian, and… and I’m still trying to figure everything out.”

Devon’s face was resting in his hands, elbows to knees. He sat upright, shaking his head, looking so… dejected. “That guy had it out for me, you know.”

I looked up from the chipped nail polish on my forefinger. “Who?”

“Your ex. That asshole was out for blood.”

“God, I’m sorry. I hate that he’s here. I hate that he’s trying to work his way back into my life. The things he’s capable of…” My voice trailed off, old memories rushing back. The pain felt raw, the fear palpable. My trauma felt like it was yesterday, and I could almost smell him in the air.

His woodsy cologne. The gin on his breath. His peppermint shampoo.

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