Page 8 of Desperation

I took several deep breaths to calm my racing heart and scooped his bags off the ground, taking them inside. I’d busy myself with washing his clothes and putting his things away, ensuring the house stayed tidy, and he’d have nothing to be angry about.

Drake and Devon returned a half hour later and settled into the living room, each with a beer in their hand. I sighed with disappointment. Even though Drake never drove if he’d been drinking, I still worried he would one day. After losing my mom in that accident, the thought of someone I loved driving drunk was sickening and terrifying all at once.

Devon was a dangerous distraction. I was torn between wanting him to leave so Drake wouldn’t be able to sense my attraction to him and needing him to stay as a buffer that kept the monster caged. I felt safe with him here, but once he left, that sense of security would flee with him.

The TV roared to life, and the familiar sound of baseball commentary filled the space. Occasionally I heard the smack of a bat and cheers mixed in with the unmistakable crack of an aluminum can opening. The kitchen sink sat nestled in the small peninsula facing the living room. I kept watch over the guys as I washed dishes and rinsed vegetables for dinner. When the cans began to pile up, I wordlessly collected them, ensuring not to obscure the TV from Drake’s view as I did, and noticed there were only two cans on Devon’s side of the table. Drake’s pile was six deep already with a seventh pressed to his lips. I groaned inwardly, hoping he drank enough to pass out cold because right now, we were in the danger zone. This was when he could potentially turn mean, and anything I did could set him off.

Thankfully, Drake ignored me as he always did when the Orioles played. Devon’s gaze, however, seared into my skin like a hot brand. I felt him track my movements until I disappeared from his peripheral vision. The moment his eyes left my back, that palpable heat and tension were gone. When I chanced a glance at him, his jaw was tight, an almost imperceptible clench flexing the sharp angle of his mandible. His posture was deceivingly relaxed, but I recognized the flare of anger in his eyes.

I pulled out my cutting board and a sharp paring knife and placed them on the counter next to the sink so I could discreetly keep an eye on the men in the other room. Drake liked to eat his dinner around seven p.m., so I needed to get this casserole in the oven soon. Moving on to the onions, I peeled away the skin and began to slice the aromatic bulb, letting my mind wonder. It was drifting into dangerous territory, my imagination running wild as visions of a shirtless Devon nearly stole my breath when the knife slipped, slicing into the finger pinning the onion to the cutting board.

“Shit!” I hissed and immediately brought my injured finger to my lips. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth, and I nearly hurled. I pulled my hand away and glanced down at the gash. It was deeper and longer than I expected, and the sight of blood oozing from my flesh made my legs wobble. They gave a little, and I reached out to brace myself, but before my hands could grip the counter, two strong, tan arms wrapped around me.

“You okay?” he asked and his warm, hops scented breath fanned over my cheek. Normally, I hated the smell, the scent far too strong and saturated on Drake’s tongue. Coming from Devon, though, the aroma barely detectable, I felt just as intoxicated as I would had I been the one drinking the beer.

“Fine,” I breathed. “Just got a little woozy.”

“Let me see your hand.” I straightened, my legs a bit steadier from his support, and extended my arm. I couldn’t look at my finger or I’d feel faint again, so I focused on the glimmering eyes beneath his dark, furrowed brow. He reached for the knob on the faucet, turning it until lukewarm water flowed from the spout, then ran my lacerated skin beneath it. I let out another hiss of pain, and his eyes shot to mine. He held my gaze for several seconds, a million questions and sentiments passing between us in the silence. I couldn’t take it, couldn't stand his scrutiny, so I broke eye contact. That was a mistake. My stare fixed on his soft pink lips, drifting to the column of his throat as his Adam's apple bobbed with a strained swallow.

“Where do you keep the hand towels?” His voice was low and thick, heavy with unspoken emotion.

“The drawer to your left,” came my whispered reply. For some reason, I feared that Drake would hear us, and I’d be in trouble.

Devon shut off the water and grabbed a cheery yellow towel from the drawer, wrapping it around my hand. My finger throbbed at the pressure he applied, but I didn’t pull away. I basked in his strong but gentle touch.

“What the fuck?” Drake’s angry voice slurred from behind Devon, and I jumped. He stepped around his cousin just as he released my hand. “What did you do?”

“I-I cut myself chopping vegetables.” Annoyance flashed in his eyes, and he turned to Devon.

“Women,” he huffed in exasperation as though that one single word explained everything. He smirked, giving Devon one of thoseamirightlooks that dudes shared when they were being sexist pigs. My teeth clenched, but I held my tongue. It would be unwise to share the retort trying to claw its way up my throat in front of our guest.

Devon’s face remained impassive, and the little bit of hope that had flickered to life moments ago dwindled and burned out. But when Drake turned his back to set his empty can on the table and walked to the fridge, it came roaring back to life. Devon watched him like an animal about to attack. His nostrils and eyes flared. He clenched and unclenched his fists, rolling his shoulders to loosen his muscles. His gaze returned to me, and he let the mask slip back into place. He kept his feelings hidden, buried deep beneath the surface, and I’d bet money he didn’t let many people see them. But he’d unearthed them in front of me. It had been unintentional, but a woman in my position had to be an astute observer, silent and attuned to minute details and slight changes in demeanor. That was how I survived.

When Drake rejoined us, he had two more beers in his hands and passed one to Devon. They returned to the living room to catch the last few innings, but I caught Devon’s hesitant glance over his shoulder, his eyes questioning. I gave him a little nod indicating I was okay and slipped away to the bathroom. Once I had my finger bandaged up, I finished preparing the casserole, slicing the rest of the veggies more carefully. A fresh pitcher of sweet tea brewing and yeast rolls rising, I prepared fresh buttercream frosting for the chocolate cake I made earlier. That was one thing Drake never complained about or tried to stop me from doing: cooking. He didn’t care if I spent a little extra money at the grocery store to try out a new recipe. He enjoyed most of my experiments and shrugged away my failures. This homemade frosting was sure to put him in an unrivaled good mood.

“Mmm, that’s my favorite.” His voice startled me, and I nearly dropped my frosting spatula. His arms wrapped around my middle, cradling my protruding belly. He placed a gentle kiss on my bare shoulder, and for a moment, I let myself sink into his embrace. These were the moments I'd cling to, the little morsels of affection he tossed my way that kept me from completely giving up. It felt good to be held. It felt good to be wanted. He knew exactly when to swoop in and offer these tender moments, like he knew how close I was to throwing in the towel. He used it against me. And I let him. For one tiny moment of reprieve, I let him remind me of how good things once were. I let myself believe him when he made promises he would never keep. Because he was really all I had.At least for the next few months.

He slid around my body and leaned his hip against the counter, turning me to face him. His head ducked, and our lips met as his hands settled on my lower back. That warm, coiled feeling from earlier returned, and as Drake peppered kisses over my chin and down my neck, I turned my head, and my gaze locked with Devon’s. His face was stony, his burning irises blazing straight through me. He looked like a man standing at a precipice. Would he jump or retreat? Was he considering lunging at Drake and pulling us apart? It certainly looked like it. He finally turned away and strode to the living room, his can tipped all the way up and drained before he sank back onto the couch. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stifle the tears.

“What’s wrong?” Drake cupped my face and swept the lone tear I was unable to suppress from my cheek.

“Just emotional these days.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “Hormones,” I added for emphasis. This explanation seemed to satisfy him in his placid and euphoric stage of drunkenness. He gave me one final hug before stumbling back to his game.

Chapter Seven

Devon

I worked my jaw back and forth, trying to get the muscle to relax before Drake caught it. Seeing him hold Hannah like that, kissing her neck, had damn near sent me into a fury.That’s ridiculous, right? She was no one to me. He was my flesh and blood. She was his. How could the sight of him touching her make me so fucking mad?

I shook those thoughts away and tried to focus on the game, wishing I’d grabbed another beer. I wanted to be numb,neededto be numb to get through the rest of this evening. But I also needed to drive home later.

“Just wait until you taste Hannah’s frosting,” Drake announced, dropping into the seat adjacent to me. My head snapped up, and it took a moment for his meaning to sink in. Hannah’scakefrosting. My mind had immediately gone elsewhere, and I inwardly chided myself for the inappropriate thoughts. “It’s the best damn thing you’ve ever tasted.” He smiled at me wickedly, eyes alight with mischief. He leaned in, and I instinctively drew closer to hear what else he had to say. “I hope she has some left over because it tastes even better when I lick it off her body.” He chuckled and slugged back another drink. I fought to keep my features neutral. I couldn’t let him know how much his remark bothered me, but I wouldn’t join in on his juvenile boasting either.

Several minutes later, a mouthwatering aroma wafted into the living room. Whatever was baking in the oven smelled divine. My stomach rumbled loudly in response to the tantalizing scent. The beer hadn’t done much to quell my hunger, and now that my senses were activated, I was suddenly famished. Soon after, we were seated around the small kitchen table. Drake was adamant that I stay and have dinner with them, and I eagerly complied. I needed something in my stomach to soak up the brews, but my need to watch over Hannah trumped everything else.

Drake peppered me with questions during our meal. He wanted to know about my training, the missions I’d been on, and if I’d been a part of catching any high value targets. I told him the last part was classified, and he chuckled. The tension eased from my shoulders as we fell into easy conversation. Hannah mostly stayed quiet and did her best not to noticeably avoid looking at me. Her gaze only flicked my way briefly when I spoke, and I found myself yearning for those looks, craving her eyes on me.

She was a bright light flickering in the darkness that surrounded her, and I was a fucking moth, drawn to her unequivocally. If I didn’t steer clear, I was doomed. I would go up in flames, but damn if I wouldn’t enjoy the burn.

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