Page 84 of Backfire
My hand twitched, ready to slap him, when Devlin leaned in.
“If you think your ass is sore now,” he softly growled in my ear. “Just wait.”
I’d had just about enough of this misogynistic bullshit. “It’s not my fault you have mommy issues.”
The second the words left my mouth, I knew I’d crossed a line. Devlin’s fingers dug painfully into my arm, and I couldn’t blame him. The pain of losing a parent was serious. Not something to throw in someone’s face. Even Wyatt shook his head. I really was a horrible person.
I hung my head in shame and whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
And I didn’t. It was just something spat out in a moment of anger. I was prepared to accept whatever punishment Devlin decided to dole out. I held my breath and waited for the inevitable. But it never came. He didn’t even yell.
Instead, Devlin let out a sigh, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me into his embrace.
What the hell?
I stood there with my face smashed against his chest, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There had to be a point to this. Some twisted agenda that would make me plea for mercy or run away crying. But he didn’t do anything other than hold me.
Was this a trick? Some way to lull me into a false sense of security? It had to be. Devlin Adair wasn’t the caring and hugging type. Right?
When he didn’t utter some threat or let me go, I carefully lifted my arms and tentatively tapped his back.
That’s when it happened. A wave of anger and sadness washed over me, bringing tears to my eyes. I had no idea where the feelings came from, but I couldn’t stop them from dripping down my face.
All the emotions I’d pent up over the years got poured into his chest. The countless times Charmaine saidtheywere coming. The years I watched her mind deteriorate, and the nights I went to bed, scared and alone in a strange house.
Everything came out in those tears. Everything except for what happened last night. For some reason, that didn’t feel like a mistake or bad memory. It felt right, like it was supposed to happen.
What the fuck?
When I finally stopped crying and just stood there, tucked into Devlin’s large frame, I whispered, “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, smoothing a hand down my back.
No, I didn’t.
“But you will if you keep acting out.”
* * *
Devlin escortedme back to my room, where I changed into something more suitable before heading off for my daily lesson, which was being held in the atrium. Apparently, that’s what the indoor greenhouse was called. Devlin said we’d be able to concentrate in there. Whatever that meant.
As far as rooms built for concentration, I think a library won that award, but whatever. I wasn’t about to argue. I liked it in there. All the plants and birds were peaceful. So much better than boring shelves and books.
“Now, some plants need a higher temperature. Like an orchid, for example.” Reese fingered a purple flower nearby. “They need at least fifty degrees.”
“That’s a Bearded Iris,” I pointed out. “And the ideal temperature for an orchid is seventy-three degrees.”
Reese arched a brow. “Anything else you’d like to share with the class?”
I looked up from the notebook I was doodling in.
“Yeah. That shrub”—I pointed the end of my pencil at some leaves that were a little brown on the end—“shouldn’t be that close to other plants. Its roots need room to breathe.”
Reese looked over at Devlin, who cocked a brow my way. Not sure what they were so amazed about. Anyone could find basic gardening knowledge like that online.
“What about this one?” Reese tipped his head at an orange flower.
I shrugged and went back to my horrible drawing of a stick man getting kicked in the nuts. That plant was fine. Actually, it was doing pretty well compared to some of the others. It even reached up and grew a bit.
