Page 35 of Devil's Advocate
My heart stuttered.He stood there in the half-dark, hands shoved deep in his pockets, wearing that same soft blue shirt.The sight of him hit me like a rush of air after being underwater too long.
“We all stumble,” I said, eyes fixed on the back of the room.“Sometimes we run from the very thing that could save us.And that’s okay.Running doesn’t make you lost—it just means you’re not ready to be found yet.”
A few heads nodded, but I wasn’t speaking to them anymore.“What matters,” I went on, pulse hammering, “is that when you come back—when you walk through the door again—you know there’s someone here who still sees you as whole.”
I didn’t dare look away then.He was still there, half-shadowed, hands buried in his pockets, watching me like every word I said was both a wound and a balm.
When the service finally ended, people stood and began to mingle, hugging, laughing, lighting more candles.Normally I’d stay to talk, shake hands, answer questions.Tonight, I didn’t have the patience for any of it.
“Lucien!”someone called.“Great message tonight!”
I nodded, barely hearing them.Jimmy was still there, and I wanted to talk to him before he had the chance to grow frightened and run away.
I cut through the crowd, muttering apologies, ignoring the people who reached out to me.Jimmy saw me coming and straightened a little.My first instinct was to grab him, to pull him in and hold him until all that pain drained out of both of us.But I stopped myself.Whatever this was—whatever we could be—it had to start on his terms.
“Hey,” I breathed.“You okay?”
He bit his lower lip, in that same nervous tell I’d memorized without meaning to.For a moment he didn’t answer, just looked at me like he was trying to make sure I was real.
Then he nodded.“Yeah,” he attempted a smile.“Now I am.”
Relief hit me so hard it almost hurt.I swallowed against it.“You sure?”
His smile grew—small, fragile, but real.“Can we talk?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.The candlelight flickered between us, and I thought—this is what revelation feels like: terrifying and holy.
“Lucien,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.“If I tell you the truth about who I am… will you still want me here?”
ChapterTwelve
Jimmy
Lucien didn’t say a word during the ride to his house.
Neither did I.
The air in the truck felt charged, like right before a thunderstorm.I gripped the steering wheel too tight, trying to keep my breathing quiet.The headlights washed over the old houses lining the street, and each one blurred a little around the edges, like I was driving through someone else’s dream.
When we pulled into his driveway, I killed the engine and just sat there.Lucien’s place looked different than it had before—still elegant and a little haunted, but now it felt like the safest spot on the map.My heart was a mess of panic and hope, two wild animals fighting for the same space.
Lucien glanced over at me, his expression unreadable in the dash light.“Come on,” he said finally, voice low.“It’s quieter inside.”
I nodded and climbed out.My legs didn’t want to move right.The entire way up the walk I kept rehearsing what I needed to tell him—I lied to you, but not about how I feel.The words got stuck somewhere behind my ribs.
He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and gestured me in.As soon as it clicked shut behind us, Lucien wrapped his arms around me.
The hug came out of nowhere, hard and real.He held on for a long moment, whispering, “I’m so damn happy you’re safe.”
That cracked something open inside me.“Thanks,” I mumbled.I wanted to cry, but the tears were stuck in my throat.
He pulled back just enough to look at me.“Come on.Sit.”
We moved into the living room and sat side by side on the velvet couch.I couldn’t stop fidgeting—hands clasped, unclasped, a nervous rhythm that betrayed me.Lucien’s gaze was steady, gentle but unflinching.
He reached for my hand.“Tell me what you meant,” he breathed.“When you asked if I’d still want you here.”
My throat went dry.I bit my lower lip—because once I started talking, there’d be no taking it back.Then it all came spilling out, the way it does when you’ve been holding your breath too long.
