Page 59 of The Devil Gets His Due

Eventually, I fall asleep. I’m vaguely aware of a noise in the middle of the night—Gemma warned us that Lola gets up to pee around four—but it stops before I’ve even opened my eyes. I figure if it’s really an issue, Lola will let us know.

I wake to discover the sun coming through the windows and Lola and Keeley in my bed, Lola between us, Keeley’s hand on Lola’s stomach.

Keeley’s loose waves cover half her face, but I can still tell she’s smiling in her sleep.

God, the sight of her like that burns in my chest. It’s all the things I wish were different and all the things I wish we could have been, wrapped into one.

30

KEELEY

On Sunday morning, Lola and I play while Graham is very Graham: making himself a healthy breakfast, going for a run, checking on work, telling me to stop holding Lola.

When he’s finally exasperated by my inability to follow directions, he suggests we take her for a walk. We head toward downtown Santa Monica, and since Graham refuses to let me carry her, Lola spends the walk begging every person we pass for attention—and getting it.

“You should get a tattoo,” I say, glancing back at the tats on the guy who just finished cooing over her.

“Tattoos are ridiculous,” he replies. “I can’t imagine caring about something enough to permanently disfigure my body over it.”

“Well, I think that’s sad.”

“Yeah, so sad. What are the deeply meaningful things Six Bailey has written on his body?”

I reach for my phone and look upSix Baileyandtattoosbecause I’m certain Graham’s wrong. He takes my phone, flinty-eyed, and expands the picture.

“A marijuana leaf. How touching. Then there’s a bird, I suppose to signify his desire for freedom? A shark. I’m not sure what the fuck that’s for. Oh, and it looks like McGruff the Crime Dog.”

“You don’t know that,” I mutter, rising onto my toes to see the picture again. “I’m sure there are loads of St. Bernards who wear a trench coat with the collar popped.”

He laughs to himself. “Well, you’ve definitely proven your point. It’s deeply sad that I don’t care about freedom, drugs, sharks, and McGruff the Crime Dog enough to permanently disfigure myself.”

“Well, I think—”

Graham’s hand wraps around my hip as he presses my back to a storefront, his body shielding mine as a kid on a skateboard blows past us seconds later.

I blink up at him, at first in surprise, and become aware—not for the first time—of his lovely sharp jaw, already in need of a shave, and his lovely mouth, slightly ajar, and his bright blue eyes, which are currently focused on my lips.

For a half second, I can’t imagine wanting to look at anything else.

For a half second, I’m certain I know why I married him, Idefinitelyknow why I slept with him...and I think he might want the same thing I do.

“I’m gonna—” I ramble, breathlessly. “I’m gonna pop in this store.”

“No shoes, Keeley,” he warns.

I give him the finger, but once inside I’m not looking at the shoes at all. I’m wandering blindly, trying to sort my shit out.

I want him. I have never wanted to sleep with anyone in my entire life the way I do him. The pregnancy hormones are out of control, clearly, and they’re making this situation fucking untenable.

Maybe we could just sleep together once,to take the edge off.

Keeley, you know that’s a terrible idea.

Yes, I know. But still…

I turn to glance at him out the window. Two women are there now, pretending to gush over Lola when they’re really hitting on him.

I know that trick. I fuckinginventedthat trick.

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