My eyes find the owner of the voice and my heartbeat slows to a dull thud. “Devin?” I whisper. If I thought Reese had the bad boy thing down, Devin is in a league all his own. Eyes so dark they’re almost black. Jaw like it’s chiseled from stone. Lips like two plush pillows. His long, lean body moves forward, pushing through the small crowd gathered around the truck until he stands shoulder to shoulder with Reese. He smirks at me. It’s a smirk I’d recognize anywhere, at any age.
It’s him.
I inhale deeply and repeat his name on my exhale, “Devin.”
He’s on me in an instant. His strong arms wrap around my body and my feet lift off the ground and then we’re spinning. “What the hell are you doing here?” He grins.
My anxiety melts away and I toss my head back and laugh, happy in the arms of the boy who’d been the keeper of all my secrets. My protector, my best friend. “Put me down, goofball.”
He does but keeps his hands planted on my shoulders, his dark eyes alight with mischief. His scent, all smoky and woodsy invades my nostrils, and it’s better than air. Devin Tedesco is here, and holy shit he’s gorgeous. I swallow back the thought and focus on answering his question. “I’m visiting Dad for the summer.”
“God, it’s great to see you. I didn’t realize how much I fucking missed you until this moment.” His eyes rake up and down my body, and mine do the same to him. Committing every inch of this new, adult version of him to memory.
“Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Dev?” a girl asks, wrapping her arms around his waist. She isn’t very tall, probably around five-two, like me. Her hair is jet black and her lips are bright red. She’s pretty and edgy and everything that I envision Chicago Roni to be. Devin throws an annoyed look in her direction, but steps back, hooking his arm around her neck.
My eyes bounce back and forth between them before I realize what’s happening. This girl is staking her claim. I’d laugh at the absurdity, but then my heart drops, and something that feels eerily like insecurity eats at my gut. But that’s insane, right? This is Devin. I don’t care if he has a girlfriend. We’re friends, at least we were, and I’d like to be again, and if this is his girlfriend then I guess I have to like her too.
“I’m Roni.” I introduce myself with a confidence I don’t feel and extend my hand. Do people shake hands at parties?
“Brooke,” she replies half-heartedly, staring at my hand as if it’s diseased.
I’ll take that as a no. Dropping my hand, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and mutter, “Uh, it’s nice to meet you.”
“How do you two know each other?” she asks, looking between Devin and me for confirmation.
“We live next door to each other. He’s like the annoying brother that I never wanted.”
My attempt at levity falls flat as Brooke stares at me. “I’ve never seen you around.”
“Well, get used to it,” Chloe says, hooking her arm around my neck. She narrows her eyes at Brooke in warning before turning to me with a grin. “Aaron has rum. Let’s get wasted.”
I nod and turn to follow her to the truck, but my steps falter, and my eyes find Dev’s once more. His arms are around Brooke but his eyes are on me. His expression is curious and a little playful. I know that look. It’s the look he gets right before we get into trouble.
5
Chapter 5
Devin, age 18
I was born believing I deserved the world. Unfortunately for me, the world didn’t give a rat's ass. Actually—technically speaking—it gave me nothing. But the true irony of it all is I embraced that nothingness so deeply, it made me its king.
I inhale, the tip of the blunt glows bright orange and smoke billows from my nose. I’m on my third—no, fourth blunt of the day and I can still feel. That’s how I know there’s some soul left rattling around in my chest.
I pass the blunt to my left, the music, some pop/punk song blares through the air and I chuckle to myself, proud of my Bukowski reference. Dad would be too, if he were still alive.
If.
The party is in full swing around us. I watch as Reese tries to convince Roni to funnel a beer. He demonstrates how it’s supposed to be done and then offers it to her. She wrinkles her nose at him but puts the end of the funnel to her lips anyway. I shift, moving to stand but Brooke reaches for my arm. “What’s up with you and her?”
My jaw ticks in irritation. “Nothing. Chill.”
“You’ve been staring at her all night.”
I roll my eyes at the needy girlfriend act she’s been putting on for the last hour. Brooke isn’t my girlfriend. She’s just someone I fuck. A fact that was firmly established before I ever stuck my dick inside of her. “Roni is a friend. I’ve known her my whole life. She moved away, now she’s back, and I’m just happy to see her.”
Her lips poke out and she crosses her arms like a fucking toddler going through Cocomelon withdrawals. “I knew I’d have to compete with Truly for your attention, I didn’t realize I’d also have to compete with your childhood bestie.”
“It isn’t a competition. She’ll win every time. Now you get to decide if you’re good with that or not.” Baring my teeth, I add. “Call me when you stop acting like a bitch.” I flick the ashes from my blunt into the grass. Normally, I hide the darkness that lives in my chest behind my grin and easy-going demeanor, but my ex-girlfriend is a sore fucking subject and Brooke is really pissing me off.
I saunter over towards my friends, not bothering to spare a second glance.
I watch as Roni holds the funnel to her pouty lips. Were they always so…pink? Reese tips a bit of the beer into the funnel, taking it easy on her. Her throat bobs up and down as she swallows like a fucking champ. When she’s done she lifts her hands in the air like she just finished a marathon, not funneled a half a cup of beer.
Reese hooks his arm around her neck and my hackles raise. I’m not sure why him flirting with her bothers me, but it does. The urge to rip his fucking arm from around her body is strong. Her eyes find mine and they widen, like she has no clue what to do with the attention he’s giving her. I crook my finger in her direction and she slips out of his grasp before practically skipping over to me. “Thank you,” she says, bumping my shoulder.
“Just tell him to fuck off. That always works for me.” I puff the blunt then pass it to her.
She eyes it, munching on her bottom lip. Even after all these years, I can still read her like a book. She doesn't want to back down from the challenge, but she’s unsure if she should. We’re the same in that regard. Kids of parents with substance issues turn out one of two ways. Either they’re like Roni, hesitant, and guilty over every little sip. Or they’re like me, embracing the inevitable. I’m a fuck up, born of two fuck ups, doomed to repeat the cycle, so why not have a little fun along the way?
It’s why I had to let go of Truly.
It’s why I’ll have to let go of everyone eventually.
“Do you trust me?” I echo words I’ve spoken to her a million times before. It’s weird. It’s been eight years and yet, the moment I laid eyes on her, it was like no time had passed. With her, I’m the same nine-year-old punk, desperate for someone to look at me the same way people looked at my brother.