My eyes flare in surprise. It’s almost too much for me to even wrap my mind around. “So that was all that was left of him?”
“It was. He had a wife, but when she found out, she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. So she abandoned him. I took him, and it was then that he told me not to call him John anymore. Hands was just fine.”
My heart is breaking. This is the saddest story that I’ve ever heard, and Devlin looks broken too, even telling it to me now.
I cover his hand with mine and manage a smile. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not me who’s had to endure all the pain. It’s Hands.”
“Not about that. About earlier, when I yelled at you.”
He smirks and it’s glorious. “Is the great Blair Thornrose apologizing?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”
We look at each other and laugh. His eyes hold so much warmth for me, so much that I can barely breathe. Maybe it’s time for me to forgive Devlin. The amount of care that he showed Hands proves that he’s not as selfish and awful as I’ve thought for so long. The man has a heart, even if he broke mine.
Maybe it’s time that I gave him another chance—a chance to redeem himself. I’m not saying that I want to give myself to him. But maybe Devlin deserves some credit. He is trying to get me and Storm together, and he isn’t using my power to frolic with a bunch of women—at least not in front of me.
“I’m sorry about the break-in,” I admit.
His jaw flexes as he looks out the window. “I think you could do better.”
“Better?”
“Than Storm.”
I bark a laugh. “Better than a billionaire?”
“Better,” he growls in a voice that makes the hairs on my neck soldier to attention.
Okay then.“Listen, if you find Mr. Better, let me know. Because right now my only option is Mr. Available, and that’s Storm Grayson.” Devlin’s silent for a long moment, staring into his wine. Finally I ask, “Why do you dislike him so much?”
He rubs a hand down his face. “No reason.”
“Liar.”
I suppose Devlin’s already been vulnerable enough with me for one night, telling me about Hands. If he’s any more vulnerable, I may take a blow torch to the steel wall I’ve erected around my heart and start melting that sucker down for scrap metal.
He exhales and shifts in his seat. I sense a conversation turn. “Want to have some fun?”
“Does this involve giant teddy bears?”
“Where’s yours, I might ask?”
“I left it on the doorstep of the house and messaged Chelsea about it. She has an affinity for giant stuffed things.”
“Uh-huh,” he says as if he doesn’t believe me.
I poke his leg with my toe. “It’s true.”
Before I can pull my leg away, he grabs my foot, pulls off my boot, and starts massaging the tendons.
Oh gods. I’m sure my foot stinks. I have, like, loads of feet bacteria. I’ve met people whose feet don’t smell. My sister Dallas is like that. She could wear sneakers without socks for an entire week, never once wash her feet, and somehow they’d wind up smelling like a field of lavender on a sunny day.
Not me.
But if Devlin gets a whiff of foul, he doesn’t mention it, and I’m pretty much sure that foot massages are not in the friends department of our relationship.
