Devlin is silent, just staring at me in a way that forces me to look away to escape the intensity.
“I’m warning you,” I say, my voice steadier now. “If you mess up the fundraising, not even your best friend—aka my brother—will be able to save you.”
“I don’t hate the rescue room.” The words come slowly, deliberately. “I don’t want to see the fundraisers or anything you do for a completely different reason.”
“What reason?”
Silence again. Out of pure irritation, I take a sharp step toward him.
Devlin jerks like he’s been hit with an electric shock, his whole body going rigid. Then he freezes, falling silent once more.
So he’s not going to answer me?
“You’re still very young and naive,” he finally says.
“Bower, since when did you start acting like some grizzled elder? You’re three years older. That’s it.”
“I grew up in the Foster care.” He gives a short, sharp nod, his eyes fixed on something over my shoulder. “I lived a lifetime before I was even adopted. It was a shitty life, but I had hockey. That’s the only thing that’s still mine.”
I stare at him wide-eyed, unable to hide my reaction.
I had no idea. Sasha never said a word.
But Sasha must have known—Devlin spent almost every holiday at our house, and it had always seemed so strange to me. My head is spinning with all this new information. Some things are just starting to make sense only now.
“Don’t start filling your head with your typical do-gooder ideas, Val,” Devlin says harshly. “I’m still a total bastard anyway. I’m still a bastard at the end of the day. That’s how it’s meant to be, and I’ve accepted it. And your brother… look how well I’ve repaid his friendship.”
“What do you… mean?” I swallow hard.
Devlin moves closer, and my hand reaches out of its own accord, just to touch him. He looks so tense, so brutal at this moment, like he’s about to shatter into a thousand pieces.
He stares at my raised hand like it’s some strange, alien thing.
“Even you can’t be so naive as not to know what I mean.”
“My brother has nothing to do with this. I am my own person and do as I want.”
I let out a quiet gasp as Devlin deftly and lightning-fast pulls me close with his whole body and presses his forehead against the bridge of my nose, leaning in.
“Forget about being your own person from now on. That part of your life is over,” he rasps. “I told you yesterday there’s no turning back. After what you said in that hallway, I’m never letting you go. I will never leave you alone—ever. Not even your brother will stop me, though God knows I didn’t want it to end like this. I completely lost control that evening and lashed out at you, and I’m man enough to own that truth. I’m not letting you go for anything. Remember that, sweetie. “
He nudges me toward my building, his hand a heavy, permanent weight on my shoulder. “Now, walk to the door. I’m going to watch you close it behind you. I’ll call you in three minutes—you will pick up and tell me you’re safe. And then you’re going to save my number. Because you’ll be calling it a lot from now on.”
* * *
Three days later, I’m sitting in my room doing homework that I can’t seem to focus on.
My thoughts keep returning to that evening when Devlin called. I did pick up the phone, replied with literally two words—“I’m fine”—and then hung up. After that, Devlin sent me a message asking how I was, and I replied briefly.
And then I spent the entire night trying to get my head around everything I’d heard.
To be honest, even three days later, I still haven’t gotten over it.
I’ve been spending almost all my time studying and looking after the animals, throwing myself into routine to avoid thinking about it. But it doesn’t work. My mind keeps circling back to his words, to the intensity in his voice, to the promise—or threat—he made.
After what you said in that hallway, I’m never letting you go.
I feel a thrill at the memory, followed immediately by fear. Fear of taking his words seriously. Fear of rejection if I let myself believe them. Irritation at his orders, at his presumption that he can just decide these things for me.
