Devon

by Leanne Davis

  “Because she uses people. You never saw that side of her. You were too enamored with her looks. She stoked your ego so high when she wanted you that you never saw her true intentions. Her values are shallow, but they fuel her behavior. Status. Money. Getting men to do things for her. Seducing two identical twin brothers? Better yet, managing to turn them against each other? Hell, yeah. Good sport and fun for her. Damion was wrong to betray you, but I guarantee you she drove him to do it.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I personally saw how she got you.”

  He lifts his head then. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. His mouth is turned down in a sharp scowl. “What do mean got me?”

  “Like a panther stalking a deer. She was calculating and predatory in her strategy. She was never nice or easy or enjoyable to be around. Don’t try to sell that load of crap to me. You recognized that much in her; I know you did. But her looks, her allure… or whatever magic made men like you and Damion fall all over her, she was well aware of it, and she used it like rat bait on you. And on Damion. As well as three other guys I knew of the same year before she ever dated you.”

  “She stayed with me though.”

  “She did.” I don’t bolster his ego by saying that he and Damion are a lot hotter than most of the guys around there. They epitomize many women’s ideals, so yeah, it’s not that shocking for greedy Ireena Monroe to target both of them. I want to add until she didn’t. But that’s too mean and catty.

  “What do you mean she got caught?”

  “Either she trapped Damion with the pregnancy or it was truly an accident that trapped her with him. Do I believe she’ll stay with him long enough to grow old together? Hell, no. Do I believe she’ll be faithful for life? That was never her intention, and I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks.”

  He’s so woebegone, and his stature seems much smaller.

  “It was hard to see Damion,” he whispers. His tone is broken and strained. My heart swells with sympathy. It’s the loss of his brother that he mourns, not so much Ireena. But I get it. It must be hard to let go of what Damion did. I just wish it never happened. It ruined their relationship as brothers and friends, as well as making the entire Willapana family take sides in the feud.

  I step closer and touch his shoulder. I can’t ignore his blatant pain and sorrow. I am reminded how he tried to douse it with too much alcohol. I can smell it on his breath when he exhales before he starts shuddering.

  I continue my diatribe now that I’ve started it. Besides, he asked. He rarely asks me about anything. He might not remember most of it so it feel safe to vent everything I had on my chest. “She was stroking her own ego. Fluffing it up. It wasn’t about you or Damion even. She didn’t fall madly in love with him or you. I know what I’m talking about. I know her.”

  For so long, I observed them together and endured all the smug looks and smirks she gave me. Incessantly mocking me, teasing me, and rubbing it in, she made no secret that she got Devon and I didn’t. I was friends with Devon and Damion, so I hung around them and oh crap! She really dangled that over me. I had to tread carefully, since I feared she would tell Devon what she knew. I played along with her so she wouldn’t out me to the guy I most wanted.

  Nice friend, huh? Pleasant sort of woman? No, Ireena truly wasn’t. I was not jealous either, not of her looks nor her relationship with Devon and Damion. Being a decent person was never in her DNA, and she always intended to come between the twin brothers. She meant to cause a rift, so everyone would keep talking about her and how she had come between them. What a saga. She loved being the center of all the gossip.

  I’m right beside Devon with my hand on his. He lifts his face until we are staring at each other. Hard. He blinks, and it suddenly seems as if ten years never passed and he’s seeing me for the very first time. Maybe all the alcohol in his system suddenly evaporated because he’s looking right at me, directly into my soul, seeing my feelings and all of me for the very first time. Puzzled, confused, and unsure, I hold his intense gaze. He has beautiful, deep, soulful eyes. They are usually overly cocky and confident, he’s so full of himself and his prominent place in the world. It’s rare to see him so unsure, vulnerable… and needy. Lacking support. Seeking care.

  Maybe he is even in need of me.

  My heart thumps at that secret thought when it crosses my brain. An eternal hope of mine.

  Does he know that I’ve always had a crush on him? I’ve been longing for him as more than a friend, but I never acted on it because I couldn’t find the words to make anything happen. Does he know? I doubt it. If he did, he never alluded to it. But I always wondered if Ireena kept it quiet. She never wanted any competition, so maybe she never said anything. That way, Devon would not even consider me as a girlfriend. The tall, gorgeous-and-she-damn-well-knew-it Ireena would never consider a short, fat, ordinary, neighborly, average-looking girl as good enough to compete with her. If she indulged the possibility that there was even a miniscule chance of Devon choosing me, she’d squash it like a bug, if only to humiliate me and send a strong message: no one as ordinary as me could dream of taking a guy like Devon from her.

  “You should have told me.”

  I blink. What? That I loved him? That I idolized him for all these years? That it hurts me when he gets hurt? That he was so much better at being a human than Ireena? What should I have told him? Unsure and hesitant to commit to any answer for fear of crippling embarrassment, I wait.

  I’m glad when he answers for me, because it isn’t what I was thinking. “You should have told me what she was really like.”

  “You’d never have believed it. You were so hung up on her. She’s very adept at leaving her mark on all kinds of men. They can only think of her and having sex with her as they throw their middle fingers up to the rest of the world, including their family, friendships, and even their twin brothers. Especially fat childhood friends.”

  He looked at me with furrowed eyebrows. “Especially fat childhood friends? Are you referring to yourself?”

  “Yes.” Duh. I restrain the overpowering urge to roll my eyes. “Of course I mean me.”

  He turns until he’s facing me. Disgruntled at suddenly receiving his undivided attention, I drop my hand. I feel puzzled so I stare at him vacantly. “I flipped you off? And my friends and family? My brother? My entire life? You’re saying I was like that?”

  “Yes. She has potent, tenuous tentacles that never let go. I don’t understand it so I can’t explain it. I hate it all the same. I watched her do it to other men before you, then she did it to you, and now she’s doing it to Damion.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head at me. “Why did you call yourself my fat friend?”

  “Well, Ireena thought I was.”

  His expression morphs into astonishment. “She said stuff like that to you?”

  “Yes. Ireena said stuff like that to me. I’m sure she said it to you and Damion. She’ll say it Dayshia too one day. Are you seriously saying that none of this rings a bell?” I widen my eyes to say, hello?

  “Well, yeah, she can be snarky and crude sometimes, mostly behind people’s backs. I didn’t love that about her. But you’re saying she said it to your face. You?”

  “Yes. To my face. Under the guise of being my friend. She made it seem like we shared this factual knowledge that I was fat and she was beautiful and that was the way it was.”

  “You’re not. Right? You’re not saying that about yourself, are you?”

  I roll my eyes. Not my point at all. I don’t want to discuss myself, especially my body and whether or not I have issues. Which I don’t. I don’t need him to say I’m beautiful or that I’ve got a great face and personality or whatever. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I do not care to discuss it with him.

  “Devon, let’s just leave it at this: Ireena Monroe is a consummate bitch.”

  A small smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “You’re right. She is. I didn’t g
rasp how deeply that streak inside her was until just now.”

  “I know. She’s a clever witch, and she casts her spells over lots of decent men.”

  He’s staring at me again. Weirdly. Intently. What the hell is it? “Claudia, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re completely… hot.”

  I blink. What the hell? Are beads of sweat running down my face? I mean, I feel warm, if only from discussing anything besides business or family with Devon. I’ve always overreacted when he gave me his attention even during an innocuous discussion. This is far more intense than we usually are. But, thankfully, there’s no sweat.

  “Did you just check your face?” he asks me, his eyes going wide with surprise.

  “Yeah… you said I’m hot. I’m always blushing at the wrong time.”

  He blinks. “You thought I was commenting on your physical temperature?” His smile is slow and contagious. He slides his body upright and all the slouching sadness dissipates instantly. “That’s pretty adorable. I wasn’t referring to the room temperature. I meant hot. You’re gorgeous. You’re beautiful.”

  I scoff. “And you’re drunk, Devon.”

  He suddenly leans forward and gets right in my space. His hand cups the side of my face as his gaze locks onto mine. He tilts his head down closer to me. I freeze. Paralyzed, I go completely still. My heart thumps hard in my chest and my thoughts start drilling me. They are stuck, and they keep repeating: He’s drunk. He’s drunk. It means nothing. It is nothing more than the alcohol talking.

  For years, I’ve fantasized about him touching the side of my face, being this close to me and focusing his eyes on me as if he truly sees my soul. He’s doing it right now. Staring down into my face, he pauses on my eyes, my mouth and seems to be aware of every feature. And his actions aren’t family-friendly or with a PG rating. His eyes are glimmering with heat. His thumb outlines the ridge of my jaw. In his face, I see an intensity, as if I matter to him.

  How my aching, lonely, longing heart wants to believe that. But I know better. I hesitate when I’m caught by his gaze. I need to step back. I look down. Think. More than anything, I must retreat. I have to take a step back and think. Hard. I need to listen to what my head tells me, not my heart. But he won’t stop staring at me. After years of wishing for this moment to occur, I can’t pry my eyes away. Or retreat. Or analyze the situation. Or listen to my head.

  Or stop.

  The will to stop him and myself has fled… when I should have nurtured it. There is so much at stake that remains ambiguous. This is not a good idea.

  My palms are instantly sweaty, and my throat feels swollen with nerves and I can only look up at him.

  I’ve always wanted this to happen.

  How can I resist it? How can I turn away from it? I can’t. I just… can’t. I don’t know how to defend myself from experiencing the one moment I’ve always wanted and dreamed about. As a young girl and a teen, I often fantasized about this exact thing happening. The day when Devon Willapana would finally see me as more than just his girl-pal. Or the annoying family tagalong he hung with at many a gathering. I tried to let him go. In my college days, I dated other guys, and even managed to have one long-term boyfriend. I tried to convince myself I was over Devon, but the minute I was single again, my unexpressed longing would make my heart ache. Most of the times I became single again, it was only after spending a holiday or family dinner with Devon. Just seeing him would start my crush all over again. All the healthy steps I followed in my quest to move past my futile crush were scattered like dust in the wind. I was right back where I always started.

  Why didn’t I just tell him how I felt?

  I have so many reasons but most of them remain in my head. I have no clue how Devon would react to my admission of having a crush on him. I used to hope he knew, but after hearing the intimate details of his girlfriends, including Ireena, over the years, I now believe he didn’t have any idea how I felt about him. It would have been cruel to tell me the stuff he did if he suspected I harbored a secret crush on him. He confided in me like any other friend, so I never assumed he knew. He valued me as his friend, too. Always.

  Fear of his rejection keeps me from ever admitting how I feel about him. My abiding fear of the moment that I tell him my secret before he flinches and does the “friend” thing. Then, everything would get awkward and weird. He’d feel sorry for me and try to be kind and sympathetic. He’d swear up and down that nothing would change between us, but it would. Humiliation would make me avoid him and pity would keep him away from me. I can’t stand the idea of being the subject of his pity. The sorrow of knowing that he does not feel the same way towards me would be unbearable.

  So I kept my secret. After finishing school, I started working at my dad’s company. How wonderful it was when he started working there, too. My jaw dropped when he got hired. I never dreamed he’d end up working for my dad’s company. Of course, I always intended to. That was my plan. That’s why my bachelor’s and master’s degrees were so important. When Devon showed up here in Vancouver, I was amazed. I never foresaw that happening. My old crush was lying dormant for three years, during the time he was with Ireena, but it suddenly exploded with a vengeance.

  I work with him better than I do with anyone else. He and I can make decisions without ever discussing them, we are so in tune with each other. Taking information and processing it in a similar method, we usually come to the same conclusions. Using comparable managerial styles, we handle the staff in many of the same ways and could fill in for each other easily. We run our department together, with Devon being more geared towards the sales, while I am more concerned with internal production and office matters, but we are always in it together. I’m just barely above him in the hierarchy, and until today, it never was a problem between us.

  Seeing so much at risk, I concealed my feelings. I always believed they’d diminish or even disappear over the years, and they did, but they always reappeared, gaining momentum before devastating me all over again. They remind me of the surf. The waves always swell up high before crashing down on me. After beating against me relentlessly, they retreat to calmer waters, and I think it is all over when something triggers another set of huge waves that roll over me mercilessly again.

  Once, before Devon met Ireena, and after I started working with my dad, I almost told Devon my secret. We were spending most of our time together and were still close friends. But I was always with Devon and Damion. So we were more of a threesome than a twosome. But one night after we were together at his parents’ house, I almost told him. He had just moved back to Silver Springs after receiving his master’s degree in Portland, and it was spring break. I was in college and decided not to go home, so I stayed with my Aunt Tara and Uncle Ryder. Of course, that led to spending my entire week with Devon. After going out with friends, boating with my uncle and hanging out with Devon continuously, we went out to dinner one night and it seemed different, much more intimate than usual. We bought a six-pack of beer and sat in his car. We were parked at one of the turnoffs along the Columbia River. We watched the setting sun, which lit up the sky in soft pastels of peach, orange, and pink. Reflecting off the water’s surface, the dark silhouettes of the trees were etched against the luminous sky. It was breathtaking, and we were drinking just enough to be a little more honest with each other than usual, but not so much as to be drunk.

  We played a stupid game of Truth or Dare with the clear understanding there would be no dares. We asked each other innocuous things, like the first time we had sex or if we ever cheated at school. We ended up talking about our families and then our insecurities, delving far deeper than we usually did. We talked well into the night until we got sleepy and our eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. Turning in our seats just to keep staring at each other as we talked, it was so intimate, warm, and engaged. I almost reached out and took his hand. I was so tempted to just say it. I was poised to blurt out how I felt about him. I convinced myself in that moment that he felt the same sou
l-deep connection, too. But I chickened out. The words suddenly seemed too heavy, like lead on my tongue, and I could not muster the courage to say them.

  Luckily, I did not tell him. My worst fear happened soon after that. He met Ireena and began a serious relationship, one that only words like exclusive, committed, and love can describe. Each progression in their depth of commitment left me feeling as if a tourniquet was tied around my heart and slowly being tightened. Slowly but surely, I was being tortured by Devon’s feelings for Ireena.

  The one opportunity I could have told him, I chickened out. At the time, my fear was ruining whatever we had, even if it was only the connection of our families. When he fell in love with Ireena, I believed I lost my chance forever. And then came the great betrayal. Devon’s been an emotional train wreck ever since. There was no thought of telling him anymore. I just did my best to help Devon get through the day or the weekend. Hearing that Damion and Ireena got married as well as the announcement that Dayshia was born was a bad day for Devon. Almost as bad as Dayshia’s first birthday celebration.

  All of this history and baggage between us flashes through my mind as he holds my cheek and stares at me. He is acting so different than he ever has before. Has he finally gotten his first real glimpse of me and who I am? I’m not Ireena, no, but I’m here now and I always have been.

  I try to swallow the lump of anxiety in my throat and gulp. My heart must be visible in my eyes as a I stare up at him.

  “Devon?” I lick my lips as I whisper his name. My uncertainty, combined with intense hope, fill my tone. Even I can hear it. I doubt he does not. He must see it deep inside my eyes and hear the desperation in my tone. For him. For us. For this.

  He tilts his head. “You’ve always been so pretty.”

  “You never noticed before.”

  “I always noticed.”

  Noticed, but he wasn’t attracted. Never enough to act or even think about acting on it. “I’ve never been your type.”

  “Yet. You’ve never been my type yet.” He smiles as he studies my face. I lick my lips, and he doesn’t fail to notice. His eyes are fastened on me.