by Hazel Parker
“Abby, hey, you okay? You’re not freaking out?”
“I’m fine,” she agreed, though the sick feeling hadn’t left her stomach and she wasn’t so sure she was. “I just…wasn’t expecting that.”
Devon nodded, gently tugging the box in the direction of her apartment building’s front door.
“Let’s get you inside, okay? You can sit down and take a little break. I can get most of this stuff on my own.” She didn’t want him to have to do that, but she couldn’t deny that her hands were shaking so badly that it was difficult to even hold onto the box, so she just followed him to the elevator without another word, opening her door when they got to the third floor and sitting back down on the floor. She heard Devon fumbling around in a kitchen box for something, then the tap running, and he came back into the living room with a cup of water.
“I’m going to call the police and report that as a threat,” he offered. “Strike one, right? The rest will be easy. It’ll be okay.” Abby didn’t feel the same confidence he seemed to radiate, but looking at his eyes, so kind and sure, she didn’t want to do anything but agree with him.
“Sure,” she said. “Strike one.”
Chapter Four: Devon
A police officer, not the same one from the night before, came and took down the details of what had happened, then gave them the same spiel of how there was nothing they could do about it unless they wanted a no-contact order and left when Abby politely declined. She’d calmed down a lot faster than she had the night before, probably because she now had Devon with her if anything went wrong, and since they’d brought the rest of the boxes inside while they waited for the police, the whole ordeal only delayed their furniture assembly operation by just under an hour.
“Maybe this won’t take as long as I thought,” Abby mused, her attention split between talking to Devon and trying to put together a coffee table based on the pictures in the all-Swedish instruction booklet. “I mean, it’s only been one day, and we’ve already got the first documented threat. Plus, did you see how mad he got when you said we were dating?”
Devon shrugged, his focus directed toward the assembly of the futon. “He said he didn’t believe it,” he reminded her. “He might’ve seen through our lie, and if that’s the case, then he might know something is up. If he figures it out, he’s going to hold his tongue, and it might make this a little harder.”
Abby sighed, pressing her lips down into a thin line. “I guess that’s true,” she admitted. “That’s the whole reason I didn’t get the no-contact order, but if he figures it out it anyway, what good does that do?”
“Are you thinking about changing your mind, then?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “Right now, he’s just suspicious, but police action would send a pretty clear message that I’m just desperate to get him out of my life, which will make him try harder. I think our best bet is to sell him on the lie.”
Devon smiled, completely unable to fathom what that could entail. “How are we going to do that?”
“Time,” she said simply. “I’m sure that if we keep it up for long enough, he’ll drop the idea that he’s still got a chance. I’m just hoping that by the time your apartment is clear of smoke damage that we’ll be finished with this because I don’t have a backup plan.”
“Hell, you’ve barely even got a plan,” Devon pointed out, earning himself a glare from Abby. “I’m just saying!”
“I know,” she laughed, “and you’re not wrong, which is why I’m mad. I’ve got nothing beyond ‘do what we’re doing and hope he caves before he kills me,’ and that’s not ideal.”
Devon shook his head. He knew she was mostly joking—her tone was light and she was smiling teasingly—but it still didn’t settle well with him. “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he promised sincerely. “He’ll have to go through Chandra and me first, and there’s no way he could take either of us.”
Abby giggled. It was a bit of a relief, getting to know her during the daytime. Though he’d agreed to be her roommate out of necessity, part of him had been very hesitant about the whole thing, knowing that if the two of them didn’t get along, that it would mean that not only would he be out a place to live, but they’d both have to answer to his sister, who would show no mercy. She was a loyal sister, sure, but she was just as loyal a friend, and he was sure that she wouldn’t take sides: she’d torture both of them if they put her in the middle of an argument.
“Chandra should be getting off work pretty soon,” Abby observed. “I know she’ll be hungry, but I don’t have groceries to cook for three people.” She paused, thinking over the very few things that were in her pantry and remembering that it was virtually empty. “I don’t even have groceries to cook for one person.”
“Do you want to order pizza?” he asked. “Some local place slipped some coupons through the mail slot this morning; we could break in that new coffee table.”
Abby held up a leg of it, frowning. “If I can ever get it assembled,” she said. “How’s the futon coming?”
“About the same,” he admitted.
“Furniture assembly should be easier. Anything that reads like a picture book should not require an engineering degree to put together.”
He huffed an annoyed-but-agreeing laugh through his nose then pushed the various futon pieces away from his lap and stood up to join her on the other side of the living room.
“Maybe two heads will be better than one,” he suggested. “Let me have a look at your instruction manual.”
Devon held the little booklet so he could see it without taking it from her hands, sitting close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body against hers. It had been a long time since she’d sat so close to a man without feeling afraid, and even longer since one had treated her so gently, not even forcibly taking a piece of paper from her hands. She allowed herself to enjoy his proximity, smelling the light, oaky scent of his aftershave as he tilted his head to read what was on the page.
“Well, I can’t make any more sense of it than you have,” he admitted.
“Yeah, I think this is a lost cause,” she caved. “Time to look up some tutorials on the internet?” He gave her a devilish smile and nodded.
“Abby, you’re brilliant,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his phone to open his browser. Step-by-step with the video tutorial, they worked together to assemble the table, then the futon, making well over double the progress they’d made working from the instruction manual in half the time. By the time they’d finished, it was a little after the time that she’d expected Chandra to be off work, so Abby looked to her phone for updates and found a text from her.
“Chandra says that a few of her work friends are going out for someone’s birthday,” she summarized, “and wants to know if we’ll be okay figuring out dinner without her.”
Devon rolled his eyes. “Tell her that without her to guide us through, we’ll surely starve to death.”
“I’m going to tell her to go ahead,” she giggled. “If we play our cards right, we might be able to guilt her into assembling the bedside table when I buy one.” Devon tapped his temple twice in agreement.
“Good thinking,” he praised. “So, sounds like we’re on our own for food. What do you want to eat?”
“I don’t know of any places around here,” she admitted, and Devon grinned.
“Finding new restaurants one of the most exciting parts of moving,” he said, but Abby disagreed.
“Not for me. I like to stick with what I know. Before moving in with Trevor, I’d lived downtown pretty much since I was born, so I knew which places were good and which to avoid.”
Devon’s smile didn’t waver as he reached for his coat on the rack and handed Abby hers. “I love trying new places,” he said. “Especially in this part of Kentucky. We’re far enough away from the big cities to avoid fast food chains, but still in a big enough town that it’s not all farmland and we don’t have to drive for an hour just to find a diner.
I bet there are a lot of family owned dives around here; that’s where you get the best stuff.”
“Or how you get food poisoning,” Abby pointed out, but she followed him nevertheless to the truck and rubbed her hands together in the front seat as she waited for the heater to warm up.
“Ooh, is someone a picky eater?” he teased, his eyes bright and amused.
“I’m not picky!” she denied. “I just like familiarity.”
Devon laughed. “That’s called being picky!” He shifted the car into gear and pulled out of the parking space, seemingly already intent on a destination. “But I won’t throw you any curveballs—yet. We’ll start easy. There was a little smokehouse that Chandra and I passed on our way here that I wanted to try, and I’m taking you there.” She didn’t argue, probably partially because he’d helped her so much throughout the day that she figured she owed him at least first choice of what they ate for dinner, and partially because a pulled pork sandwich and some coleslaw couldn’t possibly sound half bad to her right now. It was called comfort food for a reason, and Abby definitely couldn’t afford to turn down any comfort right now, he knew.
Chapter Five: Abby
Abby treated Devon to dinner despite that he reassured her they could split the bill. The BBQ joint smelled like hickory smoke and brown sugar, and the interior of the restaurant looked like it had been in business for decades and never remodeled. The furniture was old, the owner was old, and the food was amazing. There was no polite way to eat a pulled pork sandwich, but she was ravenous enough that she didn’t care if she got some sauce on her face. Besides, it wasn’t like she was here on a date: this was her best friend’s brother, after all, almost five years older than she was and just being nice by doing her this huge favor. They paid upfront for their food and waited for it to come from the window to the kitchen, then sat at one of the booths near the back.
“Didn’t I tell you this place would be worth it?” he asked halfway through their meal, and Abby rolled her eyes.
“You were right,” she admitted, “it’s great. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
“Damn right,” he declared. “And if you like this place, that means I passed the trial and therefore have earned the right to take you to other, more adventurous restaurants. How do you feel about sushi?”
She turned her nose up. “Raw fish?” she asked. “Sounds like an open invitation for intestinal parasites.”
“Boo, you’re no fun,” he frowned. “I just want to see the look on your face when you see what you’ve been missing.”
“I don’t see the point in eating adventurously, really,” Abby confessed. “I know the restaurants I like; I know what to expect and that I’m going to get the same quality every time. It’s safe.”
“Yeah, but it’s boring,” Devon argued. “You’ve got to take some risks now and then. Otherwise, you’re just going to settle into a rut and never get out.”
Abby didn’t know quite what to say to that. She didn’t want to bring up how the few risks she’d ever taken had seemed to backfire—she’d moved out of her parents’ house when she was eighteen and had to move back in when she couldn’t afford to pay her bills, then finally when she’d gotten back on her feet and moved out on her own again, she’d started dating Trevor after only ten months out of the house, and they both knew how that had turned out.
“Finish up your sandwich, Mr. Adventure,” she demanded lightly. “Chandra’s going to be back from the work party soon, and she’s probably going to want to see the new furniture.” Devon took another bite without a word, but something in his eyes told her that she hadn’t won this argument just yet.
Abby was right about wanting to come over after dinner, but she didn’t stay long, since Abby had to go back to work the next day. She told her how much she liked it, reassured Abby a few times that things would be fine for her to sleep here tonight and that Devon would take her to and from work and told her to call if anything happened that made her nervous. By the time she left, it was getting late in the evening, and Abby knew that it was going to take her quite a while to fall asleep, so she decided to start early and got ready for bed. Before she went into her room for the night, however, Abby had to make sure that Devon was settled on the couch-bed. They’d bought some sheets to put over the pull-out mattress, and when she’d left him to brush her teeth, he’d been moving the coffee table out of the way so he could take out the mattress and put them on. She had to fish around in a few boxes until she found a thick blanket, then took a few pillows off her bed for him.
“How’s the futon feel?” she asked, finding him resting on top. It looked firm, since he didn’t sink into it too far, and she was worried that it was going to be too hard and hurt his back.
“It’s good,” he replied reflexively, a response she replied to with a skeptical gaze.
“It looks uncomfortable.”
“It’s not,” he denied, and when she didn’t look convinced, he scooted over and patted the spot next to him. “Try it for yourself.” Hesitantly, Abby set the blankets and pillows on the back of the couch and laid down beside him on top of the sheets, finding it surprisingly soft for how cheap it had been. She couldn’t feel the bars in her back like she’d expected to, which was a good thing, and she’d definitely slept on worse.
“Yeah, this isn’t bad,” she agreed. Lying down allowed her back to stretch out after a day of strenuous labor, stress, and sitting hunched over a bunch of furniture parts, and she found it much easier to continue to stare at the ugly popcorn ceiling than to make an effort to sit up. She felt Devon shift to look at her, but Abby kept her eyes up, intentionally averting her gaze, because to look at him like this might be awkward.
“You okay?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. They’d been joking most of the day—hell, even when they’d had to talk to Trevor, his tone had been light as air. However, now, he was serious, worried.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Do you want me to go through that list chronologically, or alphabetically?”
Abby huffed a laugh through her nose. “I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She had to do it, to look at him, and it turned out that it wasn’t awkward at all: in fact, it was pleasant. His face, though just as tired as hers probably looked, was sincere and calm, and she allowed herself a moment to look at him for the first time up close. His jawline was sharp, and he’d started to get a little bit of a five o’clock shadow from the day of not shaving, but instead of making him look sloppy, it was somehow becoming on him. It complimented the strong, rugged image that he had but didn’t quite tip the scales into being intimidating or scary.
“You don’t have to…you know, listen to me complaining all the time or anything. That’s not part of this deal. I’m asking enough of you already by being essentially bodyguard, so I’m not going to try to throw more onto your shoulders by making you my—”
“Friend?”
She bit her bottom lip. “I was going to say therapist,” she disclaimed.
“I wasn’t asking because I felt I had to,” Devon told her. “I was asking because I wanted to know. You’re a nice girl, Abby, and you’re not being a burden by letting somebody know you’re scared.”
There it was. She could hide behind the jokes all she wanted, switching between blind optimism and hyperbolic catastrophism so readily that no one could decipher a real emotion from it if they tried, but that didn’t take away the reality of the situation: the person she was most afraid of was here in the one place people were supposed to feel safe. Her attempt at moving on had been thwarted, and that fucking sucked. She swallowed down a lump in her throat, but it was buoyant, bobbing back up over and over until she felt tears well up in her eyes.
“I just feel like I did all the work of moving for nothing,” she said, “because I was probably safer when I was living with him. Nothing’s changed, except now I’ve dragged you and Chandra into the danger zone. I can’t help but feel like I
shouldn’t have said anything at all.”
