Vendetta

eight

DEVON

A warm ray of light jolts me awake me from a dreamless sleep. I sit up, a little too fast, and pain shoots through my head. Slumping back against the headboard, I bring my hand to my temples and massage them in circular motion, but it doesn't really help. It's the worst hangover I've ever had. Fucking Jack.

I open my eyes without thinking, and the blazing light only worsens the pounding headache. I squeeze my eyes closed again. My tongue feels like sandpaper. I'm thirsty as hell. It takes me a few minutes to open my eyes again, trying to focus them on anything in the room.

Then I realize. I'm in Leighton's room. In her bed.

“Shit.” What the fuck happened last night? I try to rewind, Leighton, Baroque, Soraya—I cringe at that last memory. What a fucking waste.

And then . . . nothing. I have never allowed myself this. Sure I've gotten drunk before, but never so much to black out. Always keep your wits about you, my uncle would say, and I always listened.

Until last night.

I get out of bed slowly, the drums in my head getting louder. I'm fully clothed, and I reek of alcohol and perfume. It makes me queasy, and I'm about to run for the bathroom when something clicks. She's nowhere in sight. I head for the bathroom, listening for any sounds in there, hoping she's taking a shower or whatever, but when I go inside, she’s not there.

Leaving the bathroom, I scan the room, looking for any clues as to what happened. My eyes find her shoes on the floor next to the bed. Nothing looks out of place.

But she's not in here.

Idiot, I want to yell but I know it will attract attention. So I scold myself in my head. I fucking knew this would happen. The woman is making me into a sad excuse of a man. Always has. Weak. Pathetic.

At least I can finally admit it. Yeah, Devon, there's a reason why you stayed away from her for as long as you have.

And for fuck's sake, I'm not even worried she managed to escape, I'd be surprised she didn't take this chance I've so stupidly given her. No, my stupid, irrational fear is she didn't, and that someone got their hands on her.

The thought is unsettling. I've never had to worry about her like this before. And I'm the one who brought her here.

Fuck.

But surely I'd have heard something, if she's still here, or if someone got her. She'd scream, I'm almost positive.

I move for the door, which is, of course, unlocked. I shake my head at my stupidity. Idiot. Exiting the room, I lock it, and then head downstairs to the guest room, making up a plan in my head as I go.

I smell like perfume and alcohol, but I don’t have the time to take a shower right now. I went to her bed smelling like that, I realize. I cut the feeling of remorse that starts to creep into my mind. It's for the best.

Do I tell Frank about this? I bet Stevie will have a field day with his I-told-you-so. But I have to say something. Maybe I can say it's done? Then I can find her, and . . . and what? Kill her? Yes, because she's a weakness. And I have a duty to my family. And I'll finally be free of this pathetic . . . thing in my head.

I laugh at myself. Yup, pathetic.

I catch my reflection in the mirror as I pass it. I get a flash of memory of being slapped across the face. Well, that answers the question of how she felt about me coming to her bed last night.

I put on the first shirt and jeans that I spot. Then I go downstairs to my uncle's study. I can't hide this from him. I guess I’ll just have to suck it up, proving to everyone I’m a failure.

The voices get louder as I descend the stairs, a fear creeping up my spine. I don't know what's going on, but it doesn't look good. There are at least five men in front of Frank’s study, all listening in, trying not to be obvious. They part as I pass. It's completely ridiculous. I knock on his door, and one of them, Jake, I think, opens it for me.

Stevie turns around when I enter, giving me a sneer when I eye the angry red scratch across his cheek. “There he is.”

“What's going on?” I ask.

“Your girl escaped last night,” Stevie replies, and I don't miss the implication in his words. But I don't react to it either.

“What do you mean escaped?” I ask, though secretly I'm relieved. “Wasn’t anyone on watch?”

Frank's eyes lock onto mine. “Well, yes, she tried to escape.”

I move closer to them, making sure I don't change my demeanor and give anything away. She didn't escape. To say a chill runs through me is an understatement. Someone got her. And all because I was careless.

And as I stand in front of Frank's desk, a whimper in the back of the room catches my attention. Frank and Stevie are looking at me, their gazes burning holes through my head, gauging my reaction. I don't turn around even though I want to. I should see the consequences of what I did. But damage control is more important right now. If I turn around, I give them what they want.

“Stevie was there,” my uncle finally says. A surge of pride goes through me because the scratch on his cheek has a whole new meaning now.

“Yeah, I was there,” Stevie says, looking over my shoulder. Don't turn around.

“You've been careless, Devon. She stole the key from Hayley,” Frank adds.

At this I do turn around, curious because we both know that's not the truth. I find her sitting in the corner, her hands bound with duct tape. There are cuts all over her feet. Her shirt is torn, exposing her bra and all the way down to her navel. Her bottom lip is bloodied and swollen, her hair a tangled mess.

I relax my fist, the exact opposite of what I really want to do. I mask my expression, even though her eyes are pleading with me. Her face crumples when she sees me shutting off, and I wish more than anything I could go to her and tell her it's all a show. I turn back to Stevie and Frank instead, mask in place.

“Marky got carried away,” Stevie says, shrugging nonchalantly. Idiot. When all of this is over, however it ends, I'll make sure he dies the worst death possible.

I nod in approval. “Good, that should teach her.”

“She's becoming a problem, Devon,” Frank says.

“I'll make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“No, I want her gone. I'll have one of my guys do it.”

I look at him, stunned. “If she turns up dead it's practically a red flag for Keith,” I say, keeping my tone even, controlled. “We've come so far. Do we want to fuck it all up now?”

He folds his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. I don't think I've ever defied him before. “Don't worry; he'll make sure she doesn't turn up dead. He'll make sure she doesn't turn up, period.”

“Can you even do it?” This from Stevie. “Or are you going all soft because she's a fine piece of meat? Can't say I blame you, after last night.” My eyes flash, a terrifying thought crossing my mind. Would Marky get that carried away? Did Stevie do something to her? “She fought like a little beast, the spitfire. Must be a pleasure to have that pinned beneath you, all pliant and submissive,” Stevie finishes, licking his lips, and adjusting himself.

If I don't leave the room right now, I'll just kill him on the spot.

“Stevie, I'm sure you're just dying to draw blood,” I say politely. “But unlike you, I’m not about to get carried away here.” His eyes narrow at that, but I ignore it. “I brought her here, she's my responsibility, I'll deal with her.” I turn to my uncle. “Are we good?”

His eyes flash with something unrecognizable, but then it's back to the usual indifference. “I guess you'll just have to prove it to me.”

“And I will. Now, this whole thing needs to go down as planned, otherwise it's no use. If one of them lives, and that includes her,” I say, gesturing with my thumb over my shoulder, “it's all for nothing.”

“You're right,” Frank says, glancing at Stevie, then back at me. “We need to keep our heads cool.”

“Thank you, sir.” I turn to walk over to her and take her away from this room, but Frank's words stop me.

“Who is she?” he asks me, and the way he says it leaves no doubt he expects an answer. He wants to make sure I remember who I am.

I continue making my way to her, looking at her in what I hope embodies disgust. She scrambles away from me, and I don't blame her. “She's a Moore,” I say, playing along with this game of his.

“And what about them?”

I lower myself to a crouch, taking her face in my hands. I remind myself it's not the time to assess the damage. She tries to look away, and I follow her eyes, giving her no choice but to meet my gaze and when she finally does, it breaks my heart. I don't want to tell her this.

“They killed my whole family,” I say, looking into her eyes, an almost desperate tone to my voice. Please understand. Disbelief colors her expression, and she starts shaking her head. I hold it steady, dreading the next words I have to say. “And they will pay for it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and a tear slides down her cheek.

“Good,” I hear Stevie say behind me.

I drag her up by her shoulder, adding more force to it than necessary. She cries out in pain, the sound ripping my heart. I push her toward the door and open it, the men in front of it pretending they weren't listening in. They watch me with approval as I all but drag her on the floor toward the stairway.

We round the corner, leaving their murmurs behind, and I stop and take her in my arms. Her body goes limp in my hold, all fight seemingly gone out of her as I carry her up to the third floor. I don't say anything, because what else can I say? I'm sure I've said it all, and she's not stupid.

She knows the way our world works, and why we were a mistake from the very start. That she should have never hoped for anything when it came to me, because ultimately, we're enemies, and you can't afford to have mercy for your enemies. She knows all of it.

I take her straight to the bathroom and set her on the counter. She leans back against the cool tiles while I turn on the water in the sink, adjusting it to the right temperature. I turn back to her and take her bound hands in mine, using my pocketknife to cut the duct tape off, and revealing the angry marks around her wrists. I rub my thumbs over them, my vision clouding with rage. I take a washcloth and run it under the water, then bring it to her face to clean it up. She doesn't even flinch when I make contact, wiping away the blood around her mouth. When I'm done and her face is clean, I lean in and kiss her swollen lip.

“I'm so goddamn sorry this happened,” I murmur against her lips, my voice breaking. I'm sure she knows I don't mean just the cuts and bruises on her face. There are things deep beneath the skin I need to apologize for.

She doesn't respond. Her eyes are unfocused, like she's looking right through me. I wouldn't want to look at me either, if I was her.

I wet the washcloth again, then take her small feet into my hands, wiping around the cuts. Why didn't she wear the goddamn shoes?

I turn the shower on, making sure the water is a good temperature.

“I'll give you some privacy,” I tell her. She just shakes her head, a dazed expression on her face.

It feels like she's inside the shower forever. I have a brief thought that she might try and hurt herself in there, but I don't really believe it. It just doesn't seem like her.

The door opens, and she walks out, stark naked, not looking at me. I try not to ogle, because it's really inappropriate and there's nothing sexual about it. She walks straight to the bed and climbs on it, and just sits there in the middle of it.

I get up and walk over to her. I take out a shirt from the dresser and a pair of panties and bring them over to her. She doesn't resist me when I pull the shirt over her head, hiding her body from my hungry eyes. I run my hands through her wet hair, savoring the silky feel of it. She takes the underwear from my lap and pulls them on herself, then lies down on the bed, tucking her elbow under her head.

I follow suit, lying down on my side, facing her. She brings her free hand up to my face, her hesitant touch whispering over my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into her hand, feeling like a hypocrite because I know she's trying to comfort me for what I just told her.

“I wish you were someone else,” she whispers, and I hear the tears in her voice. My eyes open and I kiss her wrist hovering over my mouth, wiping away the single tear streaking her cheek with my thumb.

“Me, too,” I say, and I've never meant anything more than I do those two words.

LEIGHTON

I wake up in the afternoon, if I can tell by the faint darkness I see through the sole window in the room.

When it all hits me, I still feel numb. Being locked in this room, Devon lulled me into a false sense of security. With him around, sure, I was scared, but I wasn't terrified, and I was sure I was getting out of this alive because Devon would take care of me.

I don't know why I thought it. He hasn't really done anything to make me think that. But somewhere deep down, I thought he would make sure I was okay, at the end of the day.

Being in the arms of those slimy men, being taunted and leered at, I realized how stupid I've been. It's not just Devon in this house; it's not just him who makes final decisions.

Devon's uncle is cold and unfeeling. I have no idea how he grew up with that. He is not like him, at all.

My breath hitches when I remember the moment I thought Stevie was going to rape me.

My family killed his? I glance over at Devon, hoping that it isn't true, but knowing it probably is. This whole thing is so messed up. How can he even look at me? He must despise me. He's been putting up with my shit this whole time when he didn't have to, all the while knowing that my family destroyed his.

When I saw him in his uncle's office I could have cried in relief. But the Devon I saw at that moment was a person I've never seen before, not even when he brought me here first. I never want to see that Devon again. He was cold, distant and emotionless, the kind of man who could look someone in the eye and kill them without an ounce of remorse. It scared the shit out of me.

I lay my face on his warm chest, glad that the trembling has finally stopped. We hadn't said much to each other before falling asleep, but I appreciate him holding me, making me feel safe, even if it isn't real. It looks like I'm going to pay for the sins of my family with my own life.

I guess this is what my life is about, right? Has always been about; family, pride and loyalty. Although I haven't killed anyone, I bear the sins of my last name, and now I face the consequences.

I have been envied my whole life for my status, wealth and material possessions.

If only they could see me now. I stifle a sob, thinking no money on the world will save me out of this situation.

“Hey,” Devon says, pulling me closer.

“I'm sorry,” I tell him, not knowing how to make this better. He makes a sound deep in his throat, but doesn't reply. Really, what is there to say? It's not okay, nothing can be forgiven or overlooked, and it doesn't matter how I feel about him because it doesn't change anything.

Devon rubs soothing circles on my back, offering me what comfort he can. He may wear his mask so well, but underneath I know that he’s a good man. He didn't deserve to lose his family.

Will my death really give him peace? This is the last thing I think before falling asleep again.

“Morning,” I say, when I see Devon awake and watching me, propped on his elbow.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

I nod, because we both know I’m not, but that it doesn’t really matter.

“What’s your plan for today?” I ask him, my voice wavering slightly.

He stretches his arms over his head. “I have something to do, but I’ll try to get it done as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” I say, grateful that he wouldn’t be leaving me alone all day.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” he asks, studying my expression.

Averting my gaze, I stare down at my hands. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I ran. They caught me.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.

“Did they hurt you?”

My head lifts sharply. “You mean did they . . . ”

“Touch you,” he says, his voice soft, almost breaking. He swallows hard, waiting for my answer.

“No, I mean. Stevie squeezed my . . . ” I gesture at my chest nervously. He nods, understanding. “But that’s it. I think he wanted to . . . and the other one held me.”

“Fucking assholes,” Devon growls, his hands turning to fists.

“I struggled, so that’s when they were rough, but then your uncle came out, and they backed off. I was scared, Devon. The look they had in their eyes, it terrified me,” I admit, closing my eyes.

“You didn’t tell them I left the door open. Why?” he demands, his voice hardening.

“Why, Leighton?” he repeats when I don’t reply.

“Why do you think?” I spit back at him, hating him for asking this question.

He puts his hand on my sore shoulder lightly, careful not to hurt me. “Tell me. I want—I need to know why you'd protect me, after everything?”

“Because of this,” I snap, leaning forward and capturing his lips with my own. He responds instantly, taking my mouth in a punishing kiss. He starts to suck on my bottom lip, and I run my hand up his shirt, feeling each taut muscle of his six-pack. He moans at the contact, but gently pushes me away.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sounding defeated.

“I know what’s going to happen,” I say sadly, huffing out a breath. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but right now I don’t care. Kiss me, Devon.”

Slowly, he brings his lips to mine, and gently kisses me. He pulls back a little before kissing me deeper, his tongue tasting mine. I make a sound in my throat when he gently sucks on my bottom lip, carefully avoiding the cut on it.

The door suddenly opens, and we pull away from each other, but not quick enough.

“What the fuck, Devon?” Hayley says, her eyes wide in disbelief. She looks shocked, but I don’t miss the flash of anger that crosses her face when she looks me straight in the eyes.

“Hales,” he says, sitting up in bed. She turns and leaves, slamming the door behind her. Devon jumps out of bed, but to my surprise he kisses me quickly on the forehead before following her out. The sound of the door locking makes me squeeze my eyes shut.

DEVON

I stuff the keys in my pocket, running after Hayley. I don't reach her until she's outside, and I see her retreating figure heading toward her car.

“Hales, wait up,” I yell after her. She stops, her shoulders squared. I jog to where she's standing and turn her around to face me. The expression on her face surprises me. I fully expected her to be . . . I don't know. Sad, devastated, brokenhearted.

Why did I even expect that? She's the one that broke up with me.

No, she's livid, now, fuming.

“What the fuck were you thinking in there, Devon? I could have been anyone. Anyone!”

I raise my hands up in a calming gesture.

“Don't treat me like I'm some raging lunatic. Are you fucking crazy? You didn't even lock the fucking door. You're lucky it was just me. You could have just lost everything over some slut.”

“Hey, now,” I say, a serious tone to my voice.

“Then what was that? If I walked in there a few minutes later would I have seen something far more compromising? You denying what I just saw?”

I could. I could tell her it's not what it looked like and she'd take my word for it, but I don't want to lie to her. I never did. And it's exactly what it looked like.

“Thought so,” she says smugly, her hands on her hips. She sighs. “You're never so careless.”

“I know,” I tell her, glad that she seems to understand. “I can't seem to do anything right these days.”

Her eyes find mine. “You can talk to me. I wish you never stopped.”

I swallow, hard. I stopped talking to her, my best friend, because there are things she's better off not knowing. I couldn't tell her how torn I felt about myself, about who I am, who I want to be. The reasons that make me question everything about me. She just wouldn't understand.

And, if I'm honest, I don't want to hurt her. I hate to admit it, but she was never it. She knows it, too, it's why she broke up with me—not that she loved me either, but she doesn't need me throwing it in her face.

So I ignore her pleading eyes and say, “What are you doing here?” instead.

Her shoulders slump, defeated. Another sigh. “I came to check on you. Dad said I should,” she says, and then shakes her head. “But you seem to be doing just fine.”

“Hales,” I start, but she interrupts me, lifting her palm in front of my face.

“No, I'm not letting you off the hook. I'm not letting you destroy everything you've done so far for that . . . ” I give her a hard look, daring her to say it again. I know she doesn't even think of Leighton as a slut. Hayley is not one of those girls who talks shit about other people. “For that girl,” she finishes.

“I'm not.”

“Then explain, please.”

I glance at my watch, though what I have to do doesn't have a time schedule. “Can it wait? There's something I have to do first.”

“Now?” Her face is a picture of disbelief.

“It won't take long. And you can wait for me with Leighton.”

“So now she's waiting for you?”

“Later, please?” I ask her, leading her toward the house. She nods, although reluctantly.

I think of going in to say goodbye to Leighton, but I don’t want to give Hayley any more reason for suspicion. I place the key to the room in her hand and tell her to lock up.

As I back toward the car, I gesture to Marky to come with me. He gives me a quizzical look, but doesn't say anything, just follows after me.

“Where to, boss?” he says as we near my car.

“We have a shipment,” I say, daring him to question my words.

He doesn't, as I expected. He sits in the passenger seat of my car and I drive us in silence to one of our warehouses near the produce mart.

Once we're parked, I get out. Marky gets out as well and rounds the car. “Boss?” he says, looking around.

I just wave with my hand, telling him to follow me. “I have to get some papers first.”

Leaving him just outside the office, I walk in, and I head to the desk. Opening its drawer, I pull out a folder of papers, but it's not what I'm looking for. We don’t really write anything down, it’s just something I’m used to saying. Rummaging through the drawer, I call out, “So, how about last night?”

“Yeah, what a night,” Marky says back.

I come out of the office. His wide back is turned to me, and his dark-haired head bowed down, reading over some car magazine I left lying around.

“What happened out there?”

“Nothing, boss, we just wanted to have some fun. She fought, let me tell you.” His voice gets an excited tone to it. I can actually hear him grinning, reliving the moment. The picture in my head is not a pretty one. I know it's not his fault, because he says, “And she is who she is so I figured—”

Logic, right? She's a Moore, she's being held against her will, she's basically at our mercy, we're planning this huge thing to take every member of her family down. It's only logical he would assume nothing is off limits.

I know this.

But I don't really care.

“Figured what exactly, Marky?”

He turns around at the hardness in my voice. Eyeing the gun in my hand, he swallows hard.

I could do a grand monologue, waxing poetic on how I really don't want to even think about other men's paws touching Leighton, and this is why he has to die. Does he not get that if I brought her here, she can't possibly be his to take? To even try something like that?

I could let him explain, and he would just confirm what I know—that he assumed it's okay, or maybe he did what Stevie did.

Or I could give him a chance to fight back, because it's the honorable thing to do. That almost makes me laugh: honorable criminals. Who the fuck even cares about honor anymore?

Maybe this is my chance to be a better man. I could just let it go, because it was an honest mistake.

I don't do any of this.

I shoot him in his left hand, the one he probably had all over Leighton, then the other. His hands, that caused so much damage to her beautiful face. He screams, a pitiful sound that does nothing but anger me even more. I come closer to him, his eyes wide as I put the barrel of the gun into his mouth, pointing upwards.

The final shot ringing through the empty warehouse is nothing short of satisfying.

I watch the crimson splattered all over the wall as I make a phone call to Saul. “I've made a bit of a mess,” I say after he picks up.

LEIGHTON

The lock rattles just as I’m walking out of the bathroom, fully dressed. I think it’s Devon again, but the second it opens Hayley storms into the room staring daggers at me, her hands on her hips. The air is suddenly thick with tension.

“What kind of game are you playing at, Leighton?” she finally says after a few tense moments. She purses her lips and watches me intently. Her whole attitude toward me has changed, and I know that our friendship, new and fragile as it was, is something we’re never going to get back.

“I’m not playing any games,” I say right back to her, crossing my arms against my chest.

“I’ve never seen Devon act this irresponsibly,” she says, more to herself than me as she starts pacing up and down the room. “He’s normally so in control of his emotions and actions.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I tell her, lifting my shoulder in a shrug. Is it really her business, what happens between Devon and me? I know this situation is messed up right now, but it is what it is. There’s no point pretending it's not happening, or looking the other way.

Especially since it won’t make a difference in the long run.

“How about an explanation?” she says, plopping herself down ungracefully onto the chair next to my bed.

“Look, Hayley. I don’t see why you think I owe you an explanation. I thought we were, well, not friends, but at least friendly. Clearly I was mistaken. I know you’re probably here because Devon told you to babysit again, so let’s just sit here and watch TV without talking. How about that?” I say, my tone belligerent.

Her face softens a little. “We are friends, you and I. But I’m Devon’s friend first, and I worry about him.”

“Devon is a grown-ass man,” I tell her, turning the TV on.

“He is, and he usually has his shit together. I don’t think you understand the position you’re putting him in.” She swallows hard before continuing. “You’re meant to die, Leighton. It's not just his decision. You're as good as dead with or without him. It’s not fair, it’s fucked up, but it’s the damn truth. With whatever you two have going on Devon is going to be in a lot of shit either way, isn’t he?”

“He’s either going to risk everything he believes in to save you, or he’s going to have to kill you and live with that regret for the rest of his life. What do you think that’s going to do to him? You need to stop this before it goes any further, Leighton.”

“I’m sorry, I’m the one dying in this equation, and you’re asking how Devon is going to live with himself?” I ask, gaping. “You know, when I met you I thought you were too nice for this world, and it looks like you’re finally showing your true colors.”

She shrugs. “You know it’s the truth.”

“Is that it? Or is this jealousy speaking?” I ask bluntly, watching her face for her reaction. She gives me nothing at all.

“I care about him, we’re best friends,” she says calmly. “Do I love him? Sure. Not the way you’re thinking, though, I know that he’s not the man for me,” she admits, tilting her head back on the chair, she closes her eyes and inhales deeply. “This is fucked up.”

Yeah, like it’s her life on the fucking line here. “Where did he go?”

“He had business to take care of,” she says shortly, opening her eyes to look at me. She cracks her knuckles. I hate that sound.

“Devon has beautiful women throwing themselves at him. You must have beer-flavored nipples or something,” she mutters to herself. I ignore her. Let her think what she wants, because she doesn’t know anything. I won’t be lowering my guard around her anymore, that’s for damn sure.

I flash her a fake smile and turn to face the TV. “So, when did you and Devon break up?” I ask her casually. I turn my head in time to catch the surprised look on her face. Yeah, like I believe for a second there wasn't anything between the two of them.

“Four months ago,” she admits with great reluctance. My memory flashes to that time, and I frown at this piece of information. How did I never see them together? Then again, I didn't see him that much because I avoided him, the same way I know he avoided me.

“We've been best friends forever so we were like, ‘Hey, let's give it a go.’ It made sense,” she says, glancing at me and shrugging. Then she sighs. “He wanted us to work so bad, but, God, I know it will sound shallow but when we . . . ” She gives me a shy smile. “When we made love . . . ”

I swallow the knot in my throat, feeling sorry I asked her anything. This feels like a stab straight to the heart, that he wanted someone else so much. That he made love to her.

I've been fooling myself with this forbidden love fantasy all my life. I was sure he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

“I mean yes, it was wild and passionate, everything I expected,” she continues, giving me a duh look.

I think I'm going to throw up right here in front of her.

“What happened? Did he cheat?” The words are out of my mouth before I think it over, before she says something to make me feel even more sick than I'm feeling right now.

She shakes her head condescendingly, like she feels sorry for me. “No, and if you knew Devon, you'd know how ridiculous that question is. I broke up with him, and we’re still friends. And twenty questions is over.”

“Fine by me,” I snap. Stuck in a room with his ex-girlfriend that he made love to. After he left me to go fuck someone else the other night. Yeah, it keeps getting better and better. This shit could only happen to me. I braid my hair and pretend to watch whatever stupid show is on, but my mind is reeling.

After an hour of excruciating silence, I’m ready to scream. She must have told me all of this on purpose, just to rub it in my face. Why else, if she thinks there's something going on between us? I’m also getting pretty damn hungry, and it's making me cranky. Most pathetic of all, I miss Devon, anyway, despite what I just heard.

How did this happen?

“He's the most loyal person I know,” Hayley says, breaking the silence. “You need to stop whatever you're doing with him, Leighton. I'm not jealous, the two of us were never meant to be, and I have nothing against you. If things were different . . . but I care about my friend. If he's loyal to you, you don't even understand the shitstorm it will cause. Just think, Leighton, think who you are and who he is. It's never going to work, even without all of this.”

I lean forward and put my face into my palms.

“You've taken enough from him already,” she delivers the final blow, making my eyes water. I'm glad she can't see it.

That's all it comes down to. In the grand scheme of things, my unrequited . . . crush, whatever, it's nothing compared to what my family took from him. I know he did his best to stay away from me, I just never thought it went beyond this rivalry between our families.

All my life, even when we were kids, I did everything and anything I could to get Devon's attention.

It may hurt like a bitch to find out he never cared back, that I've been fooling myself into thinking we had some epic connection, but I don't want him harmed.

“You're right,” I tell her, exhaling deeply and leaning back. She nods at me, but her attention has already switched back to the fictional lives on TV.

I only wish she weren't so right.