“No, I didn’t!”
I don’t have time for her lies. Or her, period. “Don’t ever come near my house again. If I see you on my property, I’m going to put an arrow right through your lying mouth.”
She tosses her hair over a shoulder, all defiant and brave. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me.”
She clears her throat. She knows how good I am at archery, just like everyone else in town. “Bully!” she says before backing away and sliding into her car, which is parked in front of the neighbor’s house.
I let out a harsh sigh as she disappears. Now, the pests are gone. But that’s no relief—because Devlin’s gone, too.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Devlin
Fu
ck! What an idiot I’ve been!
And not just any idiot. A can’t-tie-his-own-shoes, world-class idiot!
My hands tighten around the steering wheel like it’s Becca’s neck. If she were here right now, I might just strangle her.
I wasn’t even gone for that long. I went over to the house to check up on things. Marie will do a good job with it, but I wanted to see the work with my own eyes, because this is too important to just delegate and forget about.
Lawn mown, trees and shrubs trimmed. Windows getting measured for replacement. A contractor coming out to check on the roof, since I’m certain Margaret hasn’t done anything to repair or replace it. I saw a small spot on the ceiling of the master bedroom that was a shade darker and felt slightly damp against my fingertips three days ago.
The excitement over seeing the progress at the house is gone, turned to ashes the moment I saw Becca wrapped around another guy. In our home.
Okay, technically it’s her home. And the marriage is temporary. But I thought… Well, I thought she cared. I thought it could be more. I thought it might…
You thought wrong, moron!
The tableau was eerily like the one Ashley created. She too was wrapped around another guy when I came home one day. She too said she could explain. Except all she gave me were lies and more lies. She just liked to screw around. And she usually didn’t even bother with excuses, except I was apparently too good a prize for her to give up. A rich, famous rock star showering you with attention and gifts? Why would any woman want to give that up?
Becca could be thinking the same way. Actually, she most definitely is thinking the same way. After all, she needs me to get the house and the studio from Margaret.
I should set it on fire. And invite everyone in town to come and roast s’mores.
That should be satisfying…
Yeah…
But the ugly burn in my gut only intensifies. And I know I’m kidding myself. Setting the place on fire wouldn’t do a thing to make me feel better. Becca’s betrayal hurts a hell of a lot more than Ashley’s did. Maybe it’s because I thought Becca wouldn’t be like that. Maybe because she seemed more honest. I mean… Look at her. She has accomplishments of her own. She doesn’t need a man to make her feel special. She’s got her art and can handle a bow like nobody’s business, which is totally kickass and sexy as hell. On top of all that, she knows how to play a long game to get what she wants, just like me. I thought we were two of a kind. I thought we got each other.
After a while, I realize I’m not even an hour away from Dallas. Shit. I want to brood. Maybe bang on my drums. But my drum set is in Drover, and I don’t want to be in Dallas and have Max ask me where Becca is, assuming he’s already back from his vacation.
Fuck it. I’m Devlin fuckin’ Marsh, and it’s not like I have to be in Dallas right now. The band isn’t getting together for a few more weeks.
I keep driving.
* * *
Twenty-four hours later, I’m in front of the house in Kingstree that Killian shares with Emily. Their lovey-dovey honeymoon home. I debate if it’s a good idea to be here. Maybe I should go somewhere else, but I can’t think of where. Spain’s out of the question—Mom’s somewhere in Turkey right now, according to her Instagram feed. My eyes are stinging and itching as though they’re full of sand. I need sleep, coffee and food, in that order. Probably a shower, too.
Screw it. I get out and knock on the door. It opens after a few moments, revealing Emily. Her eyes are wide behind a pair of glasses, her mouth parted, and her golden hair is in a messy knot with two pens sticking out of it. She looks like a hobo in a loose shirt that was probably pink when she bought it and yoga pants with three holes that I can see. And probably more that I can’t.
“Devlin? What are you doing here?” She rises on her toes and peers around behind me.