A Heart to Heal (11 page)

Memories he'd pushed away for years came rushing back in a blur: Shayla stumbling when she walked, him insisting that they leave, Peaches begging him to fix her flat tire before he left. Shayla had argued with him when he told her to lie down upstairs and wait on him, and said he was embarrassing her. Once the tire was changed and he'd brushed off Peaches attempt to kiss him, he'd gone upstairs to the last thing he ever expected to see. Tony and Shayla having sex.

His heart broke in that instant. When she tried to explain the next day he'd refused to listen. What was there to explain? They barely spoke after that. He'd been too embarrassed to admit how badly she'd hurt him. Half the football team saw him kissing Shayla after the game and Tony told the other half he'd slept with Shayla later that night. Instead of showing that he cared, he went along with everyone else who treated Shayla like a slut. He'd watched her spiral down a path of self destruction: drinking, partying and smoking weed with Tony for the rest of the school year. But he'd never stopped and asked her why.

He was so deep in thought he hadn't realized he drove home instead of to her house until he pulled up in the driveway. He sighed and hung his head before turning to Shayla. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she curled up against the door, fast asleep. Too tired to drive across town to her house, he got out and carried her in.

She woke up enough to wrap her arms around his shoulders. He took her upstairs to his guest bedroom. Shayla sighed and rubbed her nose against his neck. Despite the bitter aftertaste of high school memories, arousal heated his blood.

“Devin,” she said.

“What?”

She gripped his neck tighter. “My Devin. I thought it was you.”

He walked over and placed her on the bed. Her eyes cracked open and tears slipped down the side of her face. He sat beside her and wiped them away.

“Why are you crying?”

She moved her head from side to side then groaned. He let her turn over and hug the pillow. “That night, I thought it was you.” Her words were soft, he had to strain to hear them, but they pounded through his head as if she'd shouted.

She sighed and snuggled into the pillow, her breathing becoming slow and even. Gently, he shook her shoulder.

“Shayla.”

She didn't stir. He wanted answers. Had she been so drunk that night she couldn't tell him from Tony? Nobody got that drunk. He wasn't a lush, but he'd had his drunken moments and every time he was cognizant of what he was doing.

The need for answers scattered around inside him like a spilled bottle of marbles. He wanted to shake her awake and demand to know what happened, how she could possibly make such a grievous mistake.

Instead, he got up from the bed and slipped the shoes off her feet. He covered her with a blanket and walked to his room. Without even thinking of what he was doing he undressed and got into his bed: confused, angry, and burning to finally settle the rift between him and Shayla.

Shayla awoke with a start after falling and hitting something hard. She cried out. Her arms and legs were pinned against her body by a blanket, and scrambled to get loose. The blanket covered her face, but after a few seconds of frantic struggling her arms and head popped free. She was on the floor, in an unfamiliar bedroom next to the bed — where she must have fallen from. The last thing she remembered was trying to drink the memories of Tony out of her mind. Panic squeezed her chest.
Oh, God, please don't let me be in Tony's house!

Her gaze darted around the tastefully decorated room. There were no personal effects: the dresser wasn't cluttered with keys, coins, and the junk that accumulated in her bedroom. Except for the covers that slid off the bed with her, it looked like a seldom used guest bedroom. She fell back and placed a hand over her pounding head. Tony wouldn't put her in a guest bed. He wasn't that decent.

Footsteps pounded down the hall and the door flew open. She jerked up and lifted her arms in defense. Her throat constricted as Devin stopped at the door wearing only a pair of boxers. She dropped her hands, and her jaw, as the morning sunlight streamed through the blinds onto his copper skin. His body was slender with lean ropes of muscle defining his arms and legs. Golden brown strands of hair covered his chiseled chest and trailed down across a trim stomach to disappear beneath the waistband of his boxers. Her gaze followed the trail to where his boxers tented in the front. She gulped. Everything on him appeared long … and strong.

She blinked and raised her eyes to his. “It's you.”

He eyed her warily. “Of course it's me. I brought you home last night. Are you okay? I heard a thud.”

She looked at the bed and rolled her eyes. “I fell out of the bed.”

“You can't be serious.”

She heard the laughter in his voice and wanted to be mad. Instead humor fought with embarrassment. “Yes, just like a drunk.”

“I was thinking more like a five year old, but we can go with drunk.”

When she looked at him he was smiling and she shook her head. He moved toward her and she held up her hand. “Stand back, I probably smell worse than I look.”

She untangled the blanket from her legs and stood. The hardwood floors were cool against her bare feet. She looked around for her shoes. “I'll grab my stuff and go.”

“No hurry. I have to take you to your car. Why don't you take a shower first?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You can't possibly want me in your home longer than necessary.”

Despite her earlier warning, he walked over and cupped her chin with a warm hand. His thumb softly caressed her cheek, sending tingles down her spine. “Stop telling me what I want.” He spoke softly, his whisky colored eyes boring into hers.

She held her breath; she couldn't breathe when he looked at her like that, and she was afraid to breathe on him.

“There's an extra toothbrush in the guest bathroom, I'll lend you some clothes while we wash yours.” His fingers brushed against her chin as he dropped his hand and walked out.

She stood there blinking after him caught up in the warm sensations caused by his brief contact. Then, his words registered.

He planned to wash her clothes.

That would take over an hour, and she needed to run as far away as she could. Every time he looked at her like that she forgot all of the reasons she was wrong for him.

She sniffed her halter top and scowled. How could he bear to stand so close to her? The aroma of cigarette smoke and alcohol from a night of clubbing was coming from her in waves. By now the entire town would know he'd brought her to his home. Her mom, aunt, and cousin would all be ready to tear into her the moment she pulled into the driveway.

What the hell. The damage was done. She might as well shower and wash her clothes before facing the judge and jury.

She walked out of the room, just as Devin pulled a towel and wash cloth out of a closet. She took them from him with a grateful smile and hurried into the room he indicated. She took a quick shower, enjoying the sandalwood scent of the body wash he'd left on the counter, before brushing her teeth. She frowned at her reflection. Her hair was a wavy damp mess, but she had to wash the club smell out. At least there weren't any dark circles under her eyes.

When she finished, she did a quick look in the medicine cabinet and under the counter for signs that another woman shared the space. Satisfied that her search came up empty handed, she wrapped herself in a towel and rushed back to the guest bedroom. A pair of men's plaid pajama bottoms and a grey t-shirt were on the bed. She had to roll up the hem on the pants twice to keep from tripping over them.

A few minutes later she wandered downstairs. His house was beautiful, full of large windows, hardwood floors, and dark furniture. She didn't know which one on Johnston Street he lived in, but the inside matched the historic colonial style of the houses in this neighborhood. Following the scent of food into the kitchen, she found Devin at the stove. He looked over his shoulder when she shuffled in and sat at the table.

“You look a lot better.”

“Dang, did I look that bad?”

He slid an omelet from the pan onto a plate and set it in front of her. “Let's just say hung over isn't your best look.”

“I'm not hung over.”

“I'm surprised. You fell asleep in my truck.” He pulled another omelet out of the microwave, grabbed a bowl of pineapple, and joined her at the table.

Her cheeks heated with happiness knowing he'd given her the warmest one. Most guys would have shoved the cold omelet at her. “Why did you bring me here?”

He stared at her. His brows knitted over his eyes as if he were trying to figure something out. “I had a lot on my mind last night. I drove home without even realizing where I was going.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Homecoming.”

Her gaze dropped to the omelet. The happiness from before hardened into a knot of dread in her stomach.

“And I was trying to understand why you're afraid of Tony.”

Shayla slowly took a bite of the omelet. He watched her and she knew he was judging her reaction. It was foolish to deny Tony upset her. She hadn't handled her reunion with him with half of the dignity she'd imagined. She'd always thought that if she saw him again she'd tell him just how much of a slimy creep he was for doing what he'd done. Instead, she'd cowered and succumbed to the shame and humiliation that had held her captive in high school.

She swallowed and looked around. “Do you have anything to drink?”

He smirked, before getting up and getting orange juice and two glasses. She took the juice from him and poured for both of them. “This omelet is really good. What's in it?”

“Spinach, mushrooms, and gouda. Now, stop changing the subject and tell me what's up with you and Tony.”

She tapped her foot and avoided his gaze. “There is no me and Tony.”

“You were a nervous wreck before going into the club. It took an hour for you to relax, but the minute Tony showed up; you became skittish and started drinking like a sailor.”

She shrugged and concentrated on the omelet. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

He folded his arms on the table top and leaned forward. “You were the same way around him after Homecoming. Before, you viewed Tony as an annoyance, but after Homecoming, you became edgy and had to drink, or smoke, to have a good time. At the time, I thought it was because I was still around and you wanted to flaunt your relationship in my face, but last night proved differently.”

She flinched. Flaunting her relationship with Tony was the last thing she'd ever wanted to do. The only way she could cope with her relationship with Tony was to escape. It helped her deal with the names people called her and the humiliation of knowing she was trapped.

She kept her head down and pushed the omelet around on her plate. She tapped her fingers against the table while trying to think of what to say. He reached over and placed his hand over hers. “Last night, you said you thought it was me that night.”

She pulled her hand away and finally met his eyes. “Did I?”

“You did. I think it's time you finally told me what happened.”

Her brows drew together. “You want to know now? After fifteen years? You didn't give a damn to hear what happened the next day.” She rubbed her cheek, remembering her mother's slap. “No one wanted to know.”

“I know, and I'm sorry. But Shayla, you have to admit that night was pretty fucked up. You waited for me after the game, said you wanted to be my girl, and I said yes. I thought we both wanted the same thing, but I find you in bed with Tony. How could you get so drunk that you couldn't tell us apart?”

“It wasn't like that. I wasn't trying to get drunk. I only had a few beers, and the one drink Peaches gave me. The next thing I know, the room's spinning and you're hauling me upstairs telling me to lie down. It was dark. I heard the crackling of a condom wrapper. I called your name, but got no answer. Then there were lips on my neck. My shirt was pulled up … and my skirt hiked up” she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I started to panic and called your name, again. A voice said ‘yes' so I relaxed, until he kissed me. I knew it wasn't you, but by then it was too late … he was … ” she shook her head as the memories of that night with Tony played through her mind.

“You didn't tell him to stop, or try to push him off?”

She met his gaze. “It had gone that far, I figured I'd let him finish.”

Disappointment reflected in his brown eyes and she couldn't take it. She stood and took her plate to the sink. She'd said no — asked Tony to stop — but he ignored her. By then it was easier to let him finish than fight. Every time she remembered, she hated herself for not trying harder. What type of girl just lay there and let a guy do that? Someone as no good as her mom had always said she was. Someone who didn't deserve a man like Devin.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

She turned to face him. He still sat at the table, toying with the food on his plate. “I tried to explain, but you didn't want to listen. I really couldn't blame you. If I would have found you in bed with Peaches or Roxanne, I would have been pissed. It wasn't that big of a deal.”

He turned to look at her and she averted her eyes so he couldn't see the lie in them.

“Not a big deal. He took advantage of you?”

She scoffed. “Come on, Devin. I opened my eyes and saw it was him. I could have stopped him … if I'd tried. I didn't and that's that.”

He got up from the table and came to her. “Shayla.”

She moved away, avoiding his hand and his gaze. She played with the charm at her neck. “You know what, forget about washing my clothes. I can go home like this.”

He dropped his hand. “You don't have to run away.”

“I'm not running away. I just want to go home and sleep off this hangover.”