Page 52 of The Penalty

“It’s not a problem, Cece. I’m not a huge fan of hospitals, but I’m here for you.”

“That makes me feel even worse. Bad experience?”

I tilt my head up to look at him, and his eyes shutter in that way they usually do when he’s about to shut down a question about his past, but he surprises me.

“My mother.”

His features are tight, and I hate to see the pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. Was she sick?”

“Yes, she died when I was little. I was too young to remember, so you don’t need to feel too bad about it. But that’s when things started getting bad with my father.”

I’m not sure if it’s the lack of sleep, or the closeness we’ve shared tonight during a tough situation, but he’s opening up to me for the first time and I don’t want him to stop.

Carefully, though. Don’t want to scare him. “Is that when he started...” I trail off, not wanting to word this wrong.

“Drinking. Yes. I think. It’s hard to say because I was so young, but I’m pretty sure that’s when things went downhill.”

“I understand why you don’t want to see him.”

He nods.

“Do you think it might help, though? Not for him. I’m sure he doesn’t deserve anything from you, but maybe for you. Some closure. A final goodbye, or fuck you, or whatever you need.”

I keep my voice low so no-one around us can hear, but I can see him shutting down.

“I’m hungry. Where’s my...?” He looks around, half standing and then looking toward the door.

“What?”

“My backpack. I don’t have my backpack. I must have left it at Wright’s. I always have my backpack. Maybe it’s in the car.” He rushes off, leaving me in his wake.

The cool breeze hits me again as he walks outside, but then he’s back in a minute, shaking his head with his arms wrapped around himself in a hug.

“I’m going to call Beau. Maybe I left it at Wrights. I hope. What if...”

I’ve never seen him this agitated before. He’s pacing the waiting room, long legs taking him across the room in a few strides. I see him shaking his head as he talks to my brother.

Finally, he hangs up, running his hand over his short hair.

“He got it. He brought it home. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry. This is my fault. You never would have lost it if Beau hadn’t made you come out here. Is your wallet in there? I know how much it sucks to lose your ID. It happened to me when we were traveling in Europe one summer. It was such a pain in the ass to get sorted out.”

His shadow passes over me and the heat from his body brushes my side as he settles next to me. He remains still and quiet as I’m babbling on, staring at my hands. It’s not a surprise, really. He is the strong, silent type. But my words slow as I realize it feels different. There’s a tightly wound tension in the silence. I cut myself off, turning toward him to see his elbows propped on his knees, head resting on his hands. There’s a slight tremor to them.

“Devlin?” I reach up, placing a tentative hand on his back. There’s a slight shudder running through it. “Is it something else? Something about the bag?” I don’t understand, but this feels like more than the stress of losing his wallet. And this isn’t the first time he’s reacted to having his bag touched.

He lifts his head but doesn’t turn toward me.

“Sorry.” His voice is gruff, hands shaky.

“What is it? Can I help?”

He tilts his head back, exposing his throat, and my eyes are fixated on his Adam’s apple as he swallows hard.

“No. You can’t. It’s fucking stupid. It’s just a backpack. Nothing important.”

---