Page 94 of Whiskey Chase
We.
“I don’t want to think about you leaving right now. Is that okay? Can we just pretend that we don’t have to worry about that yet?” I begged.
“There are a lot of things you don’t seem to want to talk about,” he pointed out. He was frustrated with me, and I understood why. But I needed Devlin to cut me a break. Everything I was doing was for his own good. He didn’t need to be rolling around down in the mud with me.
I sat down on an unyielding white leather and metal chair in front of the wall of windows. “There are just some situations that are best handled privately.”
“Fine, then why don’t you want to talk about our future?”
I was not about to nail down Devlin to a commitment that would ruin his career.
“Because I just want to have a nice time with you tonight without worrying about where we’re going and what we’re doing,” I lied.
“We’re going to need to talk about those things at some point,” Devlin said, his frustration palpable.
But whatever he wanted to say, whether it was reasons why we should try a long-distance relationship or break up now, I didn’t want to deal with anything else in this moment.
“Now can you point me in the direction of your restroom?” I asked.
He showed me to the powder room, and I shut myself in and stared at my reflection and let the mask drop.
I didn’t fit. I would never fit here with him. My chest hurt as if something was breaking open or collapsing in on itself.
Devlin’s calling was politics. His family had invested everything in him and his career. He was just coming back from one scandal. They had exiled him over a little ol’ divorce, treating it like he’d murdered an entire litter of puppies on live TV. He’d never survive the fallout of dating the daughter of a potential kidnapper... or murderer. I believed my father to be innocent. But that didn’t mean anyone else would.
If Devlin and his parents thought a divorce was a nail in the coffin, what would they say over his girlfriend being at the center of a cold case murder investigation?
Thanks to the Misty Lynn twins tonight, I had a better grasp of what this life was like. It wasn’t the truth that mattered. It was the appearance. And me in my cute little Target frock and my self-styled hair with my thick-as-honey accent would be a liability to Devlin. And that’s even without being the daughter of an accused murderer. Talk about a real scandal. His career and quite possibly his relationship with his family would be over.
Sins of the father carried weight here, even if they were only perceived.
My breath hitched. Somewhere along the way, I’d started to think that we could survive long distance and different worlds. Now, I knew better. Our days were numbered. Devlin and I had an expiration date.
37
Devlin
Iopened the bottle of wine and set two glasses on the counter. A good wine and a great pizza. Our meal reflected our balance. A combination of refinement and casual charm. I’d do my best to pretend there weren’t things we needed to discuss. For tonight. But if Scarlett thought I’d be willing to stay in another relationship where I was kept in the dark, she had another thing coming.
She’d done so well tonight, I thought, pouring the wine.
Scarlett never pretended to be someone she wasn’t. That was her power. Her unapologetic authenticity. There was a danger in being yourself in this space. Everyone was always looking for a weakness, a vulnerability, to exploit. But with Scarlett, was that possible? Did the weakness lie in me? Was I vulnerable because I worked so hard to hide my flaws rather than embracing them? Would Scarlett end up being my greatest strength or my most bitter weakness?
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was late for a non-emergency call. When I saw my mother’s number on the screen, I answered.
“Is everything all right?”
“No, everything is decidedlynotall right, Devlin,” she said, her tone clipped.
“What’s wrong?”
“You were supposed to stay out of sight. Not parade your bumpkin girlfriend around the city, rubbing her in Johanna’s face. Just imagine how it looks. Like you’re trying to get revenge by traipsing around some trophy—”
“Scarlett isn’t a trophy,” I interrupted, annoyed at the comparison. “And I don’t give a good goddamn what Johanna thinks about me moving on with my life. She moved on with hers while we were still married!”
“She at least did it discreetly,” my mother shot back.
“I can’t believe you’re defending her.”
