On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [121]
But it didn’t have to be that way. Sometimes love could last. And in the meantime, it was worth it.
Tucker cried and clung to his mother a little, which made Devon want to hit something, but he managed to thank Heather again before she left, and promised to testify if anyone questioned her temporary defection from rehab.
Then Heather thanked Devon, and it was looking like it might turn into a whole endless round of mutual indebtedness and appreciation until Lilah stopped the cycle by gently pointing out how late it was and suggesting it might be time to put Tucker to bed.
Which was easier said than done. The kid was extremely wound up, despite his obvious exhaustion, and he was already missing his mom.
Thank God for Lilah, was all Devon could think. There was something soothing about her, a calming effect like sunlight through trees or the sound of waves, and eventually it settled Tucker down enough that he nodded off with Lilah on one side, and Devon on the other.
Devon sat on the edge of his son’s bed, reflecting on how utterly satisfying it was, on a very primal level, to have both Tucker and Lilah with him, under his roof—sort of, communal apartment roof, really, but still—and safe.
That was the main thing. Everyone he loved was in one room, safe and sound.
Wait.
What?
Lilah smoothed the hair back from Tucker’s pink, sleeping face and smiled across his still body, curled under the covers. Devon couldn’t even smile back, he was so shocked.
Christ. He’d known Lilah was important to him, but love? He’d just gotten used to the idea of loving his son. Just gotten over the near-hysteria-inducing idea that his happiness depended on the well-being of another person.
That wasn’t the most natural of ideas for Devon to wrap his brain around. It certainly wasn’t the way he’d lived his life up till now.
But then, how happy had he been, really? All the parties, the women, the money, the fame, the magazine articles and interviews and reviews and the TV show—above all, that damn TV show—what had any of it done for him? He’d spent most of his free time downtown at Chapel, drowning his loneliness, his sheer boredom, in bourbon and meaningless fucks.
Now—he wanted to believe he had a chance to be happy, for real, finally, but he didn’t want to fool himself. Despite how content he’d be to let the world stop turning and trap them all in this moment, everything was still up in the air.
He must’ve sighed loudly or something, because Lilah put her finger to her lips and tilted her head in invitation before tiptoeing from the room.
Devon waited until she was gone, then leaned over and pressed a very light, definitely-too-light-to-wake-him-up kiss to Tucker’s forehead. Standing up and staring down at the sleeping boy, Devon loved him so much it felt like his heart had been scraped raw and dunked in salted water.
Painful, but true.
He sighed again, more softly this time, and followed Lilah from the room. Time for another painful round of truth, he mused.
Lilah waited for him in the living room, sitting all prim and straight-backed on the edge of one of his black leather Barcelona chairs.
He wanted to attach some significance to the fact that she was there at all, clearly ready to talk, but the knowledge that she probably just wanted to clarify exactly what a gutless, soulless monster he was made Devon a little glum going into this conversation.
Still, he had things to say to her, and if she was willing to listen, he could only be thankful.
“You were amazing tonight,” he said, throwing himself down on the couch and stretching out his legs. He was tense enough that he would’ve preferred to stand, but every muscle in his body ached from having been clenched tight for the past five hours. He needed to sit.
Lilah’s face went a little pink. “I didn’t do anything,” she denied.
“You held it together. Held me together.