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The way she says it doesn’t indicate that she knows more than that.
“Levi doesn’t betray confidences, not even to me,” she winks, answering my unasked question.
I turn my attention to the woman behind the bar. “Hey Jess, I’ll take that order for here.” She smiles, then looks at Devyn.
“The usual?” she asks.
“You know it!” Devyn pushes away from the bar, and we make our way to an empty booth. The lunch rush is filing out, and the place is quiet. It’s the middle of the week. The TVs are tuned to soccer and skiing from across the pond. I spot a trio of local professional soccer players at a table, hashing out some strategies while watching the game on TV. Sammie’s has been the local hangout for every pro team in the city for way longer than I have been here. Proximity to downtown and especially the Grizzlies’ arena make it a simple choice for us. The location, however, is down a dark alley and off the beaten path, which makes it slightly less inviting for fans. Inevitably, the fans found it.
As a result, Sammie, the then-owner, and Jess, the bartender/manager, laid down some rules: no asking for autographs inside the building and absolutely no selfies. They made those rules stick by tossing people who broke them out without hesitation. The rules still stand…and likely always will.
As Devyn and I settle in across from each other, I look at her and feel an odd sense of déjà vu. “It’s been a long time since we’ve done this, just you and I.”
Probably too long, I think.
While we have been through a lot together, held a lot of secrets for each other through the years—I never burdened her with the full details of my past with Carter. She knows about Luke and his suicide. She has never questioned my deep need to keep my sexuality private. She shared her history with Brady with me. How ironic that the events of our past we’ve held closest to the chest occurred at roughly the same time and in the same city, and yet we never knew each other. I never questioned it when Casey died, and Brady leaned on her for support in every way. And as she understood my need for privacy, I also understood hers, and his.
“Do you remember the first time we came here together?” I ask.
She smiles and ponders for a moment.
“Vaguely,” she says. “It was after a game, I remember that.”
I nod. It has been a very long time. I thought I had mostly forgotten that night, too. But right now, as I’m sitting here with her, it comes rushing back to me.
“Oh yeah,” she says, a memory coming back to her, too. “And there was that little puck bunny who was so fascinated by your hair, kept telling you how gorgeous it was.”
I nod again. The young woman was indeed nuts about my hair and intoxicated enough that she forgot about the man on her arm. She didn’t notice that man’s fascination with my hair. Or the way his eyes kept locking with mine. Or the way those eyes dipped to my lips. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed hard. If I had wanted to leave with him—or both of them—that night, all I would have had to do was make a move.
The move I made was to take Devyn’s hand and pull her in close to me. She rolled with it without hesitation and our charade began. I wonder sometimes if letting her cover for me for so many years was a disservice to her. Would she and Brady have started a relationship sooner? But then they wouldn’t have Levi now, would they?
We share Minnesota roots, the same college, although I didn’t know her there. She was a senior. Our friendship was instant and easy. Guiding people to believe it was more than friendship, even easier. We ran with it for years, and it worked for years.
Then Levi Holt rolled into town. I was standing right next to her when she laid eyes on him for the first time. The connection was electric, palpable, and I knew our charade was over.
“What do you want to know?” I ask.
“What do you want to tell me?”
“Nothing,” I smirk. She tosses her napkin at me and waits.
Devyn has long wavy auburn hair, the ends currently tipped with a fiery orange. Crazy colors sometimes show up in her hair when she spends time with Nic’s wife, Zoe. Zoe is an artist, and she always has teal or yellow or orange streaks racing through her raven hair. Devyn tugs her hair into a ponytail, a few strands unable to keep up with her swift hands fall to her cheek and chin. She’s as fresh-faced and rosy-cheeked as she’s always been. The little spattering of freckles across her nose and those warm, pale gold-green eyes exude warmth and completely defy the strength within her.
“I blamed Carter Hughes for everything wrong in my life since college. It was a lot easier than blaming myself. But Levi is right.” I pause and let her chew on that for a moment. She does so with a grin. Levi and I were not instant friends when he arrived. I’m not even sure you could quite call us friends now, so for me to admit he was right about anything… and to be fair, the man is right a lot… but for me to say it out loud. “None of it was Carter’s fault, or mine.”
She says nothing. If Levi truly kept my confidence, then none of what I just said makes sense to her.
She furrows her brow a bit, indeed confused, and my admiration of Levi Holt as a human just doubles. I explain the history with Carter and the bullies responsible for Luke’s suicide, still not sure I should share the details of the sex and attraction to Carter tangled up with all the hate. But this is Devyn. We don’t have many secrets.
“I think the hate is subsiding,” I say slowly. “We will find a way to co-exist and it will all be fine.”
She arches a brow, not buying that statement for a second. Neither do I, really.
“It will all be fine?” She says.
I nod.
“Davey,” she says. “This is me you are talking to. That last statement… that’s a load of crap and you know it.”
