The Devil Gets His Due (The Devils #4)(23)

“No child of mine, male or female, will be wearing this for dress-up day,” Graham replies. “Come on. There’s not even room for a bed in here, and you have an actual closet. At least put this stuff in storage.”

“Fine.” I start to sort through the rest of the clothes, picking out the few things I’m likely to wear between now and the time the baby arrives. “What’s your favorite color, by the way?”

He raises a brow. “Why?”

“Jesus Christ, Graham. I didn’t ask for your social security number. I’m just trying to get to know you.” I pause, wondering if there’s any chance I can still pull off a cross-neck halter dress with an open midriff.

“Black. There. Did that open a whole new layer to me previously closed to you?”

“No. It just confirmed what I already thought was there. Dark, bleak, probably fatal. Mine’s red, not that you asked.”

“Loud, attention-seeking, unable to blend in with a crowd,” he says, grabbing one of the garbage bags. “Yeah, that lines up.”

He’s wearying me and he just arrived five minutes ago. I’m about to tell him as much when his older brother walks in.

I give Ben an uncertain smile, the kind that says, “yes, I know I fucked up, but please don’t hate me.”

“Welcome to the family,” he says, which is generous of him, under the circumstances. He knows both of us pretty well, so he must realize who’s really at fault for this whole mess. He turns to Graham, pushing a hand through his hair. “You didn’t answer my text about that, by the way. Have you told Mom yet?”

“Not yet,” Graham replies, narrowing his eyes at Ben, like he wants him to shut the fuck up. Clearly, it’s an issue. I’m an issue, or this baby is an issue, or maybe both of us. I don’t want that to bother me, but it does.

“I thought she liked me,” I say to Graham.

He looks away. “She’ll be thrilled. It’s complicated.”

I was the source of friction between my parents, the source of friction between my father and his wife. And now, it appears, I’m creating problems in a third household as well. I guess I never did do things small.

“I’ll let you guys get to it, then,” I say quietly.

Ben and Graham spend the next few hours moving my precious clothes to a storage unit, and I wander my former closet—now Graham’s bedroom—while swallowing a lump in my throat. It feels like they’ve taken the best part of me, which probably says something unfortunate about the part that stayed behind.

Graham returns alone that afternoon. “My flight’s leaving soon, but I’m driving back later in the week. I plan to be here by Sunday afternoon.”

“I’ll have to make you a copy of the key.” I could hand him the one under the mat, but given how often I accidentally lock myself out, I know I’d regret it.

He nods, and the moment stretches out. It’s time for him to leave, and much like his arrival here Friday night, it feels like we should be more than we are, that we should at least hug. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see you Sunday, then.”

“Have a safe trip,” I reply, for lack of anything else to say.

He leaves and I flop onto the couch and groan. Four months of awkwardness like this lies in my future. I suspect I didn’t think this through, and that doesn’t really come as a surprise.

Not thinking things through is kind of what I’m known for.





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14





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KEELEY





On Monday night, a bed arrives for him, oversized, just like he is. The next night it’s a desk and dresser. On Wednesday, I’ve just carried three Amazon packages addressed to him upstairs and collapsed on the couch when he texts.

Graham: Everything okay?

I suppose he deserves a point or two for not going straight to the real question—how is the fruit of my loins? But I’m exhausted and cranky and wondering how much more of an imposition it will be to have him here when he’s managing to impose so much from three thousand miles away.

Me: What goes better with pinot? S’mores or Reese’s Pieces?

Graham: Keeley.

Me: FFS. It was a joke. Your kid is fine.

But Jesus…if he’s this annoying from a distance, what happens when he’s actually here? I barely have the energy to put up with myself at the end of the day, much less him.

I wake Sunday, determined to get the apartment together before he arrives—not because I care about making him feel comfortable here, but simply to present myself as a normal, well-adjusted adult who doesn’t need his help.

Once I’ve had my Sunday muffin and forced myself to drink some green juice, I go to the grocery store where I buy a bunch of food that looks awful but with which Graham can’t find fault. By the time I’ve lugged it all from my car, I’m exhausted and sink onto the couch, telling myself I’ll put it away in a minute.

I immediately fall asleep, of course.

When my ringing phone wakes me, I have no idea how long I was out, but because I’m on call, I have to go rushing over to Cedars-Sinai, where one of Dr. Joliet’s patients has just shown up.