The Devil Gets His Due (The Devils #4)(41)

GRAHAM





The way Shannon treated her infuriates me. And the way Keeley allowed it, when God knows she’s more than capable of standing up for herself under normal circumstances, is like a splinter in the center of my chest. I fucking hate that a piece of her seems to think Shannon’s right.

It explained a lot, though, about why she’s so determined to keep everyone’s expectations of her low.

I’ve heard her on the phone when she’s on call—she’s clearly good at her job. But then she hangs up and tries to convince me that, “chocolate sandwich cremes are healthy” because sandwich is in the title, or she asks me how soon we can highlight the baby’s hair if it’s dark like mine. As if she’s scared even the smallest proof of her competence will end up being used against her.

I bet it was used against her a lot growing up with Shannon, and it became easier just to let everyone think the worst of her all the time. No one can accuse you of failing if you weren’t trying in the first place. But I need her to start trying, before our kid is born.

“I was thinking tonight we could cook together,” I tell her when she gets home. She’s arrived later than planned, undoubtedly because she refuses to tell her bosses she’s pregnant.

She wearily blows a lock of hair out of her face. “Can’t we just…order in together?”

“Keeley, you told me last week you needed to learn to cook. When this kid is old enough to eat real food, you can’t just order in burgers every night.”

“I wouldn’t get burgers every night.” Her shoulders sag as she gives in. “Fine, just let me change.”

She emerges a few minutes later in leggings and the Tulane sweatshirt. Why does it piss me off to see her in another man’s clothes? It’s not like we’re together, and honestly, I haven’t cared less about that kind of thing in the past. Anna was constantly bringing up her ex, hoping to make me jealous, and I almost felt guilty that it had no effect.

“Maybe it’s time to just get some new clothes,” I offer, a little testier than I intended.

“I’m turning over a new leaf.” She holds her chin up. “No more spending.”

There’s a world of difference between blowing eight hundred dollars on a dress she never even wore and buying some maternity clothes, but this isn’t the time to bicker. I glance at the sweatshirt again. I’ll buy her some fucking maternity clothes myself.

She steps beside me, her nose wrinkling at the raw chicken on the plate in front of her.

“You’re just going to dredge it through the egg and then through the breadcrumbs.” I grab a chicken breast to demonstrate. “Nothing could be easier.”

“Ordering in is easier,” she mumbles, but she reaches back to tighten her ponytail before washing her hands, and a memory hits me out of nowhere: It was last winter, after the party, and her hair was falling out of its careful updo for a very different reason, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. “When you kiss me,” she said, “I forget how to think.” I already knew we were more than some drunk hook-up, but that was the moment I hoped she might be figuring it out too.

She grudgingly dredges the chicken in egg, but she’s making a disaster of it, so I take over and have her watch the pieces as I move them to the frying pan.

“Have you given any more thought to the name Kalamity?” she asks.

I glance at her. “I assure you, I never gave it any thought in the first place. What about Esther?”

“Esther? Isn’t that name, like, from the Bible?”

I take the spatula and nudge her out of the way since she’s letting the chicken burn. She takes a seat at the counter and watches me work.

“Half the names you know are from the Bible.”

“My Bible must have been missing the story of Jesus’s friends, Keeley and Graham. Did they, like, go on a road trip?”

“I’m not sure road trips feature heavily in the Bible.”

“They absolutely do. They just don’t sound like fun. Although the one where Jesus walked on water…you can’t tell me drugs weren’t involved there. I did shrooms at Burning Man and let me tell you…I saw a lot of things.”

When the chicken’s done, we move to the table. Keeley takes her first bite and moans, because she’s incapable of eating a meal she enjoys without forcing me to adjust myself.

“When this ends,” she says, “I’m really going to miss the way we pretended you were teaching me to cook while I made you do all the work.”

My smile fades. “About that…how does this end?” I really hate the idea of letting Shannon think she was right about anything. “What do we say to explain when we’re not together anymore?”

“Oh, you’ll have to dump me. I need to remain blameless. But don’t worry, they’ll all still secretly blame me.” She tilts her head, struck by a new thought. “Unless I tell them you hit me.”

I stare at her in shock. “Keeley, no. You’re not telling them I hit you.”

She sighs. “Then you come up with a plan.”

I swallow. “We could just…stay married. If that’s something you wanted.”

Her fork falls to her plate with a crash. “If what is something I wanted? My father’s approval?”