The Devil Gets His Due (The Devils #4)(71)

I stare at him, feeling lost. I wanted him to solve my problems, to make it all better. I wanted him to act like a boyfriend, basically, while refusing to give him any of the benefits of actually being one. “Is there anything I can do?” I ask.

He glances up at me from his phone. “Just eat something, okay?”

“Sure,” I reply, pretending to be nonchalant.

I was so busy worrying about Graham’s reaction after we slept together...it never occurred to me I might need to worry a little bit about myself.

I ignore dinner and go downstairs to bring Mark his muffin. “Sorry it’s a day late,” I tell him.

He grins. “You know how many carbs are in this thing? You should be apologizing for getting me addicted to them in the first place.”

“How have you been, anyway? I feel like ever since Graham moved in and work got busy, I barely see you.”

He smiles. “Things are real good, Keeley. Seems like they’re good for you too.”

My eyes widen. Graham wouldn’t have told him we slept together, would he? That’s the kind of oversharing I’d be prone to, not him.

“What do you mean?”

“You and Graham. I can tell it’s changed. The things you used to tell me…you now tell him. Which is exactly how it should be.”

“It’s not like we’re a couple,” I say quickly. “He’s still leaving for New York once the baby’s born.”

Mark glances at me through one eye. “You’re definitely a couple, whether you’re calling it that or not.”

“We aren’t. You know I don’t want that.”

He nods, staring off into the distance for a moment. “Did I ever tell you I used to own a ’59 Les Paul?”

I put my chin in my hand. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds exclusive so now I want one.”

He laughs. “It’s a guitar. A really good guitar. But the fucked-up thing was I barely played guitar. I didn’t need to blow two hundred grand on anything, much less that, but I was trying to convince myself that…it was all worth it.”

“That what was worth it?”

“The hours I worked, the pressure. This panic begins anytime the market dips. Your investors get scared and start calling you, and if enough of them call and you can’t talk them down, you’re fucked. Or you take some gamble, certain it’s going to pay off, and discover you’ve lost billions. So anyway, buying stuff—stupid stuff I didn’t need—was how I convinced myself it was worth it.”

I love Mark, but he’s a little heavy-handed with the allegories. Irrelevant allegories, as I wasn’t even talking about shopping for once.

“Is this your way of saying I wanted that Birkin because I’m empty inside and trying to justify it? Because I love my Birkin. Every time I carry it, I feel like a shiny little jewel on my way to better things.”

“I loved my guitar too. Same reason. But you know what the most freeing moment of my entire life was? When I stood on the ledge of my building and realized I didn’t have to jump. That I could just fucking walk away.”

I blink. Sure, I realized Mark’s life hadn’t been a bed of roses leading up to this moment, but I kind of thought he’d grown into the person he is. Like a man who figures shit out and joins a Buddhist monastery, with this busy corner of central LA his ashram.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” I reply. “I can’t walk away from anything. I’m having a kid.”

“But that’s just it, Keels,” he says. “You’ve spent your whole life jumping because you’re so terrified of what happens if you don’t. And now you’re stuck on that metaphorical ledge, telling yourself you want to jump when maybe you just need to ask yourself why sticking around terrifies you as much as it does.”

“Sometimes I think you’re too smart for us to be friends. If you’d explain stuff using examples from reality TV, I’d probably understand you better.”

He laughs. “You’ll figure it out. But I’ll try to come up with an example using the Kardashians for next time.”

I go back upstairs, sadder than I was and no less confused. I don’t entirely understand what he was saying to me and yet…I sort of do. I have spent many, many years trying not to get too close to anyone, but now it’s happened, almost by accident. I love this baby. And I think I might love Graham.

If I gave him the baby and walked away simply to avoid being devastated later on…I’d be devastated anyway. If I discover in a year that I’ve got cancer, am I going to be glad I didn’t spend that year with him? Will it be a relief that he never knew how I felt? That I never allowed myself just to fall head over heels for him?

No. Of course it won’t.

I want him with me, for every second I’ve got left. And I guess this is what Mark was saying: maybe my path is simply to step off the ledge and face all the pain that’s going to come with living a life I love. In the end, I might be glad I did.

But I don’t even know if that’s what Graham wants—he’s sure not acting like our night meant much to him—and the not-knowing is so awkward, so painful.

I’m glad he’s not on Instagram. I’d probably be on there, liking every one of his posts, until I could figure out how to ask.