“Strange way to say thank you.”
“Because I’m not saying thank you,” I snap back. “I never asked you to come looking for me, and I never asked you to save me.”
Devan stares at the wall of bottles behind the bar. “You needed saving.”
As much as I want to argue, it’s the truth. I was free falling for a long time after my parents’ death, and even when I finally found my feet, the one day of year certain to send me into a tailspin is my birthday. Every single fucking year. So maybe he’s a tiny bit right about my needing saving. “There may have been a few times when you were helpful.”
He finally meets my gaze, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s so fucking handsome, I can barely stand it. A thick body that might give really good hugs or might just allow him to rip someone’s head clean off. Dark hair that’s a little too long and showing no signs of graying, despite the fact that he has to be in his early forties at this point. A really well-maintained beard that smelled like cloves last year when I had my face buried in his neck while he carried me.
I can’t read Devan’s expression clearly. All I know is that it’s intense. He speaks in a low voice, saying so much with only a single word. “Amsterdam.”
“Amsterdam,” I agree on a sigh. Twenty-two. Bar-hopping with a bunch of people I’d just met that night, too many drinks; one of which ended up getting dosed with something. I don’t remember Devan showing up. I don’t remember much of anything at all after taking shots with a group of guys I’d declared my new best friends. The next thing I knew, I came to, draped over a toilet with Devan’s hands in my hair, holding it away from my face as I puked my guts out. That’s the only time he’s stayed longer than to just deliver me to a plane back home. He took care of me.
He’s been taking care of me for a long time, though not in a guardian kind of way.
I force myself to hold his gaze. I spent too many years being a total train wreck, but I’m not that girl anymore. Realistically, I have a lifetime of work ahead of me but I’ve made a lot of progress since twenty-two. I’m putting in my time in therapy, working through all the baggage I’ve been dragging behind me for far too long.
Then what is tonight about?
I ignore the little voice that sounds remarkably like my therapist. Tonight is about closure. Shutting the door on one part of my life and opening a different door into the future. And…maybe… Maybe I’ve still got a wild streak, because I want this. I want it more knowing I shouldn’t have it. “This isn’t Amsterdam. That was a bad birthday.”
Devan leans forward the tiniest bit, his dark eyes drilling into mine. “Have there been any good birthdays, Hazel?”
I flinch a little. It’s a fair question. My first instinct is to avoid it, but that’s not fair to either of us. Instead, I take a slow breath and straighten my spine. “I’m hoping this one will be the first.”
Devan holds my gaze and takes a long drink of his scotch. He jolts a little. For just a moment, he looks less like a personified storm cloud and more like an actual human. “This is Caol Ila.”
That thick feeling in my throat comes back. It feels good and it hurts all at the same time, and somehow that makes everything better. How can a person appreciate the good things if they’ve never felt the sting of loss? I’ll never know. I never got the opportunity to know. “Mmhmm.” My smile trembles a little around the edges. “Dad’s favorite.”
“Yeah.” The faintest smile touches his lips. “Yeah, it was.” For the millionth time, I wonder how this man became my guardian. I understand that he and my father served in the army together and that bonds a person, but is it really how someone chooses who should raise their child should the worst come to pass? And my mother, the pacifist? I can’t imagine her signing off on this choice, especially considering Devan was never around, but obviously she did because here we are.
We finish our drinks in silence, and he sets his glass down with a clink. “Let’s go.”
“Pass.” I start to motion to the bartender, but Devan catches my hand in a firm but impossible to escape grip. Not that I’m trying to escape. But giving in too easily won’t do, either. I eye where he holds me. “Devan, what time is it?”
He doesn’t release me as he checks his watch. “Twelve-fifteen.”
I smile. This time, it feels really. Really, truly real. “That means you’re no longer the executor of my trust fund. Happy birthday to me.” Now’s the time for courage, to put it all out there. For better or worse, I’ll have no regrets. I lean forward and lower my voice. “Do you know what I’d like for my birthday?”
“What?” He asks warily.
“You.”
Chapter 3
Devan releases me instantly. I stare at my wrist. He wasn’t holding me that harshly, but I swear I can feel the imprint of his skin against mine, a perfect replication of his five fingers and palm. He glowers at my empty glass. “How much have you had to drink?”
I fully expected this question, which is why I showed restraint despite my nerves. “Just the one.” Honestly, I could have used more for a boost of courage. “I’m not even buzzed.”
“Did that fucker drug you?” He starts to turn toward the trio of men in the corner, but I wrap my hand around his forearm. He’s just as thick here as he is on the rest of his body. Devan is just a big guy, and a devious part of my mind can’t help wondering if he’s
