The Presence of Grace (Love and Loss #2)(17)

"I know, honey," she whispered. "Maybe just talk to him. Does he know about Jeff?"

"No," I said, although it was so quiet I wasn't sure she heard me.

"I'm not saying he has to know-what you lived through is really personal and not something you need to tell everyone-but if you want anything with Devon, you're going to have to tell him eventually."

"I know. Man," I said as I sat up and ran my hand through my hair. "Dating is stupid. This whole situation is dumb. I should have started with a one-night stand. I went straight from just out of a seriously messed-up relationship to falling for a man with a lot of baggage."

"You think you're falling for him?" Shelby asked quietly.

I thought about her question, then answered honestly. "Yeah, which is why this sucks and also why I'm thinking about calling the whole thing off."

"I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I do think you should talk to him before you make any final decisions. He probably feels the same way about you, and would probably have told you about Evie eventually. And she's a really good person, too, Grace. It was a bad situation for everyone involved. Just like yours."

I knew she was right. I'd liked Evie, and in some demented way I could totally see why Devon would be attracted to her. The only way I could describe the way I felt was icky. Like I'd been left out of some joke and everyone was laughing at me-which I also knew was ridiculous.

"Thanks, Shel. Sorry to always drop all the drama on your lap."

"Hey, that's what I'm here for. And for the record, I'm pretty sure I dropped the drama on your lap this time."   





 

"Oh, that's right. You totally did," I said with mock irritation. "But seriously, is there a reason you called? I just kind of railroaded our whole conversation."

"Not really," she replied, and I could almost hear her shrugging. "I just saw the best friend bat-signal and decided to call."

"You're the best. Thanks for always looking out for me."

"Anytime, sister."

I hung up and noticed Devon had texted me back.

**Great. Will six work?**

I stared at the text and every emotion inside me waged for control. I wanted to see him, wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, to believe that there was nothing to the story about him and Evie, but the doubt that still lingered grabbed hold tightly. If anything, I just needed a little time. Time to think clearly and work through my own issues, to come to terms with the fact that everyone had a past, even me, and that if I expected Devon to share his story with me, I should be prepared to share my own with him.

Inevitably, fear made the decision for me.

**I'm sorry. I'm going to have to back out. There's a lot going on for me right now, and I think it would be best if we just took a few steps back. Maybe we can try again sometime down the line.**

I sent the text, then immediately powered down my phone. I didn't want to know what Devon had to say in response. It didn't really matter. The only thing that mattered was that I didn't want to be emotionally wrecked again, and I was beginning to realize that Devon Roberts had the potential to ruin me.



I'd made it through a few hours of my shift, but I hadn't succeeded in keeping Devon from my thoughts. I wondered if he'd texted back, how he'd responded to my decision to take some time for myself, but I managed to keep my phone in my purse and not turn it on. Instead, I focused on smiling and pretending everything was fine, as I knew full well that a sulky and depressed bartender didn't make great tips.

"What time are you off tonight? Need a ride home?"

A guy who looked just barely legal had been sitting at the bar for nearly my whole shift, slowly sucking down Jack and Cokes. As was usually in the job requirement of bartenders, I made polite conversation, threw him a couple smiles, and I may have batted my eyelashes at him a few times. It was harmless flirting, and most of the time the guys played along. They didn't really want to take home the bartender, but they liked getting their egos stroked before they went out onto the wild dance floors, looking for hopefuls.

As the night went on, and the music grew louder, I was forced to lean closer to hear him order, and wasn't convinced he needed to press his lips to my ear for me to hear him, but I let it slide. Now, he was slurring his words, and sooner or later I knew I would have to tell Randy, our security, to take his keys and call him a cab.

"I don't need a ride, but even if I did, I don't think you're the right person for the job," I hollered over the loud music. I backed away, using a towel to wipe the bar, and watched as he slowly realized what I'd said, a drunken smile spreading across his face.

"I see. You like to play hard to get," he said, pointing a finger at me, eyes narrowed, as if he'd just figured me out. I just laughed and turned to another less-drunk customer to take their order. A few minutes later when I made my way down the bar again, drunken guy was gone, and I was secretly glad. I knew bartending came with its fair share of brushing off dudes, but that summer in particular seemed to be chock-full of lonely college guys looking for an easy score.

I watched as Randy passed in front of the bar, doing his security check. Every half hour he took a lap around the building while someone watched the door, just to make sure everything was on the up and up, and so people realized he was there. I'd found that just seeing Randy was the main reason he was so good at his job; no one wanted to mess with him. He was at least six foot four, easily over three hundred pounds, bald, arms full of tattoos, and had a beard that hit his chest. If you weren't afraid of him just by looking at him, you were stupid. The funny part was, he was a big softy. I'd caught the tail end of a phone conversation in which he was talking to his granddaughter about Barbie, and ever since he told her that the purple shoes went better with the silver dress than the pink, I knew there was a gooey center to him.

He nodded as he passed me by, and I nodded back, which was our code for "Everything here is fine." Had he passed by when drunk guy was still hitting on me, I would have flagged him down. He made his way through the dance floor and up onto the DJ's stage without incident. I watched as Randy's eyes roamed over the crowd, looking for any sign of drunken frat boy shenanigans. When he seemed satisfied that no one was going to cause any problems, he made his way back to the front door, where he acted as bouncer and general scarer of the clientele.   





 

Roxanne, the other girl working the bar that night, slid over to my side and leaned toward me.

"I'm gonna take my break and then cover you while you take yours, all right? I just served up everyone on my side, so they should be good for a few."

"Got it," I said, nodding. "Have a good break." She smiled and then disappeared toward the back where I knew she would sit on a chair, drinking Diet Coke, and text her boyfriend for all fifteen minutes of her break.

I ran my tail off while she was gone, making my way from one end of the bar all the way to the other, making sure everyone got what they needed. The crowd was a little rowdier than usual, but as the summer wore on, it was to be expected.

When Roxanne returned, she was all smiles, so I figured her boyfriend had texted all the right emojis.

"I got this, Grace. Go ahead and take your break," she said, still smiling.

"Thanks," I said, placing my hand on her shoulder as I passed her and walked right into the break room. I never stayed in the building for my breaks, but instead took the opportunity to rest my eardrums. I grabbed the light jacket I'd brought with me and then headed out the back door.

There was a designated area for employees to smoke out back, but since it was late, there usually wasn't more than one person on break at a time. I pulled up a crate and took a seat, letting out a large sigh, relishing the relative quiet.

It was disturbed by a drunken voice that came from nowhere.

"Here you are. I couldn't find you at the bar, so I went lookin'. An' here you are."

I looked up to see drunken frat boy wobbling toward me.

Great. I hated dealing with the drunk college kids, and I definitely didn't have the patience that night.

"Hey, what are you doing back here?" I stood up and took a step toward him, only to watch him stumble and almost hit the ground. I reached out quickly, catching his arm. "Whoa there, you all right? I think we need to go back up front and get Randy to call you a cab."

"Only if you're coming home with me," he said, clumsily pushing me back against the building. The rough brick of the wall bit into my back where my shirt didn't quite meet my pants. I tried to push him off, but even drunk he was stronger than me. His hands pinned my arms against the wall, just below my shoulders.

"Let me go," I said forcefully, hoping that if I couldn't pry my arms free, perhaps I could use my voice to intimidate him. I tried to pull free again, but all I accomplished was scraping my arms along the brick wall.

"Not so fast," he said, moving his face closer to mine, the alcohol on his breath making bile rise in my throat. "You're a tease." His words were whispered but filled with anger. "You were practically begging me to take you home in there, and then you went all cold on me. How do I know you're not playing hard to get now?" His face was moving closer with his words; there was now barely any space between us.