chirped out of the phone, before the screen folded up into the dialing notification. The faint sound of ringing came through the speaker, and—heart doing a little jitter-dance that wanted to hope but couldn’t stand to be crushed—she lifted the phone to her ear and prayed he would pick up.
It took six rings before the line clicked and a drowsy voice rumbled over the phone, deep and with an odd rawness that made her wonder if he’d been shouting, crying…or if by now, Devon West was nothing but a permanently open wound.
She wouldn’t blame him.
All of Miriam’s children bled in their own way, one way or another.
“Yo,” Devon slurred.
Willow sighed. Just like Dev to sleep until three in the afternoon. He’d probably been out partying all night, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he was wiping glitter off his face—and out of other unmentionable places—while scrubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Hi, Dev. It’s Wil.”
His voice instantly perked. “Big sis. Hey. What’s up?”
“Um.”
My life is falling apart and I don’t know how to put it back together?
I made some really bad decisions and I can’t take them back?
I messed everything up, how’s that?
That’s what Mr. van Zandt had said to her. That she’d messed everything up. No, he’d said fucked up, called her a lying little whore, and for a moment she’d thought he would hit her before he’d slammed out of the room to call the police.
She took a deep breath. “I’m not doing so great. How’re you?”
“Same as always. Nothing ever changes around here. It’s all assets, portfolios, and day drinking.” The sound of glass clinking came over the line. “What’s wrong?”
She glanced up at Maxi. At Gary. Both watched her, Gary with a sort of baleful interest, Maxi with curious warmth and that cloud of amused cynicism that radiated from the tips of her fingers to the swinging beads laced into her hair. Willow flashed a faint smile, then slid off the stool and slipped outside. Late summer heat fell over her like a furnace’s breath, and she leaned against the wall outside the bar and watched the traffic go by.
“I…” She wet her lips, her throat too small to let the words pass. “I hate asking—”
“You need money.”
“Ouch.” She closed her eyes against the glare winking off passing cars in flashes of quickburst silver, as if hiding from those little stabs of light could hide her from the stab of guilt, too. She tried to tell herself Dev was young, barely twenty-one, and that made him careless, reckless with his emotions and others’, his resentment running hot—but it wouldn’t hurt so much if she wasn’t already bent and straining under the weight of her own shame. “You know I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t desperate.”
“You could try calling to talk sometimes. Is that bothering me, too?”
“That’s not fair, Dev. I haven’t had time. Not with work, college, Dad—”
“Yeah.” He made a soft, distressed sound. “Yeah, you do have all that. And I have no goddamned clue what that’s like. I’m sorry. I—I shouldn’t be such a dick.”
“When your big sister is a freeloading mooch—”
“You’re not that,” he said sharply. “It’s not your fault how the dice fell.”
“Whose fault is it?”
“I don’t know. Mom’s, maybe.” He sighed. “Maybe no one’s. Look, how much do you need?”
Willow bit her lip. Her pride rankled, but she wasn’t asking for herself. If it was for herself, she’d have struggled and starved and done whatever it took, but she had someone else to think about.
She always had someone else to think about.
“Five thousand,” she whispered. The number stuck in her craw, ugly and foul-tasting. “That should be enough.”
“Fuck me, Wil. Five thou? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No!”
“What happened?”
“I…I lost my job.” It came out defiant, daring him to call her on it. “About three months ago. And no one’s biting on my applications. I’ve been trying to make things stretch while I look, but with Dad’s meds, his treatments…they cut the water off two days ago, Dev. And we haven’t had power for a week and a half. I don’t even know how I’ll make the mortgage on the house this month.”
“You should have called me before this.”
“I know.” She deflated with a sigh, sagging; sun-heated brick scratched against her back. “I know, I just…hoped I’d find something. Not even the temp agencies are calling back. And I know he’s not your father, but—”
“But he’s yours. Don’t worry.” Dev’s own sigh was heavy and slow. “It’s okay. I’ll take