Chapter 8: Jo's POV: Three A.M.

Jo's POV

At three in the morning I was standing in my own living room, watching a man sleep on my couch.

Devin had one arm over his face and one foot hanging off the end.

He had fallen asleep mid-sentence an hour after I told him to go to bed, with my blanket pulled to his chin.

I had kissed him four hours ago.

I could still feel it in my mouth, and that made me furious, because I did not have room in my head for that.

I had room for one thing.

I had been carrying it for four years, and tonight it was not a thing anymore. It was a clock.

"Tell him," I said to the dark.

The radiator knocked.

Devin turned his head on the cushion and said something in his sleep, a word that might have been a name.

Four years ago I had picked Shane up from a curb in Squirrel Hill, in his socks, with his shoes in his lap.

I put a hand out to his shoulder and he flinched so hard he fell sideways into the road.

At five in the morning, in my car behind the hospital, he said, "Don't tell Devin. Not before the funeral. I'll tell him myself after."

I had said yes.

It was one yes, and I had been paying for it for four years.

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