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Sienna Ray is a quietly introverted author living in the UK. She lives with her other half and despite aspirations to be an author in her school days, has only just recently embarked on her writing journey. Her debut novel, EVERYTHING WE ARE, co-written with her best friend, released in June 2022.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DEVON

Rosemary wakes me up by standing on my bladder. I open one eye, which is a mistake. Her meow is loud, screeching, and instant.

“Off.” I lift her under the front legs, which my mom says I’m not supposed to do, then set her on the floor. She stares up at me from the rug, insulted. “You have the whole house. You picked my bladder.”

She follows me down the hall anyway, complaining the entire way, until I shake food into her bowl. Then I stop existing.

My suit jacket is on the back of a kitchen chair where I dumped it when I came in. I stare at it for a long time until my bladder reminds me that I need to use the bathroom. This also turns out to be a mistake because I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

My shirt is untucked, half the buttons undone, one cuff stiff with dried chocolate. There’s a smear of it on my collar too, rust colored now, right where her mouth was when she pushed me back against the wall. As much as I want to clear my thoughts, I don’t. That was, without a doubt, the best night of my life.

And I don’t even know her name.

I take care of business, wash my hands, and take another long look at myself. I don’t have the energy to do anything about the way I look, at least not yet. Partially because I’m not ready to forget.

Back in the kitchen, I get the coffee going and stand there watching it drip. My mind wanders back to last night, to her hands, her voice, and that accent, the way she said Bruce so it came out with a little curl at the end. Feeling her ankles cross behind my back sends a shiver of remembrance down my spine.

We weren’t drunk because we didn’t need booze to make the decision we did last night. Thank God because now I remember it all. Every second. Every feel.

This is either going to be a gift or the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

The laundry I started before the party is still sitting in the washer. I move it to the dryer, add two of my mom’s dryer sheets, and consider stealing the whole box. There’s an odd comfort in your clothes smelling like your childhood versus this adulthood bullshit.

My phone vibrates on the table, next to my tuxedo jacket. I look at the screen: Hogan.

“You’re alive, I see.”

“Debatable,” Hogan says. “And you can’t see me. I’m not even sure my eyes are fully open. Steph made me drink water. A lot of water. Do you know what water does to a man?”

“Keeps him alive.”

“It’s an ambush is what it is.” He groans. Something rustles. “So.”

“So.”

“So we’re doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Don’t.” He coughs. “Devon. My man. The Bunny.”

I open the fridge for no reason other than to have somewhere to look. “It’s your birthday. Talk about yourself.”

“You disappeared with her. For a long time. And then you came back with your bowtie in your pocket like a man who⁠—”

“Watch it.”

“Like a gentleman,” he says, “who had a lovely conversation.”

A very lovely conversation.

I pour the coffee. My mom’s mugs are all the same dusty green, part of a set she bought after my sister moved out and my mom didn’t know what to do with her time. So, she shopped, remodeled, wallpapered, and who knows what else. I take the one with the chip in the handle, because it’s mine, because I’m the one who chipped it.

“It was a good night,” I say.