Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 15 (complete) (Patreon)

Josh was sitting on the couch where she’d last seen him, only now the TV was off. So he was sitting by himself, facing the television, the room dead quiet. If he wasn’t so upright, she would’ve thought he’d drifted off and the sleep timer had shut the equipment down. Sunlight came in the window still, lighting up the room, but with her husband in there and everything else so inactive, the room seemed dim.

She slowed, pausing at the kitchen pass-through. “Josh?”

His head turned and she regarded his profile. Noted his somber expression.

She said, “Everything okay?”

He nodded. Still not saying anything.

“You just sitting here?”

Now he turned around, putting his elbow over the back of the couch and showing her his face. He said, “Can you come sit with me and talk?”

Whoosh. It was like her mental toilet had just been flushed. Everything shot down her plumbing, into the basement, her feet instantly going cold and feeling fat and swollen. Her heart thudded, her cheeks burned. She said, “Uh-huh, yeah,” then turned aside like she was looking for some sort of escape hatch. She said, “Can you let me get a drink of water first?”

Josh nodded. She crept behind his back, went into the kitchen, ran the faucet and brought down a drinking glass. Both hands on the sink lip, she crumpled against the counter. Oh shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, oh my God, oh my freaking God. He knows! Oh my God, he freaking knows! . . . Stomach cinched to a hard rubber ball, her eyes swelled with tears. What did he know? How did he find out? Did he see the picture? Holy freaking shit, did he see the picture of Devlin on her phone? . . . “God, fuck, no,” she whispered, ran her glass under the faucet stream and filled it. Shut the lever closed, snatched paper towels from a roll and dried her face. Sniffled, blew her nose. Knocked back her water and wiped her mouth. Oh God dammit, poor Josh. Oh God, how could she do any of this to him?

Now she walked around the couch, cursing herself for her accidental timid wife pose. Fingers interlinked, hands held at her waist: the submissive woman. Coming around the couch now, hoping he wouldn’t see the puffiness of her eyes, could tell that she was crying. . . . She sat down next to him. “What do you want to talk about?”

And her husband just sat there. The two of them in their Sunday sweats, alone in their apartment, beautiful sunny day outside the window. Not talking to each other. Slinking around the house and avoiding each other. Him mad at her for texting. Her mad at him for being mad at her for texting. It was work Josh. It was work. Mad at him like it really was for work. But it wasn’t. Did he know that now? Where did she leave her phone that he saw it?

Seeing his morose face, his sunken eyes and sloping shoulders had her wanting to instantly cuddle him. Comfort him for the harm she’d done. Try and explain it all away—though there was no explanation. And if she put her arms out right now and held him, and he screamed at her, a hair trigger being set off with her touch, shouting, throwing things, being mad enough to strike her . . . Could he do that? Josh would never do that. Josh would never do it, but look at all she’d done to him. She left him with nowhere else to go. Had broken his heart. So while she wanted to comfort this man she loved, she sat there with her hands gathered in her lap and waited to hear what it was that he’d found out.

Josh was taking his time, preparing himself, letting her know that this was going to be a doozy. She said, “Tell me.”

It broke the spell, and though he still wouldn’t look at her, his eyes open wider, staring out the window, sunlight making the wet on his pupils shimmer. He said, “I told you about Devlin . . .”

“I know. I know he was a bully.”

“He was,” he said and rolled his eyes.

“No,” she said, “I know. You told me . . .”

“I don’t know how to say this . . .”

Oh fuck, here it came. Somehow Josh knew. Someone had told on her. Oh crap—the party. Tiffany’s party. On Facebook maybe? There was chatter online now about what she’d done. Surprised there hadn’t been already. . . . But that’s what it was. People talking about the rumors of what Karina and Amy saw. Her and Devlin. But dammit, she’d fixed that, hadn’t she? Admitted to being pinned on the ground underneath Devlin. Admitted to Devlin trying to kiss her. Everything involving that night had been cut and stacked in a barrier of plausible deniability. Oh, they’re exaggerating, Josh. Rumors. Just ask Amy. Shit, don’t ask Karina. God, don’t ask Karina . . . 

He said, “Remember that night when we came back from the Dragon?”

“Yeah.” She wanted to put her hand on him again. Rest her palm on her husband’s bare forearm. But she waited. Would wait till it was okay . . .

“You told me what happened at the party.”

What had he read? What were people saying about her?

“When we came back”—now he turned in his seat and thumbed toward their foyer—“remember the card? . . .”

“Right. The business card . . .”

“I told you I found it.”

And here she was pulling her hand back again. Wanting to touch him but afraid.

“I didn’t find it, Kimmy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t find it. Devlin told me it was there.”

Now she frowned. Frowned because that didn’t make sense. And what had she told Josh about that?

He said, “Devlin told me it was there. I didn’t find it on my own.”

“What do you mean Devlin told you?”

“He told me he put it there.”

Now all that cotton fuzzy dread got pushed away by her pounding adrenaline-spiked heartbeat. “Devlin told you that? When were you talking to Devlin?”

He paused a long moment, still not able to look at her. “He texted me. Told me to look in the drawer. He said he put it there . . . left it there for me.”

Now she was stuck in her own storyline. Walking the path of her lie, afraid to walk deeper into the lie’s darkening forest, worried because she wasn’t sure she was leaving a good trail behind her if she needed to find her way out again. But she ventured forth: “I put it there, Josh.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You told me that . . .”

He didn’t believe her? Well she didn’t put it there. But how else would it get there? “What do you mean he texted you?”

“On my phone, Kimmy, how else?”

“How did he get your phone number?”

Josh shrugged. Couldn’t come up with an answer.

“What did he say?” She chewed her cheek.

Josh vacillated like there was only so much of this he wanted to tell her. And now, as much as she hated it, she feared this could be a ruse on her husband’s part. He was testing her honesty. Testing her resolve to the story of Devlin’s business card’s provenance. Only why? Because he was scared . . . 

Josh said, “He said he came by. He said he was in our apartment.”

Whoosh again. Toilet flushing. Cold feet, hot face. “I told you he wasn’t here,” she said, and though she’d meant it louder, it came out as a whisper. Proof she was lying.

“That’s not what he told me.”

She said, “Would you look at me, please? Stop looking away. I want to look in your eyes.”

It took a while, but Josh turned his face to hers. Their eyes met and she saw genuine hurt there. She said, “Show me the text. I want to see it.”

Now their eyes disconnected—and she felt that momentary mistrust. There was no text.

And sure enough, Josh said now: “I deleted it.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I believed you. I believed what you told me about the card, and I believed what you told me about the party.”

Now she couldn’t hold back any longer, reaching across the divide between them—that six-inch couch space—and rested her hand on his arm. He didn’t explode in rage. Didn’t shout at her, jump back, or whip his arm away. He looked soothed by her touch, and that meant an incredible amount to her. She stroked his arm hairs with her thumb. “You threw it out because you believe me?”

“I spent an awful lot of time in high school and elementary school with that guy in my head, Kimmy. I’m an adult now. I’m married. I’ve got a great job. I’m not that kid anymore. I’m not his puppet. I’m not his toy. I asked you; you told me the truth. You tell me the truth. All he does is lie and manipulate. This text from him was like a thorn stuck in me. You know? Embedded, leaking poison. So I flicked it away. It doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Can you get it back?”

He shook his head no.

“That’s all it said? That he’d left you his business card?”

Josh’s face went grim again. Vacillating. Like there was more that had been texted but he didn’t want to deal with it. At last, he nodded. “Yeah, he just texted me to let me know he’d left me a gift.”

“Any idea why he would do that though?”

He scoffed like the answer was obvious. “To fuck with me, Kimmy.”

She frowned again, but showed him a supportive expression. “You said it yourself. You’re an adult now, he’s an adult too. Why would he bother with something like that?” Was it possible? Did Devlin do that? There was the Devlin that Josh described. There was the Devlin she remembered. And there was the Devlin she knew now. All dark gradations. All shades of a dominant and mean personality. But the Devlin from high school was not Devlin the man. Would Devlin really send such a ridiculous text? To set her husband up? Was this wounds percolating up from Josh’s past? Josh afraid the current status of his wife texting her boss while at lunch with her family?—it was something Josh was mad about—and fearful Josh, bullied Josh, concocting this scenario was meant to deter her from close contact with a man he hated. The story Josh told her was benign enough. Benign and unprovable. Devlin texted him to say the business card was in the drawer. So what? Yes, Devlin had been here that day. He’d been here that day and had done terrible things to her in the hallway. But would he leave his card afterward, text Josh to taunt him? It sounded like something out of a high school movie. Was Devlin stuck in high school? Was Josh? She said, “I wish you could show me. I know his text number.”

He looked her way. “You do.”

“I do.”

Now Josh frowned. “So . . . you don’t think it was him?”

“Could somebody be playing a joke on you?”

Defensive, Josh reeled and pulled his arm from her touch. “Who would do that? What’s funny about that?”

“I don’t know, Josh,” she said. “I’m not defending Devlin, I just wish you could show me the text.”

“Well, I can’t, okay? I told you it was poison. I got rid of it. I just want you to know the kind of man you’re working for.”

“Josh, don’t attack me. I’m under no illusion what kind of person Devlin is. What kind of man he is.”

For some reason that wounded Josh. He reeled again. “Don’t call him that.”

“Call him what? A man?”

“It shows him respect.”

“I don’t respect him, Josh—he’s just my boss. I don’t know what you want from me . . .” Wow . . . now she saw it more clearly, saying: “I mean if this is true about the text then—”

“What—it isn’t true? You think I’m lying?” He stood up and crossed his arms.

She put her hands up defensively saying, “No-no, I know, I’m not saying you’re lying, I’m saying this text that you’re telling me about came in before the job offer. We sat and we talked, right here—” now she patted the couch where he’d just been sitting—“here, Josh, we sat here and talked about what it would mean. You didn’t tell me about the text. Why wouldn’t you bring that up? Like, if you would told me that, Josh, it would’ve changed my mind totally. And if you’d showed me the text . . .?”

“You don’t believe he sent it?” His voice was raised.

“I believe he sent it,” she said—though she didn’t. “Don’t be mad. I’m just telling you you never brought it up. You’re sitting here telling me how hurt you are by all of that, and yet when you had the chance, you didn’t say anything? I already told immigration I’m not coming back. Now I’m working at Stone. . . . Did you want me to quit? Because if you want me to quit, this just seems like an enormous waste of time. For both of us . . .”

“I should’ve told you.”

“See? Can you see what I’m saying?”

He nodded, arms crossed tighter. But with his arms crossed there was something undeniable: Josh had an erection. She ignored his bulge; he was standing above her with his crotch near her face, scowling across the room. She said again, “Look at me, Josh.”

And again, taking forever to meet her eyes, he finally obeyed. “What? . . .”

She said, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to know if the text was real or not because I’m in a tough situation now. If you’re telling me this is real, then I shouldn’t be working for him. But you never told me when you should have. You’re telling me now. I have to weigh how serious you took it at the time. You didn’t take it serious enough at the time to tell me . . . What does that mean?”

Despite her pleasant and calm tone, Josh’s scowl deepened. “You’re such a fucking lawyer,” he said, waved a backhand at her like she was nothing and walked away.

“Josh, don’t leave me here, don’t do that . . .”

But now he was mad, walking quick, heading out of the living room and down the hall to the bedroom.