Page 46 of The Illusion
He turns and walks back into the living room. I hear him pick up his phone, hear him start making another call.
I stand there in the kitchen, alone, trapped in yet another Dean Stevens created shitshow.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
ASHER
I'm drivingDevon to my father's house to pick up more of her things. It's been three weeks since the funeral. Three weeks since I became responsible for a seventeen-year-old girl who lost her last remaining parent.
My father is dead. I’m in charge of Ancre. The board is watching me. The investors are watching me. The financial press is watching me. Everyone is waiting to see if I can fill his shoes. I’m glad I’m in charge, but pissed that people are questioning things and making judgements. It’s fucking annoying.
And then there's Devon. A girl who just lost everything, looking to me for stability when I can barely keep myself together. Julie tries to help. She makes dinner. She asks Devon how she's doing. She offers to take her shopping or drive her to therapy appointments. But between me being on edge and Devon needing attention, I can see the strain.
Julie didn't sign up for this. We've not been married for all that long and now there's a teenager living in our house, grieving and traumatized, and I don't know how to make any of it better.I glance over at Devon. She's so young. Too young to have lost so much. "Are you doing okay?" I ask.
She nods without looking at me. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"You don't have to be fine, you know. It's okay to not be okay."
"I know." Her voice is small. "I just don't want to be a burden."
"You're not a burden."
"I feel like one."
I don't know what to say to that. Because the truth is, she is a burden. Not in a cruel way, but in the way that all responsibility always is. I'm trying to hold everything together and I'm failing. The company. My marriage. This girl who needs more than I know how to give.
We pull into the driveway of my father's house. The mansion looks empty and colder without him in it. I cut the engine and we sit there for a moment, neither of us moving. "You ready?" I ask.
“I am.”
We go inside. The house smells like him. Expensive cologne and leather and the faint scent of cigars he wasn't supposed to smoke. Devon goes upstairs to her old room and I follow, carrying empty boxes.
She starts packing slowly. Clothes. Books. A jewelry box that belonged to her mother. I watch her move through the room like a ghost, touching things gently, like they might break.
"Take your time," I say. "We're not in a rush."
She nods but doesn't speak. I lean against the doorframe and watch her. I'm trying. I'm really trying. But I don't know if it's enough.
After a while, she sits down on the bed and looks at me. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Does Julie like me?"
The question catches me off guard. Of all the things she could have asked, this was not it. Julie likes everyone. She smiles at clowns, for fuck’s sake. If there’s a mean bone in her body, I’ve yet to see it.
"Of course she does. Why would you think she doesn't?"
Devon shrugs. "I don't know. She's nice to me. But I wonder if she's just being polite. If she's doing it because she has to, not because she wants to."
"Not at all. Julie cares about you."
"Does she?"
"Yes. She does." I sit down beside her on the bed. "The one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that Julie is one of the best people I know. She's kind and generous and she genuinely wants you to feel welcome in our home. She’s trying to give you space because she doesn't want to overstep."
