We didn’t speak for the entire ride back to his condo, and I could tell he was itching to interrogate me. I watched his hands grip and regrip the steering wheel repeatedly. But he was respecting the request I had made when I first entered the car, to wait until we got home. I may have been freaking out, but I still had presence enough to know that Devon would likely want to physically harm Barry when he heard the full story.
However, even as we entered his living room and I sat on his beautiful brown leather sofa, I couldn’t manage to say the words. Was I remembering correctly? Is it possible that those memories could have been as innocent as I’d once thought they were? Maybe I had misunderstood. Maybe I overreacted. Oh, God, and I had pulled Devon out of work in the middle of the afterno
