by J. L. Mac
“It wasn’t her fault,” I start. “Noni—S-she wasn’t given a choice. He-Edward did something unthinkable, Grams. He-he…” I can’t even bring myself to say the words. I watch her realize where I’m going with this sordid tale.
Her weathered hands go to her mouth, astounded by what I’ve just told her. “He didn’t,” she mumbles from behind her hands.
“He did,” I affirm.
“Oh my God.” Grams shakes her head in disbelief. “Are you sure? How do you know?”
“Grams, she told me everything. She told me every horrifying detail. And the way she looked—the way she sounded—what he did to her…” I trail off, shaking my head and fighting back the lump in my throat, fighting back the tears. “It’s primarily why she gave up Damon. She wasn’t in a position to care for him physically or emotionally.”
“Oh my God,” Grams repeats, still wrought with shock. “I’ll go with you to the store in the morning. I have to see her. That poor girl.” Grams looks at the floor and I can see the tears pouring down her face.
I nod in understanding. I knew that Grams would want to see Noni. She’s going to want to make it right. She’s going to want to try to clean up after Edward like she always has.
“I told her that you were the safest person to talk to first, so please be easy with her, Grams. She’s… she’s fragile. And she doesn’t know much about Damon’s childhood. I don’t know how to tell her. I don’t know if I ever can.”
It’s the first time that I’ve thought about the other side of the scenario. I’ve been so consumed with keeping her identity a secret from Damon that I haven’t even thought about what I have to keep secret from Noni. If she knew what Damon has gone through, what Edward has done to him, it would devastate her. She would feel even guiltier, like a monster instead of a victim, and Noni is not a monster. Not even close.
I stand and walk over to Grams, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. “Goodnight, Grams. See you in the morning.”
“I wish I had done more for her,” Grams whispers, not looking up.
I don’t quite know how to respond to that, or if I’m supposed to. “You did what you could, Grams,” I say softly. “You were there for Damon.”
She shakes her head, no doubt recalling what we learned from Damon’s personal notebooks. “It’s all in the past now, I guess,” she says, patting my hand. “You’re a good girl, Jo.” She looks up finally and gives me a sad smile. “Night.”
I leave Grams’ apartment and walk up the path towards our house, wanting nothing more than to see Damon and loathing it just the same. Noni is guilty, Grams is ashamed, and I’m so damn scared of it all that I hardly know how to proceed. Plugging right through like I have been is bound to backfire soon. I have no way of knowing how this is going to play out and that’s the most disconcerting for me. I’ll protect my Big Man at all costs. I’ll keep his heart safe even if I have to lie for a while, and it seems like Noni and Grams need to talk before anyone says anything to Damon.
Dinner is simple and relatively quiet. Damon inhales his food per usual then spends the rest of dinner watching me as close as I think he ever has. He doesn’t say anything, but he never really has to. It worries me to think that he will pick up on my unease. Faking a good mood would definitely give me away. Damon knows when I’m genuinely happy and there’s no faking what knowing what I know has done to my head and heart.
I ponder my situation while I do the dishes and decide to go with a simple explanation that’s at least kind of true. He hasn’t asked yet, because he’s likely waiting for me to open up to him, but at least I’m prepared. I’ll wait. If he asks what’s got me in a mood, I can tell him that work was shitty today because in truth, it was.
I plod up the stairs to our bedroom, ready for him to ask what’s up, and find him standing at the sink in our enormous bathroom brushing those perfect teeth of his in just a towel. One look at him and I know that he’s the ideal medicine to soothe away the nightmare that was my day.
His warm eyes meet mine in the reflection of the mirror and I’m sucked into the vortex that is Damon. Every part of him summons my body to be close to his, skin to skin, eye to eye. His skin is still glistening from his shower, his hair damp and tousled, and there’s just enough growth on his jaw to graze my cheek. Flawless.
I step up behind him at the sink and wrap my arms around him, pressing my body against his. My cheek rests against his defined back and I let my eyes slip closed for this moment of respite. Just being here with him is a welcome distraction from my chaotic reality.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or should I just fuck it out of you?”
I press my lips to his back, dropping little kisses as I go. “Just a long day, baby,” I say mid-kiss, “but I’ll take option B anyway.”
Damon’s body shakes as he laughs. “Don’t have to tell me twice. Bed,” he orders in true caveman fashion.
He turns on his heels and flicks his towel from his hips, revealing his already erect cock. It’s nice seeing him naked. It’s like eye therapy and I revel in the beauty of him apparently long enough for him to lean forward and haul me up on his shoulder. A girlish squeal sails out of me as I’m toted from the bathroom straight to our bed. I reach down and pinch one muscular butt cheek before he tosses me onto the mattress in a heap.
Damon crawls onto the bed, caging me in a prison made of rock hard flesh. I’m happy to serve out my sentence. I’m happy to forget all about taking Grams to see Noni tomorrow. I’m happy to forget all of it.
If Grams is nervous it doesn’t show. I’ve peeked at her a dozen times or more on the ride to the store this morning and each time she’s just humming along to the song on the radio and watching the passing scenery as we zip by.
“Are you nervous?” I finally ask.
“Nah,” she scoffs. “Nerves are for young people. I’m fine, honey. You?”
“Hell yes, I’m nervous. I promised Noni that this would be the easiest way to start. I don’t want to be made a liar.” It’s a plea and a warning all in one. I trust Grams, I just don’t trust this situation.
“It’ll be fine, Jo. It’ll all be just fine,” she reassures me in that way that only a mother can.
It does the trick to settle my unrest. I nod. The rest of the ride to work is in silence.
I take a deep breath as I walk around the SUV to help Grams out. I unfold her pimped out walker and secure the locking mechanism. She smiles and steps out of the Volvo.
“After you, Grams,” I say, motioning forward.
Grams oohs and ahhs over the store and I give her the world’s quickest grand tour before stowing her in the office with Hemingway and some wedding magazines. I want her out of sight until I’m able to talk to Noni and let her know that Grams is here.
Noni gets to the store uncharacteristically late. I was scared that she’d skipped out on me for a minute. When I finally see her brown, lightly peppered with gray, hair, I’m pretty sure I let out a sigh of relief.
“Hey, Noni,” I greet tentatively, trying to feel out her mood.
“G’morning, Jo.”
Resilient. It’s the first word that pops into my mind and I find myself admiring the woman who gave me the best gift I’ve ever been given. Damon. He was born out of violence and heartbreak, but he was born nevertheless. She could have gotten an abortion. She could have chosen to end his life before it had really even begun, but she didn’t. She showed unwavering bravery where most would give up. I can’t say that I would blame her if she had chosen a different path for herself. Faced with the same circumstance, I’m not sure I would choose to keep a child that represented something so awful.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
She swallows hard and then gives me a tiny yet reassuring smile. “Yes. I think I am, actually. You’re the first person to know what happened and it’s the oddest thing, but I feel relieved that you know. I was thinking about it last night and decided I’ve been hiding it for so long that I hadn’t realized
how lonely my secret has made me. So,” she moves forward and wraps her arms around me, “thank you.”
I close my eyes and do my best to keep control over my emotions. This entire thing has reawakened feelings in me that have been dead since Maman and Papa died. I stifled them out of pure necessity. I had to be strong and being emotional simply wasn’t a part of that equation. Right now, I want nothing more than to burst into tears.
Noni grips my shoulders and holds me out in front of her with an endearing smile on her face. It’s enough to break down the barricade that I erected so many years ago. Stupid tears form in my eyes and I feel like a blubbering idiot.
“Ignore me. I’m being dumb,” I say, swiping at my wet cheeks.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Noni brings me back in for another hug that feels so good on my raw and ragged nerves that I don’t want to let go.
“I’m so emotional these days,” I murmur, “it’s pathetic. With the engagement, the new house, Grams moving in, the store, the wedding, you…” I shake my head and wipe a stray tear from my chin. “Speaking of Grams,” I watch Noni, careful not to freak her out, “she’s here. In the office.”
Noni’s eyes widen. Her hand goes to her chest, clutching at her heart. She stands in front of me wide-eyed but silent.
“She knows,” I continue. “I talked to her last night. She wanted to see you.” I pause, wondering if I should wait for a response. “Want to go see her?” I offer instead of insist.
Noni’s reaction is small but it’s there. She gives me a barely noticeable nod and it’s go time. I walk dutifully ahead of her, opening the door to the office and revealing Grams. A small gasp comes from her when she sees Noni for the first time in over thirty years.
“My God.” Grams gets to her feet and pushes the walker that I swear she doesn’t really need aside. “Sweet, sweet girl,” she says and opens her arms wide, welcoming Noni into them.
Without pause, Noni steps into Grams’ embrace. Just like that, tears are falling from all three of us. They hug for a long time, whispering a few things to one another, none of which I’m able to hear from the doorway.
The moment finally ends when Grams pulls back and pats Noni on the cheek. I look from Grams to Noni then back to Grams. They need privacy and I need to put a stop to all this crying to get some work done. Captain would never let me live down all this girly emotion. He’d probably mutter something completely sexist about women being hormonal and therefore dangerous. He’s never far from my thoughts, especially lately, and I find myself missing him more every day. Before my sentiments get the best of me yet again, I make a break for it.
“I’m going to get some work done,” I offer quietly. “You two talk a while. If you need me, I’ll be out here.” I thumb towards the store then split.
They’ve got a lot of catching up to do and I have a bookstore to prepare for a grand reopening. The mountain of work waiting for me is a welcome departure from the present and I dive in headfirst.
I peer out of the wide, sweeping windows of our new bedroom and allow my head to swim with my beautiful, albeit complicated life scenario.
I’m lucky to have Damon. I know that better than anyone. I’ve never want to jeopardize what I have with him, but I fear that I’ve done just that. I didn’t do anything to deserve his help at the scene of the accident all those years ago and I don’t really feel that I’ve done anything special to deserve him now. Truthfully, the only thing I did was become a victim in the car accident that melded our worlds together, which wasn’t exactly a choice but it bound me to him nonetheless. The outside of this relationship is a well-manicured veneer, but he and I both know that a standby therapist is a telltale sign that there’s so much more that we have to work through. We look happy. We look like a couple in love and building a life together, but at the same time we’re working to clear the scar tissue from our lives just to keep us that façade. It’s difficult to admit, but when you compare our shitty childhoods, I think losing my parents was the better end of the deal. At least I have nothing but fond memories of them. At least I never went a day thinking that they didn’t love or want me. Damon has gone his entire thirty-three years knowing that he was given up by his mother and hated by his father. I can’t imagine how that reality has affected him. My heart aches more for his past than it aches for my own tragedies.
Now I’ve gone and taken an already chaotic situation and fueled the fire by digging into his past. I sought out the identity of his mother and now that I’ve got the information I wanted, I’m no longer sure that I want it. At all. The ominous thought of Damon discovering what I’ve done scares the shit out of me. Something deep down in my gut has been twisting, screaming at me to let all of this lie and pray that it settles just the way it is. A mental picture of a furious, scared, and further traumatized Damon has been tormenting me for weeks. I think the only thing that scares me more than that is the vision of a Damon that has shut down and refuses to give a shit. I waged war with that Damon once already. I won the battle, but I’m not entirely sure that I’ve won the war. Seeing a look of cold indifference cross his handsome face is something I never want to see again. It nearly broke me the last time. Going through it again would exhaust every ounce of my resolve.
Grams’ reunion with Noni about did me in today and I’m not sure I can go any further with this. I’m not sure that I should go any further. I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep this to myself. They talked and talked and talked all day. I ate lunch with them but left them to it as soon as I had wolfed down my sub, never really entering into their conversation. Neither one of them gave it a second thought when I dismissed myself to get back to work. They kept right on talking until closing time and I ignored the nauseous feeling that my paranoia conjured up.
Damon’s truck pulling into the drive draws me from the familiar murk of dismay. I watch his tall, rigid frame step easily from the cab and stride towards the front door. Just before stepping beneath the awning, his molten gaze drifts upward as if he feels me watching like I always feel him watching me. His expression is hard and I can tell he’s making a beeline for me. It’s difficult to tell if the tremble that’s taken over me is from the thrill of anticipation that those eyes elicit or the constant, uninhibited fear of the truth coming out.
It takes all of thirty seconds for Damon to appear in the frame of our bedroom door. His wide shoulders take up all the space that the entry to our bedroom has to offer. I look to him and whether by conscious choice or reflex, I keep quiet. He stands there for a moment, looking disheveled and angry, but not speaking.
Shit.
My heart speeds and it has me feeling panicky. I want to say something. I should say something, but my brain is on a fucking vacation and left utter fear to housesit. Damon lifts his hand, holding up one finger, and takes long, determined strides towards our bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, leaving me confused. What the hell?
He opens the door a moment later looking… exquisite. He has ditched the shirt and stands in only his slacks. The way he casually props himself against the frame of the door while meticulously drying those big hands of his has me scared and licking my lips like a famished dog. God, he’s beautiful. And he’s mine. Mine.
“I—”
“Shh,” he demands. He rights himself and prowls across the space between us.
The sight of him coming for me has my body thrumming with a growing need. A need for every inch of him. A need to taste him. A need to drown my worry in a sea of lust and heat. A need to be okay. The moment he easily steps into my personal space, his scent inundates me, sending me sailing over the edge in desperation.
“I want—” I begin to plea.
His hands lift to my shoulders and turn me away from him to peer back out the window. He positions himself so painfully close to my backside that I involuntarily push back against him, eager to feel him. One hand finds its way to my stomach, where he unfolds his hand wide, covering nearly the full width of my abdomen. His lips make painfully soft c
ontact with my earlobe, sending a shiver through me in all directions like a ripple through water.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who knows how to keep secrets,” he whispers into my ear. His breath against my skin is feather light, completely contradictory to the lead weight that has just taken up residence in my throat. My heart stops in my chest and fear extinguishes the fire that he so easily lit.
He knows.
I’m frozen in every sense of the word. The brain in my head has been taken hostage by the all-consuming fear. My feet feel as if they’re cast in concrete and my stomach… well, let’s just say my stomach is about to expel the sub that I so hastily ate for lunch.
Damon slips something into my hand. Paper. I bring it up to examine whatever it is that he has uncovered.
A wedding magazine. A fucking wedding magazine?
I whirl around to face him with utter incredulity written on my face. I hold it up and arch an eyebrow. “What?” I ask as coyly as I can manage.
Damon takes the magazine from me and flips casually to a dog-eared page near the middle. “Top Ten Honeymoon Destinations,” he reads the title of the article that I had looked over yesterday. “You starred Paris. You never told me you wanted to go to Paris. Why not?”
You’ve got to be shitting me.
I sigh and just as if someone released the vice that my nerves were in, my body relaxes, my anxiety retreats to a manageable level, and my stomach, though still uneasy, no longer threatens to have me hugging the toilet. I shake my head at my Big Man and wrap my arms around him. “I guess I forgot to mention it to you. We don’t have to go. I just… I don’t know… it caught my eye since that’s where I was conceived.”
“Is that where you want to spend our honeymoon?” he asks pointedly.
“I don’t care where we go, baby, as long as I’m your wife.”
“I love the way that sounds,” he admits. His hands turn greedy, exploring my backside. I moan, my forehead resting against his sternum. It’s all the encouragement Damon needs. Both hands grip the backs of my thighs just below my ass and I’m hauled up. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the bed.