by J. L. Mac
Subject: Philippe Geroux, Collette Geroux, Josephine Geroux
Findings: Phillipe Geroux-deceased. Collette Geroux-deceased. Known relatives- Josephine Geroux,
“Give me that!” I cry. “It’s about me!”
“No. When did you find out?” Damon grates out, his jaw clenched.
Things are spinning out of control too fast. My head swims with words but all of them seem like the wrong ones.
“When?” he demands.
“I saw your birth certificate when I found the notebooks and I started looking for her,” I confess feebly. “I sent the person on the document a letter. I didn’t know it was her.”
Damon closes his eyes tightly and drops his head. He pushes his hands through his already disheveled locks. “And?”
“She called me the day you proposed and admitted that she’s your mom.”
“Josephine…”
It’s unclear if the way he’s said my name is a plea or a reprimand. I take one step closer to him and stretch my hand out to him. I just want to make this better. I don’t want him to hurt. I don’t want him to know, but it’s coming. I can feel his next question before he has even spoken it.
“What do you know?” His tormented gaze meets mine, leaving me unsure and frightened.
With one deep breath, I shore up what little courage I have left and prepare to confess the horrid truth. I prepare to break his already delicate heart and shatter his mind.
“Everything.”
The word that carries so much comes out as a mumble. It’s weighted with rape, tragedy, abuse, and lies perpetrated against Damon by everyone around him, including me. It doesn’t get much worse than this.
“Elaborate, Josephine.”
I hate when he uses my full name in that tone. It’s a sure sign that he’s beyond serious. I have nothing left to do but tell him everything and pray that he doesn’t crumble beneath the burden of knowing. “Ignorance is bliss” couldn’t ring truer right now.
“Damon, baby—”
“Don’t! Don’t you dare try to sugarcoat this right now! Tell me what you know!” He points his finger at me and bellows so loud that my ears ring in protest.
Tears sting my eyes and the knot in my throat is enough to choke on. I’m backed into a corner by my tormented Big Man with no place to go.
“He raped her, Damon,” I whisper. The admission sounds so foreign. It doesn’t sound like me. Maybe because I hate the truth so damn much or maybe because this is the first time I’ve actually said it aloud. I watch closely as Damon’s brows draw up, forming a crinkled line. His attention drifts from me to the floor at my feet. I can see him mulling over my words in his head.
“Oh my God.” He covers his face with his big hands and turns away from me. “Fuck!”
Damon’s balled fist crashes violently into the back of his office door. The wood shudders and splinters beneath the crushing force of his fist and I startle instinctively. I’ve seen him angry before, but I’ve never seen him quite this pissed. There’s far more than anger flashing in his eyes though. I see that he’s hurt, devastated. I imagine not only for the misinformation he’s been force-fed all these years, but also for the loss of his mother and for the unspeakable crime that his father committed. Damon knows what it feels like to be seventeen and feel as if your life has ended before it has even begun. Both he and Noni were robbed of so much by the same man. It’s a link of commonality between the both of them that I hope will help them connect despite their grim history.
“Go away, Jo,” he whispers, not looking at me. “I’ll give you all the money you need. Go to the penthouse for now. I’ll make sure arrangements are made for you, but you have to leave here.” He moves his head from side to side in little shakes, his lips pursed tightly together.
This is bad.
He strides right past me and grabs his suit coat from the chair in front of his desk, slipping into it with practiced ease.
“What? Why? I’m not going any fucking place!” I snap, all sadness evaporating into thin air. I’m partly puzzled and partly irritated. No. Scratch that. My level of frustration has just rocketed to somewhere between fuming mad and livid indignation. I’m supposed to marry this man and he expects me to tuck tail and head for the hills? He should know me better than that.
“You can’t be a part of this, Jo. I won’t put you at risk and I won’t be able to keep my eyes on you at all times.” He moves past me and rounds his desk.
“A part of what, exactly?” I demand an answer from him. He can’t do something brash or dangerous or illegal, for that matter. I won’t let him jeopardize himself in any way.
“It doesn’t matter. You just can’t be here.”
“Bullshit!” My hands are on my hips and I can feel heat warming my cheeks.
“Haven’t you had enough? Haven’t you seen enough to know that running as far and as fast as you can is the smartest thing to do at this point?” Damon shouts from behind his desk. He has one hand planted palm down on the wood, anchoring him in place. His free hand is raised, motioning towards his destroyed office door. “I’ve wanted nothing but the best for you. I’ve never tried so damn hard to be anything for anyone. But you…” He lifts his hand from his desk and points directly at me. “Dammit, Jo. For you, I’d do anything, except put you at risk to be hurt. And that’s exactly what will happen if you stay here.” The last part of his speech makes him sound like a conquered man confessing a truth and it makes my heart sink. “I’m a constant reminder of everything negative, Jo.” Damon drops into his leather office chair in a heap.
It rips me apart to see my Big Man so plagued by a past that he’s unwilling to deal with. He doesn’t have to accept his past—maybe not now and maybe not ever, but I do need him to accept me. If nothing else, he has to accept me, my help, my shoulder, my ear, and my love… all that I have to offer.
“You’re a constant reminder, all right.” I round his desk and rest my hand on his coarsely whiskered jaw. “You remind me every day exactly why I said yes. The way you look at me,” I slide between him and the desk, placing myself between his legs, “the way you keep me safe,” I lean forward to place a sweet kiss on his forehead, “the way you think of me first.”
Damon turns his head to the side and allows me to pull him close to my chest. His arms reflexively wrap around my waist and it’s a good sign that I may be winning this battle.
“The way you rescue me from myself,” I continue softly, planting another kiss in the same place, “the way you look at me,” I cup his cheeks, pulling him back just enough to give me the right angle to drop yet another kiss on the bridge of his nose, “the way you touch me.”
His eyes slip closed as I tilt his head back and lean in to press my lips to his chiseled jaw. He sighs and I know he’s coming back to me.
“The way you love me,” I say just above a whisper. My thumbs stroke over his defined cheekbones until his eyes open, burning bright with pure love and lust. It’s the definitive signal that I was hoping for. I’ve persuaded him. I’ve won the battle. This time.
His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply and his jaw clenches. A growl emanating from deep down surfaces just as his big hands take my hips into a vice-like grip, lifting me from my feet. “Loving you is all I’ve ever wanted to do, Jo.”
My heart leaps in my chest hearing his sweet confession. Damon’s expert hands glide the sash of my robe from its loops. The silk slips easily from my shoulders, revealing me to him. His eyes roam freely over my body. Nothing has changed. From the first time he took me and every time since, he takes a moment to appreciate every curve, unabashedly looking his fill.
He places one tender kiss between the swell of my breasts. He looks so defeated right now and I’d give anything to make it better. I lift my hand to tame the strands of hair that have gone astray, but he catches my wrist in midair.
He stands abruptly and covers my mouth with his in a passionate kiss that steals my breath. My tongue slides against his, battling for terr
itory, but it’s impossible to keep up with Damon. It always has been. Just as quickly as the kiss began, it ends. He breaks away from me and I see that his eyes have gone icy, stilling the heart in my chest. No.
“Go,” he orders with such finality that I wince.
“Wh—”
“Leave.”
There isn’t a shred of tenderness left in him and I feel my naked body shrinking before him. For the first time, I feel vulnerable and exposed to him. I scramble to pull my discarded robe back on.
“I don’t know what—”
“It’s simple, Josephine. Get your things and go. I’ll make arrangements for you. You’ll have what you need. Brian will call you tomorrow to sort out the details.”
I’m completely caught off guard. I was about to make love to my fiancé and now I’m being shoved away, tossed out—fucking abandoned! I’m sure that the confusion I feel is written all over my face. “Are you…” I begin hesitantly, scared to say the words.
“Breaking it off? Yes.”
Just like that, cold, indifferent Zombie Damon is back and I hate him for it. I shake my head fervently.
“No. You can’t do this to me,” I plead. “I’m sorry. Please don’t do this to us.” Tears break through and spill onto my cheeks.
“I just did.” He pushes away from me and strides coolly from his office, leaving me. Maybe forever.
I didn’t say goodbye to Grams and when I went to find Damon, he was gone. I slipped the diamond ring off my finger and left it sitting on Damon’s side of the bed. I packed a few of my things in a daze and drove myself back to the penthouse in silence. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t think. All I could do was replay his words in my head. Damon left the house before I did and is likely forgetting me over a bottle of booze right now. Maybe even a woman or two.
Thoughts of Creamsicle Carrie, that slut of an interior decorator, and various other plastic women falling over themselves to get ahold of the newly single Damon Cole bombards my shattered heart with mental images I’m far too fragile to entertain at the moment. I wish I had the stomach to drink. I could go for a glass of wine or two. Or ten. Instead, I rummage through the fridge in the kitchen and manage to dig out a freezer burned pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream to drown my sorrows in.
“Jo? Baby?” Brian calls.
“I’m in here,” I say around a mouthful of cookie dough.
Brian steps into the bathroom reeking of condolences and sympathy. Fan-fucking-tastic. “Oh, honey,” he coos with his bottom lip rolled out mocking a look of dismay.
“Don’t. I can’t—I… Fuck!” It’s next to impossible to keep the emotion out of my voice. Rather than face him, I slip down under the bubbles of the full tub I’m soaking in and let the water wet my hair completely. I resurface to see Brian sitting on the toilet across from me.
“Why are you in here?” he asks, looking around at the guest bathroom.
“Because it doesn’t make me want to die.” My answer is simple and couldn’t be more true. The master suite here at the penthouse is full of memories that I can’t bear to revisit right now, especially with the prospect that those memories may be all I have left of Damon.
“Oh,” he says knowingly, focusing on his neatly folded hands.
I flip the toggle on the spigot back and forth with my toes, staring straight ahead.
“Come on. You can’t sit in there forever.” Brian pulls me to standing and hands me two folded towels. “There’s a robe right over there, sweetie. I’ll wait for you in the living room.”
After drying off and wrapping myself up in the robe that Brian left me, I venture out into the living room to find him on the phone with his back to me.
“She’s a mess, Boss, but I’ll stay with her tonight. Okay. I will. See you in the morning.” Brian hangs up with Damon and turns to see me openly eavesdropping.
Just knowing that the man that I am irrevocably in love with was just on the phone makes the ache in my chest grow exponentially. I’m cross-eyed jealous. I want to hear his voice. I want to know what he’s doing. Where he’s at. Who he’s with. What he’s thinking. I just want him.
“Sorry, babe. He made me promise to check in once I talked to you.”
“Does he even give a shit?”
“Of course he does, Jo. The whole reason he pushed you away is because, in his messed up way, he cares. He thinks he’s protecting you,” Brian explains with a shrug, patting the couch next to him. “I think this will blow over. Just give him time. I don’t know the whole story, but what I do know is that Damon loves you, probably more than you even know.”
I scoff at his sentiments. I can’t convince myself that he loves me even a fraction of how much I love him. If he did, he wouldn’t have sent me packing so readily. I said I was sorry. I was just doing what I thought would help. I want Damon to stop living in the past and move towards the future I thought we wanted together. I couldn’t help but think that finding his biological mom would somehow help him find closure. Now I know that I was wrong and apparently didn’t know the man I love well enough to make that sort of judgment call.
“I can’t hold onto hope,” I reply sadly. “It hurts to think that I could hope for him to calm down just to be let down when he never calls.”
“I know.” Brian sighs. “Men, huh? Come on, let’s watch a movie or something.”
“I don’t really feel like it, Bri. I think I’m just going to go to bed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I just need to sleep. I’m so tired.”
“Okay… Want me to stay?”
“No, you go on home. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Pshh! You can count on it,” he says complete with dramatic flair and I can’t help but smile weakly at this man who has become my closest friend. “Call if you need me and I’ll be right over,” he promises as he picks up his man purse and heads for the door.
“Okay. Night,” I mutter. I refuse to keep him here to watch me bathe in misery, nor will I be one of those women that force their best friends to endure hours of lamenting over a breakup.
“Night, doll.”
For no reason other than my aptitude for self-destructive behavior, I find myself in the library, Damon’s domain. The penthouse was left furnished since Damon bought new furnishings and décor for the new house. The shelves in the library are still full of the best literature to be had; the couches and chairs that Damon took me on so many times are in the same places they always have been. I walk to the arm of the oversized chair that holds countless memories of Damon claiming my body and let my fingers drift lightly over the fabric, remembering how it felt against my bare body, recalling Damon filling me. I sit down in the chair and press my thighs together. I squeeze them tight, trying to mollify the growing need at my center. I ache to feel him against me. I ache to feel him in me. I ache to feel him beside me.
A bone-quaking sob rips through me as reality sets in. I’ve just lost my Big Man. I’ve just lost Damon to a past that refuses to go away. He’s stuck there and I’m stuck here, feeling helpless to save him from the darkness that looms over him and, subsequently, us. It’s not something that I can kiss and make better, but I’d try if I could. I’d try if he allowed me the chance.
Damon grips my chin between his index finger and thumb, then strokes the pad of his thumb achingly slowly over my bottom lip. My eyes slip shut, relishing in the desire that he builds within me. Something deep in my core cries out for him. Damon must hear my unspoken pleas, because his fingers curl around the nape of my neck, pulling me in to claim my mouth with his. His warm, wet tongue slips over my open lips and dives deep into my mouth, caressing my tongue as it slides against his tantalizingly slowly. His hips roll against mine, winning a moan from me. I want him. I’ve never wanted someone so badly. I’ve never needed someone so badly. The kiss ends when Damon breaks away, leaning his forehead against mine. We’re both panting and eager. The rigid bulge in his slacks presses against my abdomen, teasing me.
My fingers slip through the belt loops of his pants and I pull him closer to me.
“I love you,” he confesses as if it pains him. As if he loves me so much that it hurts.
I know how he feels.
“I love you too,” I whisper, my lips grazing the dusting of hair on his chest. “I love you so damn much.”
Damon takes a deep breath then takes my mouth all over again. He smells so good. I can smell his body wash and his cologne and his freshly laundered clothes. Tears build in my eyes and I’m not sure why. I know he’s here with me. I can see him and feel him and taste him, but something inside feels so broken. Something inside of me feels like this is the last time and I think I could lie down and die.
“Don’t leave me,” I beg, breaking away from his kiss.
Damon says nothing. His luminescent eyes just peer into me.
“Damon?” I ask, stepping away from him. He does nothing still. “Damon!” I cry out, wanting to hear him say that he’ll never leave me alone.
I’m startled awake to find myself still in my robe in the chair in the library. Tears have seeped from my eyes. I look around the dimly lit library, trying to get my bearings. My dream was so vivid, so real. I could feel his skin. I could feel the warmth of him pressed against me. I could smell him just as if he was in the room with me. Realization hits me like a freight train. I jump up and run downstairs. I come skidding to a stop at the kitchen island when I see a note.
I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I hope you’ll forgive me one day.
—D
My eyes scan the note three times in a row. He was here. He was here. I could smell him. I can still smell him. I clutch the note to my chest and sink to the floor against the kitchen island.
It’s really over.
I’ve never been so heartbroken.
It’s amazing at the things that can happen in a matter of two weeks’ time. I’ve eaten a bunch of junk. I’ve slept. A lot. I’ve watched one chick flick after another even though they make me feel worse. Yet another example of my propensity for self-loathing.