One Last Promise (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 2)

by Sydney Bristow

  “Can you believe that girl?” Damon asked Alex, while watching the kid dash away. “She’s a tomboy just like…” He thought it best not to bring up Kelsey.

  “Good times, bro,” Alex said, “But I’m going to see what Marisa’s up to. Catch you later.” He made his way to the other end of the pool, which was packed with people, but far from crowded, and lifted himself out of the water to head to another attraction.

  Turning around, itching to get another turn on the zip line, he waded through the water and started for the concrete pavement.

  “Hey, Damon!”

  Looking up to determine who had called him, Damon saw someone zipping the through the air, wiggling his legs as though walking on air. That seemed odd, since he hadn’t seen a lifeguard on duty at the tower to direct patrons when it was safe to begin zip-lining. Damon narrowed his eyes and took a closer look.

  Paul soared through the air, jostling the hook that locked him in place and prevented him from falling out of the harness. When he reached the area directly above Damon, he disengaged the hook and let go of the line. He slipped out of the harness, still kicking his legs and now batting his arms.

  Damon had no doubts that Paul intended to land on top of him. He tried to swim away, but the water resistance made it difficult for him to escape without building up some momentum.

  Moments later, Paul crashed into him.

  The heavy blow struck Damon’s head and shoulders, plunging him below. Since he hadn’t expected the attack, he didn’t have enough time to capture a deep breath. Even if he had, the wallop would have knocked it out of his lungs. When he went under, Damon ignored the shards of pain sizzling through his upper body and focused on not attempting to draw another breath; doing so would only result in sucking in water.

  A flurry of punches scored hits on his ears and neck, while a barrage of kicks connected with his stomach, hips, and legs. Out of breath, with agony cutting across every inch of flesh above his waist, Damon twisted his torso in a different direction and kicked out, shifting away from Paul’s assault.

  When his head cleared the water’s surface, he took in a ferocious gulp of oxygen and bent over, coughing. He whirled around, expecting another onslaught.

  Scowling, Paul stood in the water a few yards away with his hands on his hips. “Stay away from her.”

  Damon’s eyes stung with chlorine, streaks of pain still wracked his body, and he had a tough time catching his breath as he wheezed from the water in his lungs. He wanted revenge. But more than that, he wanted to dole out just enough vengeance to witness his handiwork upon completion. He had no intention of sending Paul to the hospital on a gurney, especially considering the number of children in the vicinity.

  Even though Damon couldn’t see very well, he worked on closing the ten-foot gap between him and Paul.

  A shrill whistle blew from somewhere outside of the pool, on the pavement. Then it blew again and again, similar to how a driver might pump his horn after another person on the road cut him off.

  From the corner of his eye, Damon spotted a burly lifeguard standing on the chair that elevated him a dozen feet off the ground, an orange Rescue Can tucked under his right arm. He waved at Damon in an effort to discourage him from approaching Paul.

  But Damon, unable to control the anger seething through his veins, ignored the lifeguard. He’d already cut the distance between him and Paul in half. Adrenaline dulled his pain, but he supposed that his single-minded desire to crush Paul the way others pulverized a beer can reduced his discomfort.

  The lifeguard blew his whistle with greater ferocity, this time relying on one protracted squeal.

  Four feet separated Damon from Paul. Now that the water no longer stung his retinas, Damon had near perfect eyesight, and what he saw somewhat disappointed him.

  Paul held both fisted hands in front of him, standing in a stance that presumed battle. But the sneer that he’d possessed while up on the zip line had disappeared. Instead, his lips cringed and his cheeks pinched like he expected a thrashing but he didn’t know how to defend himself.

  Only two feet away now, Damon had reeled back his fist, but reading the emotions on Paul’s face, he thought twice about following through. Did Paul deserve the brutality that Damon wanted to dole out? Definitely. But if he couldn’t protect himself, it wouldn’t be a fair fight. How could he target a coward who attacked without warning and cowered when battle seemed eminent?

  That’s when the blond-haired ten-year-old girl lunged back into the picture, diving for her beach ball, which splatted into the water right between both men.

  This intrusion further convinced Damon to call off his attack. With Paul’s obvious discomfort in fisticuffs, and now a harmless little girl in his crosshairs, if Damon overlooked his conscience, he might accidentally hit the girl. And satisfying his need to retaliate would never justify that mark of shame.

  Only when the girl jumped on the ball and caught sight of Damon’s face did she realize that she’d entered dangerous territory. She pivoted in the other direction and looked up at Paul.

  A smirk returned to Paul’s face. He placed a hand on the girl’s head, using her for leverage, which submerged her head, and pushed off, lifting him about a foot into the air. With surprising speed, he reared back and plowed a fist into Damon’s left cheek.

  The unexpected blow spun him around, flinging him back into the water. Although caught by surprise, Damon hadn’t discounted an attack. After all, Paul had resorted to an offensive sneak attack only moments earlier. If it had worked for him so well the first time, what would discourage him using that same tactic again? So Damon had tensed for the unexpected. But he hadn’t foreseen that Paul would abuse the girl while doing so. How he could harm a helpless child, dunking her into the pool, so infuriated Damon that he quickly bounced back from the blow.

  Seething with rage, Damon wiped the water from his eyes once again, but this time they had adjusted to the chemicals in the chlorine, which no longer irritated his eyesight. Either that or he dismissed his sensitivity because he’d concentrated all of his anger and all of his focus on striking back.

  Behind him, he heard someone splash into the water just as the girl between him and Paul departed the area, swimming away in a panic. With her at a safe distance, Damon no longer gave any further thought to refraining from launching his retaliation.

  He lunged toward Paul, closing on him quicker than expected, aided by a burst of energy.

  And this time, Paul’s sneer remained fixed in place, no longer lending the impression of timidity. He lifted both fists and awaited an attack.

  But just as Damon slung back his right fist, a screeching whistle blew into his ears from right behind him. Disoriented and jolted off balance, he spun around to find a pair of lifeguards on either side of him, their whistles fastened between their lips, their faces steadfast and more than a little unnerved.

  Damon twirled back towards Paul. He was reluctant to afford his adversary another low blow, but Paul had already turned his back on him, heading toward the guard rail at the other end of the pool. Now that he didn’t anticipate another counterattack, Damon gritted his teeth in fury, unable to dispense the hatred that rushed through his veins.

  He unclenched his fists and lifted both hands to show he had no intention of going after Paul.

  “Out of the pool,” one of the lifeguards shouted. The other blew his whistle as if to quicken his departure.

  Damon nodded, unwilling to let his anger subside. Even though he wanted to rush out of the pool and race after Paul, doing so would only get him kicked out of the building. In fact, when he glanced in the direction Paul had just gone, Damon spotted him crouching behind a giant yellow pillar, which swallowed up his slender frame, preventing most onlookers from seeing him peeking around the corner before swinging back around to avoid being seen.

  Judging by how Paul cowered, Damon followed his enemy’s line of sight and saw a pair of burly, baldheaded bodyguards wearing bright orange shirts wit
h the words “Kalahari Resort Security” stretched across their broad chests as they hustled toward the pool. Most likely called via walkie-talkie by the lifeguards after seeing Damon and Paul clash in the pool, they glared while scanning the perimeter, looking for those who had abused the park rules.

  Damon couldn’t cross the pool without going unnoticed, so he motioned towards Paul, who hunched over only ten feet ahead of them. If the security guards didn’t apprehend Paul, the lifeguards, who had all but forgotten about Paul now that they had the other “rabble-rouser” in their sights, would surely kick Damon out of the park.

  But as the security guards rushed past the pillar that Paul hid behind, Damon signaled them towards Paul with greater urgency. That encouraged them to run flat out towards him, most likely thinking that they needed to apprehend the wacko before he threatened other guests.

  Paul crept around the pillar and met Damon’s gaze with a devious grin. Then he hurried away at a half-jog until he vanished around a corner.

  Meanwhile, the security guards stopped at the edge of the pool and gestured for Damon to make his way out of the pool. He glanced over his shoulder to see both lifeguards nodding their heads at him, as though daring him to get away from all four of them.

  As he turned back towards the security guards, Damon noticed that dozens of people in the pool had stopped their fun and games to stare at him, some with curious or confused expressions while even more appeared angry that he had caused trouble in a family- friendly environment.

  It didn’t matter that he hadn’t started the fight. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t even thrown a punch. According to every single person in the vicinity, Damon had disturbed the peace and deserved to get thrown out of the water park. Any explanations he might supply would go ignored, so he headed towards the security guards without even attempting to voice the truth.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  While dressing in the locker room before getting booted out of the Kalahari Resort, Damon listened to a voicemail from Alex inquiring about his whereabouts before saying that the group was meeting up at the Wo-Zha-Wa Sports Bar for dinner. But knowing that Paul would somehow twist the truth about their scuffle and get everyone on his side, while chastising Damon for fighting in a family-friendly pool, Damon had no intention of trying to explain what actually happened.

  Failing to explain what took place would seem like an admission of guilt, but Damon got the impression that no matter what he might say, Paul would turn his words into fodder and make himself appear kinder, smarter, and more noble, while making it seem that Damon was cruel, ignorant, and dishonorable. So Damon decided against joining the group. Otherwise, he would no doubt punch Paul in full view of every person in the diner and probably get arrested in the process.

  Since he’d set his phone to ensure that all incoming calls went straight to voicemail, Damon wasn’t surprised that Alex soon left another message, asking if “everything was all right.”

  Moments later, Alex texted him and demanded that he at least get in touch with him to let him know that he was okay.

  Alex’s concern persuaded Damon that a true brotherhood existed between them. It touched him that he had a friend who hadn’t bought into Paul’s lies, especially when his two closest friends, Kelsey and Marisa, probably thought otherwise. Damon replied that he needed some time alone, after which Alex texted back, stating that the group would head over to the Showboat Saloon after dinner, where a rock band would play later in the evening.

  Damon instead visited Damon’s Grill & Sports Bar, figuring that he couldn’t do worse than eating at a restaurant that used his first name to identify their eatery. The numerous flat screen televisions, broadcasting various NBA and NHL games, along with the variety of neon sports signs alongside countless framed pictures of athletes, took his mind off what happened earlier at the Kalahari resort.

  Instead, he concentrated on devising a plan to deal with Paul, but every possibility seemed either too staged or preposterous. As he got off the bar stool, however, he concluded that he’d downed too many shots of Grey Goose vodka. Although he wasn’t drunk, another shot would definitely put him over the edge, so he stuck around long enough to consume a cheeseburger and fries. And although the greasy food soaked up some of the alcohol, he still felt pretty buzzed.

  “Hi,” said a female voice beside him.

  Damon turned to find a gorgeous woman sitting on the stool next to him. She had long, wavy blond hair that curled around slender shoulders, red lipstick that curved into an inviting smile, and so much cleavage on display that…

  “You alone?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

  He couldn’t remember the last time a woman hit on him. In the past, he always had to chat up women, never the other way around. He looked into this woman’s eyes, and he might as well have been gazing into the mirror of his past. A cocky smile indicated that she knew how men responded to her beauty and a few well-placed words in a low-pitched, flirty tone.

  But Damon had no interest in seeing himself, albeit from a female perspective, so he looked past her arrogance and penetrated her layer of protective coating to find…a level of emptiness that matched his own.

  “I’m Tricia,” she said, flinching as though aware that he’d invaded her personal armor. Her upper lip strayed from her fixed smile for a sliver of time before it lifted again and returned to a fearless smirk.

  Damon found it fascinating, and a little sad, that she concealed her vulnerability by cloaking it with fake confidence. He didn’t judge her; after all, in the past, he’d also relied on this shield more often than he could remember.

  “I’m…” He’d seen that look in her eyes countless times and knew exactly how it would end if he responded to it. And it would be so easy to give in, to end up in bed with this stranger. It might ease his frustration for a night, but what about after that? Would he be any better off? Would he be happier?

  The woman lowered her head, encouraging him to respond. “You’re…?”

  “I’m not interested.” Damon pushed off the counter and began to walk away until he realized how rude he’d sounded. If he kept going, he would have not only insulted the woman but also failed to learn a thing from their encounter. So he turned around and approached her. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. My name’s Damon.”

  Her faltering smile lit up again, but uncertainty hid behind her eyes.

  He sat back down on the stool. “I want to ask you something that might take you by surprise, but I hope you’ll answer with honesty.”

  Tricia propped her right elbow on the bar and rested her head in her palm. “Shoot.” No longer easy-going and affable, her smile turned into a frown, closing off all interest in seduction.

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  She chuckled, withdrew her head from her hand, and let out a breath of air. “Didn’t expect that one.”

  “Neither did I. But I’m kind of wrapped around someone’s finger right now, only she doesn’t believe I really care for her.” He could have easily spoken with Cassandra about this topic, but then if she sat next to him instead of Tricia, he didn’t think he’d be able to bring up the subject. After so many years of expressing his feelings through his characters, Damon realized that he’d lost the ability to confess his feelings to anyone but a stranger…or Max, who couldn’t understand his ramblings or respond with any insight.

  Therefore, Damon was so afraid to share his deepest fears and greatest secrets that he never shared them – except with his readers, but that was an artificial relationship, where his audience didn’t know truth from fiction, especially now given all of the mean-spirited misinformation that his exes had posted online. That said, he couldn’t control how people thought or felt, so he decided against taking their lies too seriously. He chose to trust that his readers would place more conviction in his novels, tweets, Facebook updates, and blog posts, instead of unsubstantiated opinions from “scorned” lovers.

  At last, unable to hide behind his
profession or his dog, Damon couldn’t trust a friend with his utmost feelings, so it seemed only logical that he tested them with an outsider – someone who couldn’t hurt him because they had no relationship to speak of.

  Tricia glowered at him in pity. “You need help, dude!” She sniffed in disgust, got off her stool, and hurried out of the restaurant.

  “I know,” Damon said to himself, staring at the bread crumbs on the counter. Although he’d hoped to engage Tricia in conversation, he realized that he didn’t really need to discuss his feelings, but did need to be willing to share them.

  His thoughts inevitably circled around to Kelsey, the one and only person he might be able to share himself with. Then again, she hadn’t really made an effort to get to known him. She’d shown some concern, but other than that amazing kiss, she’d pushed him away. He wondered what she was doing at this moment. Was she flirting with Paul? Smiling at him? Placing her hand over his with affection? He shoved those images from his mind. Rather than sit around in self-pity, he got up from the stool and made his way toward the exit.

  He didn’t know how meeting up with the group tonight would play out, since he didn’t know what Paul had told them. But he had to face whatever awaited him without any schemes to convince Kelsey to dislike Paul. That manipulative strategy would eventually backfire. He needed to be himself, not concentrate on Paul. Otherwise, he would appear either conceited or judgmental, not to mention lacking in self-esteem.

  And starting a fight with the guy she came to the Dells with would only reinforce the assumptions Kelsey had already made about him. More than anything, Damon had to forget about Paul and give Kelsey enough reason to get to know him. Only then might she see him in a new light, one that didn’t hinge on the impression that he only wanted to hook up with one woman after another. He had to give her enough reason to find him boyfriend-worthy, potentially even marriage material.

  Only one problem persisted: he hadn’t been in a relationship in more than a decade. Did he still know how to be a boyfriend? The fear of getting burned by love that he’d so long ago purged from his mind resurfaced with hurricane-level force, bringing with it the twin terrors of self-doubt and enough anxiety to almost inflict a fit of hyperventilation.