Page 78 of Damon
Being privy to information now, I know that The Level boys’ attention is being taken up by a challenge in Harrison’s life at the moment. Violet, Russell and Connor’s sister, was found dancing at a gentleman’s club after disappearing during the summer. Harrison found her and returned her to the family. However, it seems that perhaps this wasn’t the best course of action, and they may have to intervene.
According to Damon, Harrison and Violet have been in love since their teens, but they were never allowed to be together. She disappeared fourteen years ago, only reappearing this year when her life in Chicago fell apart. Harrison is torn between his love for Violet and his debt to her family for their support. It’s a complicated situation for all involved.
I am snoozing when my door opens unexpectedly. In the dark, I can’t see who has entered my room. Due to still having a team of security on site and being constantly reminded that Moreno is merely quiet, not gone, I’m on edge. My mind whirls as the panic sets in.
I lay still beneath the covers, silent as I hear the sound of booted feet approach. The short-handled bat I keep nearby is snug under my pillow, and I wrap my hand around the grip. The visitor comes to my side and looks down. I can only make out the outline of a large man. He leans over, and I roll away, taking the bat with me and jumping to my feet on the other side of the bed.
“Stay away,” I snap, swinging my weapon wildly. The figure reaches for the bedside lamp and flicks the switch. Damon tries to contain his laughter but fails miserably. His face contorts with hilarity. “What the fuck, Damon! Are you trying to kill me with shock? What are you doing in here?”
“I’m home,” he replies simply. “I wanted to see you.”
“By hovering over my bed and acting like a deranged stalker. Fucking idiot.” His eyes move to the bat in my hand which is poised above my head. “You’re lucky I didn’t crush your balls with this.” I swing the weapon fiercely once more.
“So are you. I wouldn’t be much use to you with black bollocks,” he shoots back as I drop the bat onto the bed.
“I would be fine,” I say, flashing him a cheeky smile. “You could use your fingers on me, and I’d still get an orgasm. I wouldn’t lose out.”
“Selfish bitch,” he mutters. We both fall quiet, and I drop my eyes away, feeling shy. “Do you want me to go to my room? I’m sorry if you feel I was overstepping the line by coming in here tonight.” He waits patiently for my answer, his body still in the silence of the night.
“No, stay, but I don’t feel like…” My hands twist in front of me, nervous about having this conversation. The last thing I want to do is reject him, but I have my period and sex is the last thing on my mind. The idea of snuggling up next to him, though, is a welcome one. His warm, solid body around mine is my favorite place to be. I’ve never felt safer than when he has me wrapped in his arms. The nights he stays, I sleep so damn well.
“I didn’t come here looking for sex,” he says, his tone wounded. “Please tell me that wasn’t your first thought when you realized it was me.”
“Well, you only sleep with me when we have sex,” I tell him honestly. “When we don’t, you stay in your room.” He blinks, semi-stunned, then his gaze moves to the window before returning to my eyes.
“Do I?” He looks perplexed by the point. His lack of awareness is maddening. How could he not realize that every time he spends the night in my room we have sex? Typically, we burst through the door after getting carried away downstairs once Annie is in her bedroom asleep. He leaves my articles of clothing strewn across the house as he rips them off. More often than not, I’m naked before hitting the mattress.
“Yes, Damon. You only sleep with me when we have sex. Every other night, you’re with her.” The niggling worry I have surfaces bright and glaring. For weeks I have been pushing it to the back of my mind, but now it’s there, needing to be acknowledged. The insecurity eating me alive flies into the light. “You go back to being Connie’s husband. Sleeping in her bed with her memory.”
“Connie’s dead,” he snaps, switching from stunned to pissed off in a split second. His eyebrows draw together, and a dark look flits across his face. “I am Connie's widower. She is my late wife.” He emphasizes the word late. The words bite the air between us, fury, hurt, and disbelief clear in every syllable.
“I know, and I hate the fact she was taken so cruelly. She was the most amazing woman. Kind, loving, everything you could ever need,” I admit, sullen. My self-doubt obvious from how a few lines of conversation could change the mood of a room rapidly. “I know I’ll never replace her.”
“Connie will never be replaced. That’s not what I’m looking to do,” he says firmly, and my focus lifts as my heart shatters. His eyes are wide, intense, and honest. The way he looks at me fixes my body to the spot where I stand. I am hearing his truth whether I want to or not. He’s telling me how things stand between us according to him. “Connie and I were together from being kids to adults; we lived through so much. That history can never be erased. I wouldn’t want to.” I listen, and each detail is like a knife prick to my skin. Connie will never be replaced stings most. Connie is and always will be irreplaceable in Damon’s eyes.
“But that doesn’t mean I can’t care for you. It doesn’t mean we can’t be happy. What we have is special, but different. Our relationship is perfect for where I find myself today. With you is where I am meant to be now.” His use of the word care sits unnervingly in my mind. He cares, but will he ever love me as I love him? Part of me never expects him to. Perhaps it’s true that you only get one true love and for Damon, I’ll always be the consolation prize.
“But we would never have happened if Connie hadn’t lost her life,” I whisper, my voice cracking painfully with my attempt to swallow the sob that threatens to escape.
And there it is, the number one issue in my mind of us being together. I’ll never be his first choice. I will always be second best. “You would never have picked me.” He sighs softly under his breath, not looking away, but a blankness appears over his face. And the little hope I have for our future together dwindles further.
***
Damon
“This isn’t about choosing. There’s never been a choice,” I reply after taking a second to consider Emma’s words. My emotions are caught somewhere between desperation and anger. When I decided to come to Emma’s bedroom tonight, my intention had been to crawl in beside her to enjoy the calmness she brings forward from within me. These past weeks with her have been incredible; for the first time since losing Connie I feel whole. The last thing I ever expected was to be having this conversation with her here and now.
The feisty, independent young lawyer that I have come to love has melted before my eyes. As she laid her concerns on the line in front of me, the stark truth of how I have been treating her gawked back. I’ve been using her as a crutch since our relationship moved from friends to lovers. It’s unfair of me, and I need to be honest with her. She needs all of me or none of me; this half-man I’m offering isn’t enough. A man still struggling to map out a new life, very different from the one he planned just over a year ago.
“You still pay me,” she says, bringing my attention back to her. I cock my head to one side, surveying her features. Her expression is anxious; she’s reluctantly telling me her thoughts. “It makes me feel…” Her words trail off, then wary eyes dart around the room, looking anywhere but directly at me.
“Makes you feel what?” I prompt, willing myself to listen intently in an attempt to understand exactly how she feels. I want to understand her needs and what she’s looking for from me.
“Dirty.” The statement hangs in the air between us. The derogatory term is a punch to my stomach. “It’s like you’re paying me for sex.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I argue as the fury rears its head once more at the assertion. The temptation to storm from the room is fierce, but I stand my ground. I need to listen. “That is not how I see you, Emma. You’re not a prostitute.”
“How do you see me?” she asks. “Where do you see what we have ending?”