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I see him stare at the ceiling, a slight movement to his Adam’s apple. We keep quiet for a long while as I play with his hair again.
“I’m angry at her for cheating on me, for using me.”
“Maybe you should tell her how you feel? Go to her grave.”
“We’ll see.” He looks up at me through long lashes, his stare slicing through me. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, Gemma. I’d give you every part of me even if it brought death to my soul.”
“That’s because you believe yourself to be a monster.”
“You, out of everyone, know that I am capable of being one.”
I shake my head. “You were protecting her. It’s so easy to blame yourself, Damon, but it’s not your fault.”
“I keep thinking, selfishly, if she hadn’t injured Harvey, I don’t think we’d be together.”
I let that news sink in. Really sink in. And I hate that the first thought appearing in my mind tells me there’s nothing I want more than Damon in my life.
I feel horrible, absolutely horrible, because of the mere thought itself.
“What happened after that night?”
“Once I was coherent, Sutton and I spoke to the police, and I went home the next morning. I wanted to die. Every day, I wanted to die.”
“What made you push through?”
“I adapted to my new hell. And one thought kept me going—the red-haired girl from the hospital.”
I tear up at his words, because my angel is what helped me get through the weeks post-accident too.
I wake up in a weird state of mind. Somewhere between pain and peace.
I still don’t know how to feel about all this. How will Damon forgive Palmer? How do I forgive her and Damon for hurting Harvey? How do I forgive myself for keeping it a secret instead of telling the blue-eyed boy who once owned my heart?
I have no idea what I’m doing.
All I know is that I still feel the same as I did weeks ago—I want to do life with Damon.
The reminder flickers through my brain like a wake-up call. I’m tangled in his arms. We must’ve fallen asleep on the living room rug while I stroked his hair after his revelation.
I free myself from him and go about my morning routine. I also make Damon coffee for when he wakes. My heart drops when I turn around and he’s there, a beautiful specimen, leaning against the wall.
“Hey.”
“Why didn’t you leave me downstairs? You’re pregnant. You shouldn’t be sleeping on rugs.”
I shrug because, really, it’s no big deal. I’d sleep over a pillow of fire for him, but I don’t tell him that.
“I made you coffee.” I add almond milk to his cup and place it on the island before sauntering over to him. “Thank you for telling me.” I hug him, and he wraps an arm around my waist, clutching me.
“Let the pain in.” I cup his face with my hands once we’ve released each other. “Lean on me, Damon.” I kiss his cheek. “Lean on me.”
An emotion I can’t pinpoint filters through his eyes. He says nothing. Does nothing. Until, finally, he says, “Come with me later—to her grave.”
My heart is pounding and my mouth dry.
I don’t even know what to tell him—I’m stunned—but I nod because there’s nothing I’d want more than to be by his side.
We’re at Palmer’s grave.
