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I’m not sure what I expected him to do—maybe yell—or cry? Instead, he lays flowers against her stone, showcasing that she died in October.
When he comes back next to me, I hold out my hand, and he grabs it. He squeezes my hand, which is perhaps Damon’s way of letting me know he appreciates my being here with him.
I wouldn’t leave him for the world. Even though some might think I should.
I love him. I want this, us, too much to let him go.
So right this moment, I’m choosing to let his secret and betrayal go as well, leaving it at Palmer’s grave.
“I should give you a minute. I’ll be in the car.”
He nods, and that’s my cue to leave. A part of me is praying he’s eventually able to make peace with his past because our future depends on it.
After he comes back to the car, it’s dead quiet on our way home.
I don’t touch him; I don’t question him.
I know he knows I’m here for him should he need me.
When he parks in the driveway, he finally speaks. “I’ll go for a run, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Ten minutes later, I’m inside the house, ready to bite my nails off. I know he’s out jogging, but my mind is circling around in anxiety. Fear consumes me that the time spent at the cemetery might not be enough for him.
I decide to call my dad instead to distract me. We make plans to go for a hike tomorrow with Damon, since he’s back from Seattle and wants to meet him.
It’s a good thing we dropped off my dad’s car recently.
I try to get more details about his multiple work trips in Seattle, but he warns me he isn’t getting married anytime soon—as if Gia and I would ever have a problem with that.
The rest of the time we talk about the baby, and suddenly I feel like Gia.
Speaking with my dad calmed me. Even more so when I make my way downstairs after a short nap and find Damon making dinner. His naked, chiseled back is all sweaty.
“Good run?” I ask, placing my arms around his torso.
He nods.
Relief fills me when I notice the absence of pain that’s often portrayed on his face.
“Hungry?”
“I’m famished.” I take a seat on one of the stools as he brings our chicken salads and sits next to me.
Two things—I’m starving and I’m horny.
I tell him about my conversation with my dad and our plans with him for tomorrow. While we eat, I finally ask him what I really want to know. “And ... are you feeling better?”
“I am, actually.”
“Good.” I kiss the side of his jaw, which is peppered with facial hair. “Do you need some space today?”
He frowns, bringing his thumb to my bottom lip. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes. Yes, you do.”
“Gemma, I reallyamsorry for everything.”
