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He rolls his eyes, sets down the fork on the coffee table, and shows me the palm of his left hand. On his ring finger, the smallest P sits on the side. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed before, considering I note everything about him.
“For ... for her?” He nods, and I dive right in, feeding my curious quest. “She was your wife?” I can feel my heart in my throat, ready to feed me heartbreak.
“No, but I thought about it.”
He wanted to marry her.
I don’t know why I’m like this with Damon. I have no right, zero right to feel this possessive of him.
“When did she pass away? What was her name?”
“Can’t we just eat?”
“Last question, I promise.”
His jaw made of steel, he picks up the fork and feeds lasagna to me. “About two and a half years ago, and her name was Palmer,” he says.
I finish my food in silence. It hasn’t even been three years. That’s not long, not long at all.
I know when I lost my mom, I was still grieving and hurting five years later.
No wonder he’s a mess.
I need to be there for him the way he’s there for me. He’s so understanding of everything with Harvey, and I want to extend him the same courtesy. I want him to open up to me about her, and he won’t do that if he feels I’m jealous of her.
I shouldn’t envy her. She’ll never have Damon again. He’s here spending all his free time with me.
That has to count for something.
“This is it.” I open the door to my room. We step inside as I assess my new space. It’s bigger than my previous room.
“No pictures?” He looks around while my eyes wander over his beautiful ass covered in black slacks.
“I’m leaving soon.”
Something must catch his eyes, because he makes his way to my night table, grabbing a plastic bag full of rolled joints. I grab it from him, a smile teasing my lips as I read Henrik’s little note:
You’re welcome.
—Henrik
How thoughtful of him.
“He was here?” Damon doesn’t seem as enthusiastic about this as I do. I reach for my table and pull out a lighter.
“Yeah, he helped me move. We’re friends, remember?”
He grabs the lighter from my hands. “And just what do you think you’re doing now, Gemma?”
I kneel on the bed and place a joint between my lips. “Get high with me, Damon.”
He shakes his head, using the lighter to blaze the blunt.
“Why not?” I take a drag, bewildered by the pain crossing his eyes. “You don’t like drugs?”
“I don’t particularly care for them. Not anymore.”
I’m still kneeling in front of him, except now I seek to comfort him, so I eliminate the distance between us as I wrap my arms around his neck.
