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When he lies down next to me, he brings me to him, the gesture replacing a thousand words he could’ve spoken.
He’s here. He’s not going anywhere.Believehim.
He plays with my hair, and I’m a kid living in a magical world, living in the moment, living life to the fullest—the only way it’s meant to be.
I tilt my head up, taking in every square inch of his face. Then I pull his head closer to mine and kiss his lips, my hands settling around his neck. When we part ways and I place my head on his chest, I revel in the feel of his soft hand over the curve of my ass.
If heaven had a name, this feeling right here would be it.
“Do you often have nightmares?”
I’m surprised when he answers me. “Not always.”
“Did you ... do you ... speak to someone about it?” As a striving psychologist, Gia always says that sometimes peopleneed a hand at particularly difficult times in their lives, and once they have the tools, they can manage on their own.
“I did after she passed. Then I stopped.”
I push my fingers through his hair. “When Sutton called and left you a message, she said something to me.”
He tenses, his hand on my hip, and I instantly regret bringing it up after we made progress.
I should’ve waited.
“She said you might as well have killed Palmer.” I omit telling him the rest—about the journal, about my search for it.
His grip on me tightens. “And what do you think?”
“I think she blames you because it’s the easiest thing to do when you’re in pain. And I think you blame yourself.”
I hear his swallow echo through the night.
“It’s in the past. I don’t need to drag you through it, Gemma.”
I want to know how she died though. I’m dying to know. The most fundamental part of meneedsto know. Needs to rebuke Sutton’s words.
As much as I’d wish to ask more, I think of the look on his face post-nightmare and shove that curiosity down for another day.
“Good night, Damon.” I kiss him and everything settles in my stomach once his lips touch mine.
“Good night.” He pats his pillow before closing his eyes, and I take this moment to notice everything about him—his eyelashes, his lips, his stubble.
I never knew love could feel this way.
No matter how much he infuriates me with the way he keeps his past a secret, I understand his need for secrecy. A part of me knows I’d probably be reticent to answer questions about Harvey and the accident, though I know I’ll have to share it with him eventually.
His arm grips around my waist, molding my chest to his when he whispers in my ear, “Nothing will ruin what we have.” He kisses my cheek. Then he sighs, giving me a peck on the lips. “I just admitted to myself that I can’t live without you. Can’t you give me a break?”
“Yeah, of course.” I place my head over his heart, hoping his heartbeat brings me to a good slumber.
We take advantage of the fact that it’s Saturday morning and sleep in, until Matt calls Damon to tell him he owes him a hike.
We make eggs and toast with avocado and turkey bacon before Damon pressures me to get ready for the hike. Apparently, I’m invited—Matt’s words.
I don’t fret, though, because Damon’s inviting me to spend time with his friend.
It’s a big step.
We’re both silent while Joey drives us. My mind goes back to Harvey and his physio appointment. I feel guilt. Guilt that I’m enjoying every second with Damon. Guilt that I love him. But even more, guilt that Damon and I can do together what Harv can’t easily do.
