Melanie stood frozen in front of Damien’s condo door. Tightening the purse strap on her shoulder, she dug out the key he’d given her and grabbed hold of her nerves.
Sliding the key into the lock, her fingers hovered over the knob.
Should I knock? No. Then he’d have to get up. Her hands shook. Do it, Melanie. Twist the damn lock. He needs you.
Her forehead smacked the cool wood of the door, and she groaned loudly. What happens next? Would he throw her out or welcome her with open arms?
The door abruptly swung open, and she toppled into Damien’s arms.
“H-hey.” She pulled herself away, surveying his less than company-friendly appearance and two clearly not-broken legs.
Next stop: Ms. Sandra and Aunt Dean.
Melanie was willing to bet her signed Hank Aaron baseball the two well-meaning but misguided women were determined for them to make up.
I’m here now. Might as well make the most of it.
“You look very nice,” she lied and tried stepping through the doorway.
Damien remained silent and stood like a sentry at the door.
She folded her arms. “Don’t you dare try to close the door on me, Damien Richards. I can either yell our business in the hallway, or we can act like adults and move our conversation inside. Either way, we’re going to talk.”
Giving her a long-suffering sigh, he moved away from the door and stalked back to the dove-gray recliner. A well-worn pair of maroon sweats from his alma mater Florida State sagged from his waist, and a plain white tee stretched across his chest. His razor must be on vacation. That usually well-groomed face looked like overgrown shrubbery.
The room was littered with pizza boxes and water bottles. How appropriate. Terrance and Vanessa had made a mess of Damien’s life, and he’d made a mess of his apartment.
Folding her arms over her chest, she marched across the room and stood in front of him. “Did you get my messages?”
“Yup.” He flipped through channels on the flat-screen TV.
Melanie moved to block his view. “I get that you’re upset about what happened, but they aren’t worth this.” She swept her hand around the room.
“Please don’t assume you know how I feel.” His tone was flat, bored. Angling the remote around her, he continued to channel surf.
“Fine. I don’t know how you feel, but I would know if you’d stop being a drama queen and express yourself. You could’ve answered my countless calls, my emails, my texts. I know you got the note I sent through Charlotte.”
After much cajoling on Melanie’s end, Charlotte had finally admitted that Damien had read, crumpled, and then chucked the note across the room.
“Yup.” His monotone voice tempted her to grab his broad shoulders and shake him.
“Is there a reason you didn’t answer me?”
“Yup.”
“Are you going to tell me why?”
“Nope.”
Anger sloshed around her stomach as her hands drew to her hips like magnets. Damn Vanessa. Damn Terrance. Damn Damien, and damn that remote!
Yanking the controller from his hand, she lobbed it across the room. The device clattered onto the wood floor, and the batteries popped out.
His brown eyes seared hers before he attempted to stand.
Oh no you don’t! She jumped him, landing hard on his muscled thighs before he could fully stand. Twisting her torso to face him, she gripped his hands and stuffed them into the crevice of the couch.
Well, she tried. Damien was stronger. Much stronger. Tucking one arm around her legs and the other cradling her back, he tossed her on the love seat.
“Gahhh!” She rolled off and dove for his ankles. He tripped, and his large frame thumped loudly on the floor.
“What the hell is wrong with you, woman?” He grunted and rolled on his back like a stuck turtle.
If she weren’t beyond pissed, she would’ve laughed.
“You’re gonna listen to me, Damien Martin Richards!” She crawled on top of his body. Straddling him, she forced his head to face her. “I’m sorry!”
He stopped struggling. Stormy, dark eyes cautiously studied her as if afraid to expect more. “What are you sorry for?”
Relaxing her tensed thighs around his waist, she leaned closer to his face. “I’m sorry they deceived you. They let you down and hurt you.”
Large, calloused hands grabbed her wrist, locking her in place. “I don’t want to talk about how I feel. I don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t want to be around you.”
Her head snapped back as if slapped. Cold words crawled beneath her chest to congeal and ice over her heart. Determined to sort through his anger, she continued her mission.
“I know you’re upset about what happened, but I’m tired of you pushing me away. And I’m tired of this roller coaster we’ve been on since I moved here. I don’t want us to grow apart and hate each other.”
She bent over, inching closer. His erratic pants of breath caressed her face. “So make the choice. Even if you want me to leave today, and I will, you have one week to decide if you want me in your life.”
She knew his face and his emotions almost as well as her own. Up to this point, she’d thought she had seen the gamut of his feelings.
She was wrong. His silken eyebrows remained still. His eyes, blank. Empty. Nothing. His voice, just as cool, controlled, and robotic, asked, “You’re giving me an ultimatum?”
Her anger was drained. In its place, fear.
Moving away from his chest, she crawl-walked to pick up her discarded purse. “What I’m going to say next is not said to make you feel obligated, guilty, or trapped.” She shrugged her purse over her shoulder. “You have too much power over how I feel, and it’s not healthy. I can’t eat. Can’t sleep. My work is sloppy. All because … because I’m concerned about your welfare. It hurts, and it sucks that you won’t even answer my phone calls. You’re treating me as if I’m the one who cheated!”
He mumbled something under his breath.
“Don’t mumble. Say what you have to say.”
Sitting with his legs spread on the ground, he shook his head and rubbed his brawny hands across his scruffy beard. “I said, you slept with Terrance, and you lied to me. You’re no better than Vanessa.”
So he had heard that part in the conference room.
Pain bloomed in her torso. “I am not like her.” Melanie shook her head. “H-how could you say something so heartless?” Try as she might, the tears that welled became unstoppable, forming a trail of heated despair against her face.
He scrambled to stand, anger seeming to control his jerky, uncoordinated movement. “You once claimed that you wanted me to be your first. Then that same night you slept with another man.” His voice was a sonic boom in the suddenly smaller space.
She ran her fingers through her hair, exasperated by the turn in conversation. “I was a stupid girl in college. I told you how I felt, and you rejected me, patting me on the head like some little kid and then running off to your date.” She paced toward the kitchen. “Terrance is a lot of things. Back then I didn’t know it nor did you. He saw me crying on the couch and asked me what happened. Then he offered to take care of me.”
Damien watched her with a weird intensity, as if he were observing an unclassified species underneath a magnifying glass.
Despite the awkwardness, she couldn’t look away. Their silent exchange was not peaceful, but painful. A pain that manifested into a poison-tipped arrow and pierced her soul.
The tips of her fingers were numb. She rubbed her thumbs over her fingers and pulled back her shoulders, ready to kill the dead air. “Damien, I … ” Her voice box froze. Each ragged breath hardened into tiny icicles, leaving no room for words to escape. She drew a huge gulp of air and tried again. “I love you.” She licked her dry lips and corralled her courage. “I love you, and I always have. Since I was twelve years old, you’ve owned my heart. I don’t know why I did it. But he treated me like I was good enough. Like a woman.”
“Stop it!” Damien swung his hand into a ceramic vase propped on the small, round coffee table, slamming it to the floor.
“It’s the truth. And as stupid and immature and pathetic as it sounds, he made me feel wanted.”
“Shut. Up. Melanie.” This time Damien’s tone slipped into a menacing, threatening rumble. He was a man on the edge. But like a shaken bottle of soda whose top finally popped, she couldn’t stop the words from bubbling over.
“You have no idea.” She shook her head. “No idea what it feels like to burn for one person, one guy since you were a kid. And every time the guy chooses someone else, a piece of you dies. So,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken. “So when the guy you’ve wanted all your life, the guy you wanted to ask you to the dance, but never does, when he rejects you … but another guy, not the guy you want, but he’s nice and attractive and kind, asks you to dance, you take his hand and follow him to the dance floor.”
Her gaze fixed on the window above the kitchen sink. “You close your eyes and pretend the other guy is the one you want. And you convince yourself that it’s better than holding up the wall and staring while your guy, the one you crave, is holding someone else.”
Looking down at her feet, she rotated her ankle in a panicky rhythm. “I know you don’t love me … the way I love you. But I still stand by what I said earlier. If you continue to treat me badly, toss me away like I don’t matter, then I’d rather end it now. So what will it be?”
Her eyes sought Damien, who’d become quiet during her emotional vomit.
His bright, intense eyes swirled with something. Another something new, something she’d never seen before. Clenching his jaw, he looked down, grabbed the back of his neck, and shook his head once. Twice. He lifted his head, eyes meeting hers, and shook his head again, this time with conviction. “No. I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”
Her knees buckled, the pain too great. How she wished she could’ve loved him in silence instead of losing him forever.
She wanted … She needed … She craved …
Damien. Only and always, Damien.
Sniffling, she turned to leave. Nothing more to say. The door mocked her, telling her to make a decision. But this time, the decision wasn’t hers to make.
She twisted the knob to crack it open, but the door wouldn’t budge. Lifting her eyes, she realized the problem. His hands held the door closed above her head.
Does he want to watch me crumble?
Agony and pain and heartbreak surged through her body, leaving her powerless. Wrapping his strong arms around her waist, he held her up as she sank to the floor. “Melanie,” he whispered over and over again. “Baby, turn around. Look at me,” he commanded.
Unable to form words, she shook her head. It would make it so much harder to see his pity.
He doesn’t want me. Not as a lover. Not even as a friend.
“Please, baby.” He gently tugged her around to face him. “I don’t want to be your friend—”
She cried louder, inconsolable.
“Hush, baby.” He cupped her face, wet with hot tears. “Listen, it’s important. I promise.” He stroked her hair. After a few minutes, she finally calmed, ready to listen and leave as quickly as she’d arrived.
“I don’t want to be just your friend because I want you and I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t know why I lied to myself. Acting as if I didn’t need you.”
Her tear-soaked lashes fluttered open. “Don’t lie to me.” She exhaled heavily. “I couldn’t take it if you didn’t mean it.”
He crushed his lips to her mouth, coaxing her to come alive in his arms. And like a frozen princess awakened after years of waiting for her prince, she thawed and inhaled, vibrating with energy.
Wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, she threw her heart and soul into their life-affirming kiss.