Charlie’s arm lands heavily around my shoulders. “So glad to meet you. Really.”
I smile at him, noting immediately that he’s high as hell by how blown his pupils are.
Next to me, Damien’s body locks down and he grimaces. Ever since he ran off to follow Fiona, his armor is back in place. His eyes hold a faraway look, a blankness filtering over his expression even as he smiles, or nods, or engages in conversation.
I don’t like it one bit, but I won’t call him out here, in front of his family. Certainly not when he’s balancing so much, trying to ensure his parents’ party is a success. For someone who labeled himself as the black sheep of the family, I find it hard to believe.
As much as I like the Barneses, their world is tough to navigate. Not to mention, with all the hidden vices and shames, private betrayals and twinges of embarrassment occurring this weekend, it’s bizarre that Damien choosing his dream career is somehow a stain on the family name. If playing hockey is an embarrassment, then I can understand why Damien has kept his distance all these years.
And yet, he brought me home…
He wants to build a future with me. He wants us to have a life despite all this spectacle and backstabbing. He wants me. I remember that as Charlie squeezes me a fraction too tight, as Fiona avoids my eyes, as Mrs. Barnes schedules me an appointment with Bethany.
When the party ends and the cleanup crew is hard at work, Damien and I change out of our party clothes and gather our luggage. We say our goodbyes and the only two people I embrace warmly are Grace, the other black sheep, and Mr. Barnes, who could adapt to any world and hold his own.
Grace holds me close for an extra beat. “You’re good for him, Harper.” She says it like a reminder, like something I’ll need to hold on to as I become more invested in the Barnes family.
While Grace means the words as an encouragement, they land in my stomach like a warning. A sense of foreboding washes over me that I try to shake off by turning to Mr. Barnes.
“I look forward to hearing big things for the Coyotes this season.” Mr. Barnes smiles. “And the next time Jeane and I are in Knoxville, we’ll do dinner at your favorite restaurant.”
I grin back. “Thanks, Mr. Barnes. I look forward to introducing y’all to the Rib Shack.”
Mrs. Barnes pales but Mr. Barnes laughs heartedly, wagging a finger at me. “I’m holding you to that, Harper.”
Damien shadows my back, nudging me closer to the limousine. He hugs his dad and brother goodbye, exchanges kisses with his sister, mom, and Grace. Then, he slips in beside me and waves once as Samson drives us back to the airport.
We’re silent for most of the ride save for an exchange of small talk with Samson. Damien holds my hand, his grip tight on mine, as if he’s worried I’ll slip away.
I assume he’ll relax the closer we get to the airport, the closer to home, but tension continues to roll off him. It isn’t until we enter his penthouse in Knoxville that he blows out a big sigh.
“Are you okay?” I ask gently.
He nods, lacing his fingers behind his head and walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook downtown. “I’m sorry.”
I frown. “For what?”
His eyes flash as they meet mine. His hard exterior—all polite smiles and standoffish glances—melts away. For the first time, I see his anger, his hurt, his pain and I reach for him. Before I can wrap my arms around his waist, he grips my arms and stops me. “For today. It was…fuck.”
“It was what?”
“My family wasn’t fair to you, Harper.”
“They weren’t that bad.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “My mom is ready to turn you into her protege. Because that worked out so fucking well for Fiona.”
“Is Fiona okay?”
Damien mutters a swear. “Gary’s stepping out on her,” he admits, some of his anger subsiding as he deflates, agony blazing in his expression. He drops my arms and moves farther into the living room.
“With Gabby?”
He nods, swearing. “She deserves so much fucking more than what she got. And I wonder…”
“What?”
He turns toward me, his eyes cutting. “I wonder if she would have chosen different, better, if she felt supported. But my mother wanted her with Gary, or a man like Gary—”
“Wealthy?” I guess, trying to keep up.
Damien scoffs. “A man with ‘good stock.’” He air quotes, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “Whatever the fuck that means.” Damien drops to the couch, and I take the seat beside him, angling my body toward his.
“My mother always gets what she wants,” he mutters ominously.
I nod, brushing my fingers through his hair. “What do you want?”
His eyes flicker to mine, unreadable. “This. With you.”
“You have me.”
A sad smile glints off his mouth. “But can I keep you?”
I furrow my brow, silently asking what he means. But my guy is hurting so when he tugs me closer instead of answering, I go willingly.
He kisses me soulfully, with emotions he doesn’t know how to show, words he can’t say. His hands come up to hold my cheeks and he frames my face, pulling back to look deeply into my eyes. “No matter what happens, this is real.”
I hang onto his wrists, nodding. “We’ll figure everything out, Damien. I know this weekend was tough but I’m here.”
“Yeah,” he says, not fully convinced. “I know.”
I frown, wanting him to trust this. To trust me.
Instead, he kisses me again. Harder this time, with want and desire eating up his concerns. We make love on his couch, with the lights on, the curtains open, and the city shining around us.
It’s passionate and intense. Needy and desperate. It’s light and dark and brimming with love.
When we’re finished, we lie in silence, staring up at the ceiling. Damien draws lazy figure eights on my upper arm. He’s lost in his own thoughts, and I don’t want to interrupt because I’m still trying to process how the hell I orgasmed three times in one night.
My phone beeps and I sigh, not wanting to deal with the real world when I can stay wrapped up in Damien and our bubble.
I reach out and feel my way over the coffee table until I grasp my phone. When I read the message, I frown.
Sean Collins: Hey. I just want to grab a bite and talk. That’s it. Come on, Harp, hear me out.
“What the fuck does he want?” Damien growls.
I jump, momentarily forgetting that a message from Sean—something so inconsequential to me—would frustrate him.
I drop the phone back onto the table and turn into Damien’s side, my bare breasts pushing into his rib cage. “Apparently, he wants to apologize.”
Damien’s muscles lock down as he nods tersely. “He been messaging you a lot?”
“I just ignore him. Ever since he showed up here—”
He shifts to look at me fully, his arm slipping from behind my head, and my head thumps against the couch cushions. Damien hovers over me, his expression tight, carefully neutral. “He came here, to your apartment?”
“Damien, it doesn’t mean anything. Sean—”
“Of course it does.” He cuts me off. “Sean wants you back.”
“Sean wants me to forgive him.”
“And do you?” he bites out, his lips pressed into a line.
“I’m over it. Yeah, I forgive him. And Anna.”
“Since the reunion?”
“Since you,” I admit. “Since the reunion and building a life here and meeting you.”
“Then why is he still trying to take you to dinner?”
I snort and shake my head. “It’s not like that.”
“Maybe not yet,” Damien’s tone holds a note of forewarning, and he flops back next to me on the couch. “But it will be,” he says quietly, sadness filling his voice. “We’re both going to get crazy busy. Two people who haven’t been in a real relationship in years...” he sighs. “Two people who are career focused, driven and ambitious, trying to balance it all…” He turns toward me again and drags my body on top of his. “I want to keep you, Harper.”
“Damien,” I breathe out, the dire picture he’s painting scares me. It’s unsettling because there’s truth behind his words. We’ve been building our relationship in the easy months of summer, when both our teams are off, when demands on our time are limited. I’ve been working half from home and half from the office. We’ve been getting lunches and having impromptu coffee dates. “We’re going to figure everything out.”
His hands tangle in my hair, and he lifts his face to kiss the tip of my nose. “I fucking hope so, baby.” He lowers his head to the couch again and stares at me. “I really do.”
Then, he shifts us until we’re sitting on the couch. Scooping me into his arms, he walks toward the bathroom. “Let’s shower this mood off and go get some ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” I try to search his eyes to understand the sudden shift in his mindset.
He nods, setting me on my feet. “Sure, one last hurrah.”
“Damien—”
He flips on the shower faucet and smirks at me. “Tomorrow, you go back to work full-time and I start kicking up my workouts.”
“Back to the real world.”
“Yeah,” he says, stepping into the shower.
The steam wraps around him and I take a moment to admire the planes of his body, the hard ripples of muscle, the way water drips off his skin. He manages a smile and beckons for me to join him. I shake my head, but he reaches out and tugs me under the stream of water.
Laughing, I wrap my arms around him. “I wish we could stay like this, Damien. Wrapped up in our own world.”
“It’s a hell of a lot better than the real world,” he muses, before kissing me hard.
We have sex again in the shower before toweling off. Dressed in shorts and tanks, with wet hair, we clasp hands and walk a few streets over to an old-timey ice cream parlor.
It’s a sweet way to cap off our summer break. But there’s a nostalgia in it too; it’s like our first real date occurred when everything else is falling apart.
I can’t pinpoint exactly what’s shifted but the lightness of Saturday evening is gone. In its place is a sense of dread, simmering just under the surface, that I don’t want to give into.
As I dip into my mint chocolate chip ice cream cone, I try to push away the negative thoughts. After all, I’m embracing a new beginning. And Damien Barnes is still by my side.