Page 41

FORTY

Damon

I pull up behind Kylie’s little SUV, surprised to see another car parked in front of hers.

More surprised to see Colt, suit jacket spread out beneath him as he lies on his back and positions a jack.

Kylie has a flat tire.

In the worst possible place.

It’s late. It’s dark. The road is narrow.

And she tried to call Triple A but they told her it would be at least an hour before they would make it out to her.

And…

Who the fuck am I kidding?

I used the opportunity to escape the devastation I wrought in Joey. Yeah, she told me to go. But I went because I fucked up royally and I don’t know how to fix it, don’t know if I can fix it.

I’m supposed to protect.

I’m supposed to be better than this?—

My car door is tugged open and then my sister is there, undoing my belt, grabbing my arm and yanking me out of my car. I follow her tugs robotically, distantly take in that Colt is starting in on the lug nuts.

“What happened?” she demands.

I blink, try my best to focus, but my stomach’s churning and my head is full of bullshit, and my temper…well, it’s so deeply encased in ice that it might be extinguished forever. But even with that small victory, I still can’t come up with a good answer except for, “I fucked up.”

She studies me closely.

Then sighs.

Fuck, I’m failing her too. I look past her. “I should go help Colt?—”

“Oh, no,” Colt says. “I’ve got this.” He shifts, starts in on another lug nut. “You just tell your sister how you fucked up things with Joey. She’ll help you sort it out.”

My eyebrows fly up.

What the fuck?

But he keeps talking before I can process that. “And I’ll just lie here…not listening.”

I open my mouth to snap at him, but Ky beats me to speaking.

“I was sitting in my car,” she says. “Killing time on my phone and then—” Her eyes come to mine and everything inside me stands up straight.

Fuck . “What happened?”

“Well, Colt just pulled up and my video was still playing and I guess it auto-swiped to the next and, well…” For the first time, she looks uncomfortable.

“What, Ky?” I ask. “Tell me.”

“It’s probably better if I show you.”

She taps at her phone, then holds it up so I can see the screen.

I jerk when I see Joey’s face there, her eyes filled with equal parts devastation and anger. There’s a man behind her.

No, not just any man, that asshole kid reporter who kept trying to push her buttons.

“Crap,” Kylie says, the phone bobbling as she turns up the volume.

And I hear it:

“A few minutes ago this man, Zach Hiller, recorded me without my knowledge during a painful, heartbreaking conversation…”

Fuck, I never followed up with that little prick.

Never realized who he was.

Hiller’s kid? This is?—

Hell. I’m in fucking hell.

“As I was trying to go home, planning to cry into a glass of wine while I come to terms with the fact that the man I love may not feel the same way…”

My heart sinks. “ Shit .”

“Yeah, big bro,” Kylie murmurs. “You fucked up.”

“Yup,” Colt agrees.

But I can’t acknowledge them.

Because I’m still watching.

And it gets better and worse—the confident way she hands Zach his ass, the agony I see on her face, hear in her voice as she discusses what Travis Hiller did to her, the fear I feel as I watch his son take a threatening step toward her.

But she keeps filming until she’s done talking, until the bastard leaves, tires squealing as he tears out of the parking lot.

“I need to go,” I whisper. Right fucking now.

Kylie nods. “You really do. But first—” She snags my hand, holding tight, keeping me in place. “Before you go after her, I need you to get your head together. You are not a perfect person?—”

A bolt of pain shoots through my chest and I barely hold back my wince.

She sees it anyway.

“Honey,” she whispers. “What I mean is that you need to cut yourself some slack. You hold yourself to these impossible standards and in doing so, you hurt not just yourself, but also the people you love.”

“I know that, Ky.”

Except, do I?

Because all I can think is that I failed. Again.

“I think what she’s saying is that relationships aren’t easy.” I look up, see that Colt has finished with the tire and is leaning against the trunk, arms and ankles crossed. “Sometimes we hurt the people we love, but what we need to judge ourselves on is what we do to make it right.”

I shake my head. “I can’t take back the words I spoke to her.”

Can’t make it all just go away.

“But you can make sure they’re replaced with better ones.”

* * *

I think about what Colt said the entire drive to Joey’s house.

And I still haven’t come up with the right words to replace the bullshit I spouted.

Because I’ve done anger management, and yeah, I’ve made a lot of progress, but the rage is still there, and tonight it lashed out and hurt her.

So, how do I protect her from the world if I can’t protect her from myself?

“I’ve tried to be perfect. Killed myself to do everything right—and bad things still happened to me.”

So many bad things, and I can never take away that pain from her.

Can never be good enough for her.

Can—

I’m not empty anymore.

I pull into her driveway, her words from weeks before slicing through me.

I did that, fixed that.

It’s not enough. I need to do more, be better?—

Killed myself to do everything right—and bad things still happened.

Hell if she’s not speaking the truth.

Still, I’m not enough. I might never feel like I’m enough, might never feel like I’ve made this right for her.

And I don’t know how to fix?—

There’s a knock on my window and I jerk, looking up to see Joey standing there. She’s beautiful, even with her swollen and red eyes.

Crying. Because of me.

Christ, how can I be this much of a fuck-up?

“Open the door, Damon,” she calls.

I realize my engine’s still running. I shove the gearshift into park, hit the button to turn off the ignition.

As soon as the locks disengage, she’s pulling the door open and a moment after that, another woman I love is tugging me out of my seat.

“Are you okay?” she whispers. “You’ve been sitting here for ten minutes.”

“You’ve been crying,” I whisper back.

Her fingers tighten around my arm, and then she nods. “Yeah.”

More pain. More shame.

“That asshole kid is Hiller’s son. I-I didn’t know. I didn’t check?—”

She presses her fingers to my lips, then drops her hand to her side, wraps it around mine and draws me toward the house. The front door is open, and she closes it before I can. The lock clicks as she engages it, and then she turns away, starts for the kitchen.

I follow her on wooden legs.

She pulls out a stool, orders, “Sit.”

Then goes to the fridge and pulls out two bottles of beer.

“I’m supposed to be the one who fixes things,” I say…because I don’t have anything else.

Her movements don’t falter—she uses a bottle opener to pop off the caps, sets a beer in front of me, then sits on the stool next to mine, and announces, “That doesn’t work for me.”

I jerk so hard I nearly topple off my seat. “You love me.”

Her head swivels, eyes coming to mine, brows lifting in question.

“I saw the video.”

“Then you know that’s true,” she says and the barest hint of humor crawls into those gorgeous green eyes. “I should probably be reeling, unraveling, panicking that however many people saw that shit…but, truth is, I finally feel like I can breathe again.”

“That’s good, baby,” I murmur. “And I need you to know I love you too.”

She’s quiet for a blip. “I know,” she eventually says. “I realized that about ten minutes into my crying jag, when my knee was yelling at me for doing it on the kitchen floor. But…” Sad green eyes. “This isn’t working for me.”

Goddamn that hurts.

“It’s not because I don’t love you,” she says, the words coming fast and furious. “It’s not because being in a relationship with you is bad. It’s the opposite. The last couple of months have been… perfect .” Her mouth kicks up on one side. “But this was bound to happen at some point, we both know it.”

“I’ll go through the anger management program again,” I say in a rush, skipping acceptance and going right to panic and bargaining. “I’ll get it under control, I promise. I know I can’t take back the words I said, but I won’t?—”

“Damon—”

“I won’t ever go there again. I swear, baby. I?—”

“Sweetheart.”

God, that hurts so fucking much. I’m losing her and she’s calling me sweetheart.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“I know,” she whispers.

“I love you.”

“I know that too,” she says gently. “And that’s why we’re here, having this conversation instead of me ignoring your car in the driveway.” She sets her beer down, leans toward me, her hand resting on my forearm. “I love you, but I can’t be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t talk to me, who doesn’t share their worries and concerns with me.”

“I—”

“So, I’m going to need you to work on that.”

I blink. “What?”

“We’re going to make a commitment to talk to each other and communicate and not hide important shit.” Her hand tightens. “And if we can’t figure out a way to do that on our own, we’ll find a therapist to help us. Because, Damon, it was never about a sentence or one slip of your temper.” She cups my jaw. “You’re not perfect, sweetheart.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I mutter.

“Who?” she asks quietly.

“Kylie.”

Her face softens. “Of course.” A blip before her expression turns deadly serious. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. Both of us have spent far too much time on that particular occupation. I want us to have joy and love, passion and imperfection. I want you, just you, because I know that I’m everything you want too.”

“Red—”

Fingers on my lips for a brief moment, staying my words. “Before you start arguing and self-flagellating, do you remember what I promised you?”

I frown. “No.”

“Weeks ago,” she says, sliding her hand from my jaw down to my chest. “After coos, after realizing that I felt more alive, more full than I’ve ever felt before…I told you I was going to return the favor.”

My heart spasms. “Baby.”

“Do you feel empty, sweetheart?”

“ Baby .”

Her mouth curves. “So we’ll work on filling you up.”

“Christ, you’re incredible,” I murmur, covering her hand with mine. Then I can’t resist it any longer, I draw her into my arms, hold her as tightly as I dare. “The entire drive over here I’ve been trying to think of what I can say to make it better, to take away the hurt my words invoked, and then you go and say all of that, say everything that you said in your video.” I pull back, cup both of her cheeks, holding her stare so she knows how serious I am. “I am in awe of you, Red.”

Her throat works, those eyes glazing over with tears. “The feeling’s mutual, hot shot.”

And…I find that I have the words.

“No more me hiding shit,” I promise. “I’ll discuss things with you like a responsible adult.”

She smiles.

“And I promise that if I can’t fix this shit in my head, the shit that had me shut down and then lash out, I’ll find someone who’ll help me with it.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“No, baby, thank you .” I settle my forehead against hers. “For being smart and wonderful and patient and kind and for—” My throat gets tight, the words stoppering up.

“For kicking your future self in the ass, as needed?”

I chuckle. And the words come easier. “No,” I say. “Thank you for being you. And thank you for letting me love you, exactly as you are.”

“No more secrets,” she whispers.

“No more secrets,” I vow.

“And lots and lots of sundaes.”

I touch her cheek. “And syrup.”

“And coos.”

Laughter bubbles up in my chest, and I know, finally know, that while things won’t always go perfectly and I will definitely fuck up again and we have a huge legal mess to deal with in the morning, that right now I’ve made it better.

No, that was Joey.

Because for the first time ever…

It doesn’t matter that the person making it right wasn’t me.