Page 27

Chapter 27

Holly

T he car hummed softly beneath us, the engine's gentle purr mingling with the quiet that enveloped the space. Damien drove in silence, his focus fixed on the road ahead, tension crackling between us like static. But it felt different this time—less like an escape and more like a decision. A choice to move forward, even if I wasn’t sure what that meant for either of us.

I glanced at him, taking in the way his fingers tightened around the steering wheel. The muscles in his jaw flexed, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

“Where are we going?” I asked, breaking the silence. My voice was steadier than I felt.

“Cooper’s place.” His reply came quietly but held an unexpected weight.

I blinked, surprised by the revelation. “You’re moving in with him?”

He exhaled slowly, as if releasing something he had been holding back for too long.

I looked out the window. “Everly mentioned it.”

Damien shrugged slightly but didn’t elaborate. I could sense he didn’t want to dive into the details—the nuances of family dynamics or what it meant to share space with someone who had once been so far removed from his life.

The silence returned, thick and palpable as we drove through familiar streets that suddenly felt foreign under the weight of our recent encounters. Each block passed was another reminder of how much had changed—how much we had changed.

My heart clenched as I watched the world blur past outside the window. It wasn’t just about where Damien was going; it was about everything he was leaving behind. The weight of it settled in my chest like a stone.

His mother. His father. The chains that had kept him caged for years.

I turned to him, searching for any sign that he felt the same way. “Are you sure this is what you want?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I instantly regretted it. I didn’t want to push him, but I needed to know he wasn’t running blindly into something that could trap him all over again.

He glanced at me, his eyes dark and stormy, filled with emotions he often kept hidden. “It’s better than staying here.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him everything would be okay, but the tension in the car was palpable—thick enough to choke on. I swallowed hard instead.

“Better how?” I pressed gently, my voice barely above a whisper.

Damien’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as if he were holding onto control by sheer force of will. “I can’t keep doing this,” he said, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. “Being at their mercy… It eats away at me.”

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken truths and buried memories. Memories that clawed at the edges of his mind—fighting through all those years of manipulation and control.

I thought back to our last encounter with his mother—the way she had twisted every word like a knife, using them to cut into his soul until there was nothing left but fear and resentment. Would moving in with Cooper really set him free? Or would it just replace one cage with another?

“What if she tries to come after you?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“I’ll deal with her.” His voice hardened, conviction coursing through it like wildfire.

But I could still see the flicker of doubt behind his eyes—a fear that even freedom wouldn’t be enough to break the chains that bound him so tightly.

As we pulled up to Cooper’s townhouse, I felt a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirl in my stomach. The building stood tall, nestled among the other charming homes on the block, with warm brick and a welcoming front porch adorned with potted plants. It looked like a place where laughter could echo off the walls and memories could be made.

The door creaked open as we stepped inside, revealing an open space filled with soft light that spilled through large windows. The air smelled faintly of fresh paint and wood polish, mingling with the warmth of home-cooked meals that lingered in the corners. A cozy couch sat invitingly in front of a coffee table littered with magazines and empty mugs. This had to be Everly's doing, I was sure of it.

Before I could take it all in, Damien pulled me toward the bedroom. His grip was firm but not forceful; it felt deliberate, as if he needed this connection as much as I did. My heart raced as he guided me down the hallway, away from the chaos of the outside world.

Once inside, he closed the door behind us without a sound. The room was simple yet elegant—neutral colors adorned the walls, with a large bed taking center stage, dressed in crisp white linens that promised comfort. A few personal touches—a hockey stick propped against the wall, framed photographs capturing moments of laughter—made it feel like home.

Damien didn’t speak; he simply studied my face with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. I felt vulnerable under his gaze—the fading red mark on my cheek from where his mother had hit me a reminder of how fragile everything was between us.

His fingers ghosted over my skin, light as air yet sending electric shocks through me. I held my breath, surprised by how gentle he was being. Then he leaned in closer, pressing his lips softly against the bruise as if trying to erase it completely.

The kiss lingered there for what felt like an eternity—tender and fierce all at once—reminding me that even amid turmoil and pain, there were moments like this: moments when everything else faded away except for us.

My breath caught in my throat, and the tightness swelled within me as I looked at Damien. His expression was vulnerability and defiance, the kind that always made my heart race.

The rawness of his knuckles drew my gaze. It broke something inside me to see him like this, battling not just the world but himself.

I cupped his jaw gently, turning his face toward mine. He flinched slightly at my touch, but then relaxed into it, as if he were allowing me to anchor him amidst the storm swirling in his eyes.

Without thinking, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his knuckles, one by one. The warmth of his skin against my mouth felt electric. Each kiss was soft and deliberate, like I was trying to heal something deeper than just bruised flesh.

He searched my eyes for something—maybe understanding or perhaps a way out of the darkness he seemed trapped in. But all I could offer was my presence and these small gestures of affection that felt so monumental in moments like this.

His breathing steadied as I kissed the last knuckle, lingering there longer than necessary. The connection sparked between us; it was almost tangible. I wanted to take away his pain—the scars left by fists and words alike—and replace them with something softer.

Damien watched me, something wrecked in his eyes that made my heart ache. “You always do that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do what?” I tilted my head, trying to understand the weight behind his words.

His gaze dropped, as if he couldn’t bear to meet mine any longer. “Look at me like I’m worth something.”

The truth hit me hard, and my chest tightened. He was worth everything. But no one had ever told him that, had they? Not his mother. Not his father. And certainly not the cruel world that had shaped him into this fierce and broken man standing before me.

I stepped back, fingers trailing to the hem of his shirt. “Let me see you.”

Damien didn’t move at first. He stood there, still as stone, holding his breath like he feared what would happen next. But then, finally, he nodded.

With that small gesture of surrender, I gently tugged at the fabric of his shirt, unbuttoning it one by one and letting it fall to the floor. The sight of him sent a rush of warmth through me—muscles taut beneath skin marked by scars. Each mark was a reminder of how far he had come and how deeply he had suffered.

I wanted to reach out and trace each scar with my fingertips, but I hesitated for just a moment—uncertain if I should tread lightly or dive in headfirst.

“Damien…” My voice wavered slightly as I took in the vulnerability etched across his features. There was an unspoken invitation in the way he stood before me now, stripped bare both physically and emotionally.

He watched me with those eyes—haunted yet hopeful—as if daring me to break down the walls he had built around himself for so long.

And so I did. Slowly, deliberately, I stepped closer again until I could feel the warmth radiating from him—the heat of a body alive but shadowed by pain.

I stepped closer, my fingers grazing his chest. His breath hitched at my touch, and I felt the warmth radiate from him, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. The moment felt monumental; he was laid bare before me, not just physically but emotionally too. This time, he didn’t hide.

“Let me,” I whispered as I reached for his slacks. He nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, and I slowly unbuttoned them, feeling the tension coil between us with every movement.

As the pants slid down his legs and pooled at his feet, I could see him more clearly—each line of muscle was accentuated by the soft light filtering through the window. My breath caught as I took in the entirety of him: strong thighs with those scars that hinted at power; a flat stomach that flexed with anticipation; arms that looked capable of both protecting and destroying.

“Come on,” I said softly, leading him into the bathroom. I turned on the water as steam began to rise. The sound filled the air, mingling with our unspoken tension. The warm mist enveloped us like an embrace, but neither of us moved forward.

Damien stood there—bare and exposed—the steam curling around his body like fingers caressing marble. For once, he didn’t shield himself from my gaze or turn away in shame or anger. He simply held my eyes with a heady look that made my heart race even faster.

I wanted to take this moment for all it was worth—to capture it in my mind forever—the way he let me see him like this, stripped down to nothing but skin and soul.

I took a deep breath, my heart racing as I slowly peeled off my dress, piece by piece. The air felt cool against my skin, contrasting sharply with the warmth of Damien’s gaze as it followed my every movement. I didn’t look away from him; I wanted him to see me—every inch of me, stripped bare of all pretense and fear.

When I stood naked before him, vulnerability wrapped around me like a shroud, something shifted in the air between us. His eyes darkened, filled with a mixture of hunger and something softer that I couldn’t quite name. The tension crackled like electricity, urging me forward.

With hesitant steps, I approached him until I was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. My fingers trembled slightly as they reached out toward his thighs. When they brushed against the scars that marred his skin, his breath stuttered and muscles tensed beneath my touch.

But he didn’t pull away.

He let me see. He let me touch.

And in that moment, something deep inside me unraveled. My heart swelled—sadness for the pain he had endured and a fierce desire to show him that he was more than his scars. Each mark told a story—a testament to battles fought and survived.

I traced the edges of one scar with gentle fingertips, marveling at how such roughness could coexist with such raw beauty.

Damien’s eyes locked onto mine, fierce yet open The connection between us intensified as if we were sharing an unspoken truth—the weight of our pasts pressing down on both of us. This wasn’t just about physical intimacy; it was about acceptance and understanding.

His breath quickened under my touch, and I felt something shift in him—a flicker of hope buried beneath layers of anger and pain. My fingers continued their exploration, each caress becoming more deliberate as I sought to bridge the distance that had long separated us.

We sank into the bath together, the warmth of the water enveloping us like a cocoon. I pressed his back against my chest, feeling the tension in his muscles slowly begin to unwind. My arms wrapped around his middle, holding him close, grounding him in a way I desperately hoped would soothe him.

“It started young.” His voice came out quiet, almost lost in the gentle sounds of splashing water.

I nodded against his shoulder, letting my forehead rest there. It felt right to be close to him like this, even when everything else felt wrong. “And it never stopped,” he added, and my heart twisted at the weight of those words.

My eyes burned with unshed tears as I held him tighter. I wanted to say so many things—wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair, that no one should have to endure what he had. But instead, I pressed my forehead against his shoulder and remained silent. I didn’t say I was sorry or that it was okay because it wasn’t. It never would be.

Instead, I whispered softly, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. “You didn’t deserve it.”

Damien exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the memories clawing at him from within. “I feel like my body betrayed me.” His admission cut deep; I could feel his vulnerability seep through the cracks he had built over the years.

“And when I was with you…” he trailed off for a moment, swallowing hard as if the words were too heavy to bear. “I could forget.”

A lump formed in my throat at his confession; it hit harder than any blow he’d taken on the ice.

“Until she found out,” he continued quietly. “Until… until she made me pretend.” His voice broke slightly on that last word, and I tightened my grip around him instinctively. “I didn't want you tainted by her,” he confessed, vulnerability pouring out of him like a floodgate released. “I had to push you away because I couldn't fucking let you go.”

Each word pierced through me—every syllable wrapped in pain and regret—and yet somehow offered solace in knowing just how deeply he felt about our connection despite everything that had happened between us.

I hugged him tighter, feeling the warmth of his body seep into me, chasing away the chill of the world outside.

“Your body kept you alive,” I whispered, not entirely sure what else to say. I just wanted him to know that he was more than what had been done to him, that he had survived it all.

He didn’t respond, but his fingers tightened over mine, anchoring me in this moment we had carved out for ourselves. The steam curled around us like a protective veil, wrapping us in an intimacy I hadn’t thought possible just days ago.

We sat in silence for a long time; the water soothing our skin while everything else faded away. It felt as if time had stopped; the chaos of our lives outside this bathroom couldn’t reach us here.

Then Damien spoke again, his voice rough and raw. “People only wanted me for four things.”

I didn’t move. I simply listened.

“Money. My family legacy. Hockey. Fucking.” He laid each word out like a confession, heavy and honest.

The weight of his truth settled between us, palpable and real. I could feel the ache in his heart—a longing for something deeper than all those superficial desires. My heart twisted at the realization that he had spent so much of his life feeling used.

He shifted slightly, turning his head so that our eyes met. There was something vulnerable in his gaze that made my breath catch.

“Except you.”

My stomach dropped at those two words.

“You didn’t know who I was when we met.” His lips twitched, the ghost of something bittersweet lingering there. “And I loved that about you,” he added softly, a hint of warmth igniting behind the darkness in his eyes.

In that moment, everything felt fragile and beautiful—like a glass sculpture teetering on the edge of destruction yet somehow holding its shape against all odds.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, trying to process his words. Memories flooded back—how could they not? I remembered that day perfectly.

He had been just some cocky, rough kid who irritated me in all the right ways. The way he had smirked at me from across the playground, how his laughter echoed in the air like a challenge. I fell for him so fast it was dizzying, heart racing with every teasing jab he threw my way.

Damien turned fully now, water dripping from his skin and pooling at our feet. His hands framed my face, grounding me as if the world outside faded away completely.

“You’re the only good thing in my life, Holly,” he said, and those words hit me like a freight train.

My heart cracked wide open, spilling everything I felt but never had the courage to say aloud.

His voice was barely a whisper—a vow that cut through the chaos swirling around us. “I won’t let you leave me. Not you.”

And then he kissed me.

It was fierce and desperate, igniting every nerve ending in my body. I melted against him, losing myself in the warmth of his embrace and the promise that wrapped around us like a shield against everything else. My hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling as I pulled him closer—closer than I ever thought possible.

With every brush of his lips against mine, every lingering moment we shared beneath the steam rising from the bathwater, all doubts began to dissolve into thin air. The scars of our pasts felt less like chains and more like threads binding us together.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring or if Damien’s promises could withstand whatever storm lay ahead. But for now, here in this fragile bubble we had created for ourselves, I allowed myself to believe—if only for a moment—that we were untouchable.