Page 151 of The Compass Series

DAMIAN

D ecember was the month of discovering happiness, and January was the month of lovemaking.

That was it.

That was the month’s recap.

In the living room, on the kitchen countertop, on the beach, in the shower. Every inch of that house had Stella’s body pressed against mine. Each time I made love to her, I swore it felt as if she was promising me forever.

I hope she felt the promises I was silently making, too.

I never had forever, but now all I wanted was it with her.

She began working at her studio in the evenings, and I couldn’t have been happier for her. Some days, I’d take my laptop to the studio to work on my projects because I loved being able to watch her in her element. We hardly talked on those nights, but just being around her made the visits worth it.

Milo was beyond the perfect companion for me. When I looked at him each day, it blew my mind that anyone could’ve hurt the sweet guy or even thought about ending his life because he was a bit difficult to train.

He and I had a lot in common. We’d both been burned, but somehow, we managed to let love in again. I blamed Stella for that ability—finding the saddest souls and reminding them what love looked like, felt like.

Stella and I kept our conversations growing, too.

On a Sunday morning, we lay in bed with one another after yet another round of sex, and I held her in my arms. I’d sometimes notice that even though she was comfortable with me and my hands against her body, she still seemed to have a bit of discomfort with herself.

“You can talk to me about it, you know,” I told her. “Your discomforts. Any issues you’re dealing with.”

She tilted her head a little to meet my stare. “You’re that good at reading me, huh?”

“I have a gift.”

Stella shrugged and waved it off. “I’m just too emotional. So, whenever sad thoughts come up, I push them way, way down. It’s super healthy,” she joked.

I didn’t laugh.

“Do you ever allow yourself to be sad? And I mean for an extended period. After you lost Kevin, you were cracking jokes. Or after the stuff with Jeff, you pushed off really facing your feelings and went into holiday mode. So, do you let yourself sit in your sadness?”

“Gosh, no. That sounds awful. I know staying sad doesn’t do much, so I am for happiness.”

“That’s not healthy.”

She laughed. “Depression isn’t either. I’d choose happiness over sadness any day.”

“But it’s just a fake happiness. Besides, I think there can be beauty in sadness. You have to allow yourself to feel it for a while. You have to allow yourself to feel all emotions whenever they come up. Otherwise, they all get messed up.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I used to push not only sadness down deep but happiness, too. I was numb to all feelings until I hit my breaking point. It’s like a dam, though.

You’re building a dam to keep your emotions in.

Trust me, each time you surpass your emotions, the dam cracks a little. Then over time, it completely crashes.”

She nervously bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know if I’m ready to feel it all yet.”

“That’s fine. Just be aware that the dam can break, then it’s overwhelming.”

“Did yours ever break?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I was sixteen years old. I tried to end my life.”

Her eyes widened, and she sat up in shock. “Oh my goodness, Damian…”

“It’s okay,” I soothed her, seeing the tears hit her eyes. “I’m still here. I got past it. But, when those emotions hit, I felt so overwhelmed that they almost ended me. I don’t want that for you. Feel your feelings, Stella…even the hard ones.”

She lay back down, and I pulled her into me. She snuggled in close as her head rested against my chest. “Damian?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so glad you’re still here.”

One evening when I was working late at my actual office, finishing up a few contracts for deals I’d closed, I was surprised to see a person knocking on my door.

“Damian, correct?” Catherine asked, standing in my doorway. She had her designer sunglasses on, along with her designer shoes. Her lips were pursed out in a pout as she slipped off her glasses.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, baffled. She was the last person I thought I’d see standing in my office. “How did you find out where I worked?”

“People are pretty easy to track down if a person is determined.” She walked into the room, uninvited, and took a seat across from my desk. “I think it’s beyond time that we hold a conversation with one another. By the will, we are supposed to have a night together.”

“I am aware and will contact you when I am ready.”

It was hard for me to look at her because all I could think about was the stories Stella told me about Catherine. How she was one of the reasons Stella ended up with so much anxiety. With self-esteem struggles. With doubt of her worth.

If hate was a person, it was Catherine Michaels. And Rosalina. And Denise, too. If Kevin was good at one thing, it was picking awful wives.

“Well, I have an event coming up that I think you should attend. I’ve overseen a huge charity event that happens at the end of the month. Each year, we donate a large sum. It’s the best of the best.”

“Okay?”

“You should come. It’s for a good cause. It’s for a foster charity program to help kids in dangerous environments. Surely, that tugs at your heartstrings.”

Screw her—it did.

I knew how rough it could be growing up in the system. It was why I was so passionate about giving back to a few programs back in New York.

“I grew up in the foster system, too, you know,” she told me.

That tugged at me, too, but I didn’t show it. “Are we done here? I have work to finish.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “This is the gala event. At least come and see what we do before tossing the idea under the bus.”

I took the card from her and didn’t reply.

She stood from her chair, seemingly pleased. “Do me one favor?” Catherine asked although it sounded more as if she were about to give me an order.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t bring Stella. There’s a certain level of prestige that comes with attending the gala, and Stella does not fit the standard.”

“Noted.”

She left my office with the same smug look she entered it with, feeling as if she had accomplished something. After work, I headed to Stella’s art studio. I knew she was in there working on a project when I heard old-school R&B blasting through the space.

The windows were open, allowing the breeze to move in and out of the space, and I knocked on the front door a few times without any answer.

I peeked through the window and understood why she couldn’t hear the knocking.

She was busy dancing around in front of the canvas to Toni Braxton’s music.

She wore her white overalls, and they were covered in paint.

Her feet were bare, except for the splashes of color from the masterpiece she was creating.

The left strap of her overalls hung low against her shoulder as she sang out loud, acting out each lyric in the most dramatic way.

Her hips rocked back and forth, and man, did I watch them move.

I watched her move the same way she watched the waves at night—utterly enamored.

When she turned and looked over her shoulder, she screamed when she saw me watching her. I stood straight, feeling like a creep, but before I could reply, she sighed and laughed. She hurried over to the music and shut it off. Within a few seconds, she was standing at the door, smiling my way.

“You scared me!” she remarked, brushing her thumb against her nose, not knowing she spread a bit of yellow paint across her face.

“Sorry, I knocked, but the music…”

“I get a bit lost in it.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

She brushed her thumb against her cheek. More paint. “What’s up?”

For a moment, I lost my thoughts. I was too focused on her features. The way she made me lose my thoughts was wild to me.

Focus, Damian.

“Oh, uh, I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Apparently, there’s a massive charity gala that Catherine hosts each year.”

“Ah, yes. The luxurious winter gala. It’s a staple.” She raised an eyebrow. “Is that your event for her?”

“I think it might be.”

“It’s a pretty big deal. They auction items off and whatnot.”

“I hate her,” I mentioned.

“Why?”

“Because of the stories you’ve told me. Because of how she’s treated you.”

“Oh… you don’t have to hate her because of me, Damian.”

“Yes,” I disagreed. “I do. But regardless, she invited me to the gala, and it’s a good way to get her out of the way with the will.”

Stella smiled. “It’s quite the event.”

“So I hear.” I shifted in my shoes. “She told me not to invite you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. So…do you want to go with me?”

A small frown fell against her lips. I hated that I was the one to put it there. “Is that why you’re asking me? Because she doesn’t want me there?”

“Partly.” I couldn’t lie. A part of it was to get back at Catherine for trying to tell me what to do. “But mostly, it’s because I hate most people. Especially people like Catherine, and I figured there would be many people like her at the event.”

She laughed. “This is very true.”

“I hate those types of crowds, and I don’t do well in those circles. I would appreciate having one person who I actually liked.”

“Then count me in as your plus-one.”

Without thought, I wet my thumb with my tongue and wiped at the paint sitting against her nose.

“Paint,” I muttered, showing her my yellow thumb.

“Oh. Thanks. I’m sure there’s paint on many parts of me right now. Even the parts that are unseen.”

Oh, Stella. Don’t put that idea in my head. Because I’d love to wipe your body clean of paint. Especially the unseen parts.

Not now.

She’s working, Damian.

“I’ll let you get back to work, but I just wanted to stop in to…” See you. Be near you. Stare into those eyes. “Ask you to come. But also, when you come home, make sure to let me join you in the shower to help you wash off the paint.”

She kissed me, and I loved it.

“Is there a dress code for the gala this year?” she asked.

“You pick the dress, and I’ll match myself to you.”

She bit her bottom lip nervously. “It worries me because Catherine is such a beauty queen, and she always had negative thoughts about my clothing and looks.”

“Who cares? You’re not a kid anymore. Screw her opinion. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Easier said than done when I have a library of memories that told me differently.”