She draws a deep breath and shakes out her arms a bit, like she’s been wound up tight until now and can finally relax. “So, anyway, that’s just my way of saying I’m sorry. And, well, that’s it. It’s not enough, I know, but I hope you’ll accept my apology. But if you won’t, I get it.”
Her words wash over me, sincere and dangerous.
“I—”
I swallow, unsure of what I want to say. I, what? That I understand her fight? That I enter that same battlefield every time a blade tempts me?
That I’ve spent a lifetime trying to prove myself professionally? To prove that I’m worthwhile even though my mother always suggested that it was only my looks which were of any value at all?
That I started out damaged, too, but that I’ve fought it every day?
Should I tell her that I think we’re more alike than I realized—or that I’m comfortable with?
And that, right or wrong, I believe her apology is sincere. And I believe that she didn’t send that email.
In the end, I don’t say any of that at all. I just say, “Apology accepted.”
Somehow, I think she understands.
Sofia and I walk beside each other back up the path that leads to the administration building. We’re not together, not really, but we’re moving in the same direction, keeping more or less in time with each other.
We reach the heavy wooden door that leads into the main reception area, and she pulls it open for me. I step through with a quiet murmur of thanks, then stop in my tracks just over the threshold.
Damien is right there, standing at the main check-in counter. Warm relief flashes on his face when he sees me—and then immediately transposes into shocked wariness when Sofia enters behind me.
“Damien,” she says, her voice bright with surprise. As I turn to look at her, she takes a step toward him, then stops and bites her lower lip. She looks at me, then draws a deep breath. “I meant it,” she says. “Everything I said. I hope you know that.”
A flicker of a smile touches my lips. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
She nods, then looks at Damien again. I expect her to go to him, but she stays where she is. “I’m so sorry about the baby, D. But I gotta go. I—I need to get back to the kids.”
She gives me one final glance, then scurries out the way we came in.
Damien and I stay right where we are. The receptionist behind the counter looks at him, then at me, then mutters “excuse me,” and leaves as well.
Now it’s just me and Damien in this small, stone room.
“D?” I say, both because I’m curious about the nickname and because the air is too damn thick.
“An old nickname. Her father only used last names. But with my dad traveling the circuit with us, it was confusing. So I became D and he became J.”
I take a step toward him. “So you’re not starting a boy band?”
He moves a single step toward me. “No.”
“Too bad.” I move closer.
“Do you want me to serenade you?” Another step and he’s right in front of me.
“No.”
He slides his fingers into my hair and pulls me closer. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Yes,” I say—or I try to. His mouth captures mine before I finish the word, and I fall into the kiss, into his touch. Into the passion that we have always shared and that has always saved me. And that even now, when we are both damaged and raw, can keep me steady.
I’m breathing hard when we reluctantly separate, and I press my cheek to his chest as he strokes my hair with one hand, his other arm holding me close against him.
“I didn’t know she was here,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
I tilt my head up. “You didn’t?”
“I told her she could work the camp—part of the twelve-step thing I told you about. But once everything happened . . . well, I didn’t realize that she’d actually made the arrangements. I wouldn’t have—anyway, I’m sorry if you were caught off-guard.”
“So you didn’t come here looking for her?” It’s not until I’ve actually voiced the words that I realize that was my assumption. After all, I hadn’t left a note telling him where I was going, and he hadn’t texted asking where I was. So presumably he’d come here for some other reason. Probably to tell her that he’d finally told me about how she wanted to apologize to me face-to-face, but that with the miscarriage, now probably wasn’t a good time.
But Damien’s shaking his head, dispelling my assumptions. “I came for you. You know I’ll always come for you.”
“But how—” I cut the question off. Of course he knew where I was. Somehow, he always knows.
He pulls his phone out and shows me the screen with his primary contact list. He taps an icon next to my name and a map pops up. And right there, on the grid-style map, is a tiny picture of me in the middle of what is the Stark Children’s Foundation.
“Clever,” I say. My phone does the same, of course. I just never think to use it.
“And my apology still holds,” he continues. “I’m sorry if Sofia blind-sided you.”
“No. No, it’s okay. She . . .” I trail off, searching for the words. “She seems better. And she seems sincere.”
I watch his face and see a flicker of hope. It’s been hard for him, I know. He loves her—not like he loves me, but she’s important to him the way Jamie and Ollie are to me. And I’d love them both even if they went off the rails.
“She won’t ever be my best friend,” I tell Damien, because I’m pretty damn certain about that. “But I think we can move on from here.”
I watch as relief flares in his eyes, then sigh as he pulls me close for a long, deep kiss. I melt against him, and when I feel his erection press against my belly, every cell within me fires. I want him—we’ve held each other tenderly every night since the miscarriage, but it’s been far too long since we’ve made love.
Now, I crave him, and a wild desperation washes over me, setting my senses on fire and making me wish that we were someplace other than the reception area of a children’s foundation.
We’re both breathing hard when we break the kiss, and our eyes lock on each other’s for what feels like an eternity. My heart thuds in my chest, and I can feel the blood pounding through my body.
Her words wash over me, sincere and dangerous.
“I—”
I swallow, unsure of what I want to say. I, what? That I understand her fight? That I enter that same battlefield every time a blade tempts me?
That I’ve spent a lifetime trying to prove myself professionally? To prove that I’m worthwhile even though my mother always suggested that it was only my looks which were of any value at all?
That I started out damaged, too, but that I’ve fought it every day?
Should I tell her that I think we’re more alike than I realized—or that I’m comfortable with?
And that, right or wrong, I believe her apology is sincere. And I believe that she didn’t send that email.
In the end, I don’t say any of that at all. I just say, “Apology accepted.”
Somehow, I think she understands.
Sofia and I walk beside each other back up the path that leads to the administration building. We’re not together, not really, but we’re moving in the same direction, keeping more or less in time with each other.
We reach the heavy wooden door that leads into the main reception area, and she pulls it open for me. I step through with a quiet murmur of thanks, then stop in my tracks just over the threshold.
Damien is right there, standing at the main check-in counter. Warm relief flashes on his face when he sees me—and then immediately transposes into shocked wariness when Sofia enters behind me.
“Damien,” she says, her voice bright with surprise. As I turn to look at her, she takes a step toward him, then stops and bites her lower lip. She looks at me, then draws a deep breath. “I meant it,” she says. “Everything I said. I hope you know that.”
A flicker of a smile touches my lips. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
She nods, then looks at Damien again. I expect her to go to him, but she stays where she is. “I’m so sorry about the baby, D. But I gotta go. I—I need to get back to the kids.”
She gives me one final glance, then scurries out the way we came in.
Damien and I stay right where we are. The receptionist behind the counter looks at him, then at me, then mutters “excuse me,” and leaves as well.
Now it’s just me and Damien in this small, stone room.
“D?” I say, both because I’m curious about the nickname and because the air is too damn thick.
“An old nickname. Her father only used last names. But with my dad traveling the circuit with us, it was confusing. So I became D and he became J.”
I take a step toward him. “So you’re not starting a boy band?”
He moves a single step toward me. “No.”
“Too bad.” I move closer.
“Do you want me to serenade you?” Another step and he’s right in front of me.
“No.”
He slides his fingers into my hair and pulls me closer. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Yes,” I say—or I try to. His mouth captures mine before I finish the word, and I fall into the kiss, into his touch. Into the passion that we have always shared and that has always saved me. And that even now, when we are both damaged and raw, can keep me steady.
I’m breathing hard when we reluctantly separate, and I press my cheek to his chest as he strokes my hair with one hand, his other arm holding me close against him.
“I didn’t know she was here,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
I tilt my head up. “You didn’t?”
“I told her she could work the camp—part of the twelve-step thing I told you about. But once everything happened . . . well, I didn’t realize that she’d actually made the arrangements. I wouldn’t have—anyway, I’m sorry if you were caught off-guard.”
“So you didn’t come here looking for her?” It’s not until I’ve actually voiced the words that I realize that was my assumption. After all, I hadn’t left a note telling him where I was going, and he hadn’t texted asking where I was. So presumably he’d come here for some other reason. Probably to tell her that he’d finally told me about how she wanted to apologize to me face-to-face, but that with the miscarriage, now probably wasn’t a good time.
But Damien’s shaking his head, dispelling my assumptions. “I came for you. You know I’ll always come for you.”
“But how—” I cut the question off. Of course he knew where I was. Somehow, he always knows.
He pulls his phone out and shows me the screen with his primary contact list. He taps an icon next to my name and a map pops up. And right there, on the grid-style map, is a tiny picture of me in the middle of what is the Stark Children’s Foundation.
“Clever,” I say. My phone does the same, of course. I just never think to use it.
“And my apology still holds,” he continues. “I’m sorry if Sofia blind-sided you.”
“No. No, it’s okay. She . . .” I trail off, searching for the words. “She seems better. And she seems sincere.”
I watch his face and see a flicker of hope. It’s been hard for him, I know. He loves her—not like he loves me, but she’s important to him the way Jamie and Ollie are to me. And I’d love them both even if they went off the rails.
“She won’t ever be my best friend,” I tell Damien, because I’m pretty damn certain about that. “But I think we can move on from here.”
I watch as relief flares in his eyes, then sigh as he pulls me close for a long, deep kiss. I melt against him, and when I feel his erection press against my belly, every cell within me fires. I want him—we’ve held each other tenderly every night since the miscarriage, but it’s been far too long since we’ve made love.
Now, I crave him, and a wild desperation washes over me, setting my senses on fire and making me wish that we were someplace other than the reception area of a children’s foundation.
We’re both breathing hard when we break the kiss, and our eyes lock on each other’s for what feels like an eternity. My heart thuds in my chest, and I can feel the blood pounding through my body.
