“I don’t know what to do, Dame. I don’t know what you want. I got what I want because being with Jamie was bigger than anything else, worth everything else. I thought that’s what you had with Georgia. I took a risk and so did Jamie but you, you gave it all away. I’d help you if I could, but I don’t know what to do, except love you.”
Christ. He took a step forward and hoped she’d let go, but she clung like a kitten; softness and claws, loveable and deadly.
“Do you have a voice?” Jamie was standing closer now. “I’m not buying you not knowing. I assume it’s bad news. You don’t have to do bad news alone.”
Taylor let go so abruptly he grabbed for the other side of the doorjamb. “He hasn’t coughed once since we’ve been here. Hasn’t cleared his throat. That kinda scares me. He’s been doing that for so long and now he’s not. It means something, and Midge said the surgery went well.”
It did mean something, so did how much easier swallowing had become. But he didn’t trust that. He didn’t want the specialist’s final verdict either, he’d been putting it off. He could pretend it didn’t mean anything, that sending Georgia away was the right thing to do, as long as he lived enclosed in darkness and self-imposed silence.
Because to open his mouth was to grieve aloud for the last words he’d said to her, for not understanding the precise cut of loss. It had nothing to do with his voice and everything to do with his heart, and to get his voice back without hope of mending his heart wasn’t a tragedy he’d prepared for.
He lifted his chin. So much he wanted to say but the person he most wanted to say it all to was thousands of miles away. And he’d lost her as surely as he’d lose Taylor and Jamie, Angus and Heather and Sam, if he didn’t step up.
It was now or never and yet he had nothing worth saying.
He opened his mouth and his first sound was a garbled cough and Taylor buried her face in his side. He got an arm around her and tried again, choked out, “I, ah.” It didn’t burn. “I, ah. I.” It sounded like he had a mouth full of sawdust and there were cobwebs so thick over his vocabulary he couldn’t find a way through them. I fucked up, I blew it. I hurt her.
He took a breath. “Spew spawn.” The first words of his second chance. The words he’d given Vox. They came out not much more than a whisper and Taylor thumped her forehead into his chest. She might be crying. He might be too, because his face was wet.
Jamie said, “And raging blue thunder.”
He cleared the mass in this throat that was fear and not physical and repeated the line Jamie had given him in a scatty tone with wild pitch.
Jamie said, “More.”
He took a shaky breath and focused. “You can shred me,” he wiped his face and squeezed Taylor so hard she squeaked. He took another measured breath. Unlike after the first surgery, there was no sandpaper rasp in his throat, no grit inlaid over his vowels and he had some control over volume. He held out a hand for Jamie to clasp. “But I plan to be annoyingly alive when the darkness comes.”
Mum did cry. But she roasted two chickens with barrow loads of vegetables. No one pressed him to talk, they were satisfied he could. They talked at him, insulting him, picking on him and it felt right. He let them have at it. He’d been a miserable human being, they deserved their fun at his expense.
That night he packed a bag. In the morning he was going home with Taylor and Jamie to see about rebuilding his life.
34: Secretarial
Hamish had written Damon Tuesday 10am on a post-it note and stuck it on Georgia’s borrowed bedroom door. “You answered my phone.”
He shrugged. “You left it behind. It kept ringing.”
“It can take a message.”
“I did know that.”
Georgia looked at the yellow post-it, looked at full of himself Hamish. “You don’t get to answer my phone and make appointments for me.”
He laughed. “You don’t say.”
“Unmake it.” She slapped the post-it on his forehead and moved past him. “Damon has a whole twenty-four hours to find something else to do with his Tuesday 10am.”
Hamish followed. “That would just be rude.”
“Answering someone else’s phone and making an appointment for them is rude.”
“No, it’s secretarial.”
She stopped in the kitchen and turned to face him. He looked silly with the post-it note on his head, and he’d never been fond of looking silly. Good. She’d never dared to make him look or feel silly in the past. “Did I ask you to be my secretary?”
“Did I ask you to move in with me and waft around like a hopelessly lost waif?”
“What?”
He took the post it-note off his head. “You need to do this.”
“I’m not doing it. You keep the appointment.”
“Georgie, you’re not very much fun, you know.”
“You think it’s fun to do this to me.”
“I think it’s what you need to do so you can test how you feel. And if needs be, move on. It’s like visiting the scene of the crime and seeing it’s not as scary as you’d made it out to be.”
She reached forward, snatched the post-it from his hand and slapped it back on his forehead. “Good God, you even talk like a therapist now.”
He laughed. “I suppose you could go out. Just not be here when he arrives.”
“Oh, you’d like that. You’d get to complete your stalking exercise in person.”
“I wouldn’t interrogate him.”
“You mean you wouldn’t use thumbscrews.”
“All right. I would interrogate him, but only about, well, you. Maybe your sex life. I’m desperate to know about that.”
“It’s not happening.” She held her phone out to him. “Call him and tell him not to come.”
He ignored her outstretched hand. “Why are you so panicked about this? Why aren’t you chomping at the bit to smack his semi-famous arse for dumping you? He’s very obviously coming to grovel. He flew halfway around the world to grovel, that’s class act grovelling. I’m somewhat impressed.”
“I’m not panicked about it. I just don’t need to see him. It’s been two months. Why does he want to see me now?”
“Why don’t you want to see him?”
“Airport, dumped, duped, miserable, arsehole.”
“See, you do want to see him.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“I love the way you tell me how you feel. It’s like the old days, before we were married. It’s so exciting. I can’t wait to hear what you have to say when I tell you the other news.”
“What other news?”
He waved the post-it. “I lied.”
She gripped the kitchen counter. “He’s not coming? Why would you tell me he was? All that class act grovelling, all that being impressed.” She sighed. Hamish had a stupid look on his face. “This isn’t funny.”
“It should be. Now why is it you don’t look happy?”
“Because you gave me a heart attack.”
“Because you really do want to see him.”
She glared at him. He was right. She was terrified of seeing Damon again and devastated she wasn’t going to get the chance. “What’s wrong with me?
“Question for a therapist.”
The doorbell rang. She looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. Two minutes to ten. She looked at Hamish. “What did you lie about?”
“You know how I can get so easily confused.”
Oh dear God. “Your house,” she pointed towards the front door, “you get that.”
Hamish lurched for a dinning chair and slumped into it. “I find myself indisposed.”
She stomped past him up the hall. Whoever was collecting, or selling, or hoping to put God in her life was going to get a dose of Godlessness to rock them. A lesson out of Taylor’s book.
“Georgie.”
Hand on the knob. “What?” Hamish had followed her up the hall. She opened the door, shooting him an annoyed look over her shoulder.
>
“Just remember I did it for you.”
She looked through the open door. Damon stood there. He wore a fabulously expensive-looking trench coat and held his white stick. His dark hair shone, his blue eyes sparkled, an expression of concern, between his brows, a question on his beautiful lips. “Georgia?”
She slammed the door, a hand flying to her hair, not brushed, wet from the shower. She wore baggy old jeans, a jumper of Hamish’s with holes in it and Uggs.
She rounded on Hamish, ready to kick him. “What did you do?”
“I might’ve had a problem with the days of the week. Let the man in, for goodness sake.”
The bell rang again.
“I don’t want to see him.”
“Class act grovelling. But if you really don’t want to see him, make sure he knows it.”
“He must already know it. I just shut the door on him. Maybe he’ll go away.”
The doorbell rang.
Hamish smirked. “I don’t think he got the message yet. Is he a bit dull?”
They stared at each other. “I don’t want this.”
“Then tell him, Georgie, and I’ll be here with you. It’s the least I can do.”
She really had no option, but her tongue was upside down, there were too many teeth in her mouth and her hands were numb. But you know what, it was okay, she could do this, be civil. Damon should see she was comfortable with Hamish. Had no need of voice actor royalty and his high-flying lifestyle. Never mind he looked incredible. Never mind she was desperate to hear him say more than her name. He took her breath away. Oh my God, he might already have gone.
She flung the door open and the urge to throw herself in his arms was so overwhelming she had to look at her feet to stop from stepping into him.
“Georgia?”
He had a voice, not the same but not a sanding machine, not a metal grater in his throat like before.
“You sound well.” She sounded pissed off and that was useful.
He frowned. “Is it a bad time?”
“Yes. I didn’t agree to this.” She sounded calm and together and that was more practical. He sounded like he’d been drinking, smoking, shouting all night.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he half turned back towards the street. “Hamish said it would be best to call at the house to see you.” His tone and volume were different. There was a hint of just woken up gravel dust. He had a voice, but it wasn’t the one he’d had when they met, and yet it was still impossibly sexy.
Hamish stepped up beside her. “I’m Hamish, do come in, Damon.” He gave Georgia a shove so there was room for Damon to step across the threshold.
Damon’s chin shifted right so he was looking towards Hamish. “Thank you.” He put a hand out in front. Hamish grinned and took it and the two of them shook. She looked at the ceiling rose. Oh this was fun, both of these men had seen her naked. Both of them had rejected her. She closed her eyes. She had no idea where that thought came from, but it made her feel sick.
Damon tapped his way through the doorway into the hall.
Hamish said, “I’ll lead you to the kitchen.”
She could’ve done that. But if she touched Damon, whatever string was holding her insides together would untwist and leave her in pieces. He was tanned and he seemed taller, bigger, more outrageously handsome.
“Why are you here?” She spoke to his back and he stopped moving.
Hamish kept going, “I’ll make the tea.”
She almost stopped him, because that would leave her with Damon and she’d have to face him. She took a deep breath, digging her hands in her pockets to stop from tracing them up his back and around his waist.
“Georgia, I made a mistake coming here, didn’t I?” He sounded different, but he was the same man who’d lied, who’d discarded her.
“Like I made a mistake trusting you.”
He turned to face her. “I won’t stay, but I wanted to see you and apologise.”
“For dumping me, using me. You could’ve done that on the phone. From Sydney. Months ago.”
He inclined his head. “For everything I did to you. For denying you the courtesy of knowing what was going on.”
“I worked that out. You were fairly explicit. You loved the sex but not the person.”
“I fucking loved the sex, but I’d give my voice to have treated you with more respect.”
Her mouth dropped open at the swear word, her body went from strung together to hot liquid flush as it remembered what it was like to be throbbing and needy and have his words purred in her ear as he entered her body.
“And I’d have done anything for you except put you through the same thing that ruined your marriage.”
“Right.” She folded her arms across her chest. “The doing it to protect me defence. I can’t imagine what would make you think I’d buy that.”
He shifted, swaying, knocking against the wall. “I had cancer. I needed more surgery.” She reached for him and stopped herself. That’s why he sounded so different. “The prognosis wasn’t good. I expected to lose my voice box.”
The tears in her eyes were sudden, but they weren’t going to fall. He’d shut her out and she missed him so badly.
“I couldn’t offer you blind and mute. I couldn’t offer you angry and shut down. I know what you went though. You told me when we met you weren’t up for dealing with someone else’s issues like that again. I couldn’t do that to you. I needed you to be free.”
Cancer—dear God. It’d taken her mother, turned her grief-stricken father into a drunk. But Damon was standing here, fit, healthy, with a hushed voice that drenching her in feelings and made her knees loose and her throat tight. “But the worst didn’t happen.”
“It did.”
“You have a voice. With some engineering…” She trailed off. They’d announced the production date on Dystopian Conflict III had slipped. Hamish found that out. “Do you still have cancer?”
He shook his head and a fall of hair slid over his forehead.
He had cancer and he’d sent her away. He’d taken any decision she might make about standing by him away from her. “From where I’m standing there’s no worst.”
“You’re standing another world away from me.”
“I’m standing where you put me. You decided this.”
“I thought losing my voice, my work, was the worst thing I’d deal with. I didn’t understand losing you would be like losing all my other senses.”
She closed her eyes. Couldn’t look at him. He’d never voice Vox again. “I need you to go.” Now, right now, before she did something she’d never recover from, like touch him, forgive him.
She’d once said she’d forgive him anything, but she’d been lust struck, love dulled, she’d had no idea what she was talking about. He’d thrown her away when he was hurting and now he was okay he’d shown up to wreck her all over again. She wasn’t a toy to be picked up and played with one day and thrown away the next. She wasn’t a good time girl or a martyr. And she didn’t know any way to fix this.
“I used to function well without you. I can’t do that anymore, Georgia. I got to keep a voice, but it’s not enough without you.”
Love meant you were attached to someone else, and when you were separated part of you didn’t function as well. He was functioning just fine. He could take his honey tongue and clever words and work their magic on someone else; there’d be plenty of takers.
“Go home, Damon. You said it. I’m not up for this. I don’t want you here. We’ve got nothing to say to each other anymore.”
He blinked, those knowing eyes. “My favourite colour will always be you.”
She turned her head away. She could fall apart when he left.
“My favourite smell, my favourite taste.” He closed the gap between them, a hand finding her side, stepping up to her shoulder, her chin. “Georgia on my mind. Look at me and tell me you don’t want to try again.”
She let him turn her head, but she kept her eyes closed. “I
don’t want you in my life.” He couldn’t make her love him again. His lips on her forehead, his hand moved to her hair. She should push him away. She held her breath. She didn’t want him, but he whispered her name and it was all the colours of the heavens and she cleaved to him, hands moving under his coat to hold him.
He kissed her, lips firm and sure, mouth gentle, but not hesitant. Her traitor mouth kissed him back, like her insurgent fists filled with his shirt, her turncoat hips pressed to him. But the kiss was just another weapon and she would not sing for him again. She shoved against his chest and he stepped away, dropping his stick.
Hamish was in the hallway. “Everything all right?”
She wiped her mouth and bent to get the stick. “Damon is leaving.”
Damon turned his head towards Hamish. There was a strange moment where no one moved. Damon and Hamish appeared to be sizing each other up. She tapped the handle of the stick against Damon’s hand and he took it. He said, “Be good to her.”
“Now that I’ve learned how again, you can be assured of it.”
Damon used the wall and his stick to reach the doorstep. He moved over the entrance easily, tapped for the stairs then stumbled, going to one knee.
She cried out, dashed forward, but he righted himself and kept moving, tapping down the stairs and the path to the gate, opening it, going through it and closing it behind him. He walked to the gutter. She watched from the doorway as he pulled out a phone. He’d call a cab. He’d get in it and drive away. He’d go wherever he wanted, pick up his life and live it as though she’d never happened.
“You could stop him.”
She shook her head. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re only a shadow standing here. He’s taking the best part of you with him.”
She turned her back on Damon and faced Hamish. “Sentimental rubbish. That makes no sense.”
“You were worried about your appearance and the man is bat blind. And that was the kind of kiss I’d give an arm to experience.”
She stepped around Hamish. Why couldn’t he have stayed in the kitchen? “Yes, well, we know I’m an idiot. I married you.”
Incapable (Love Triumphs Book 3) Page 33
