Love Always, Kate

by D. Nichole King

  “Flowers from Damian?” Leslie asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Kate,” she started.

  “I know. It’s okay.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.” She hooked me up to the IV.

  “What?”

  “I wanted to tell you that I think you’re bringing out the best in him.”

  Surprised, I turned to her, my eyebrows puckered. Did she seriously say that?

  “I don’t know…I mean, he’s…he’s still…It’s…” I bit the side of my cheek. Complicated.

  “Well, whatever it is, I think it might be working.” Leslie smiled and left me to my thoughts.

  Already exhausted from a day of shopping, I got up from the armchair as soon as Leslie left. Sliding my IV pole along with me, I climbed up on the hospital bed on the far side of the room and lay down. I pulled the diary out of my purse, but my eyes fell shut before I’d written a single word.

  Chapter 7

  I couldn’t sleep that night. All of my insecurities came flooding back. Were the roses, the apology, a farce? Should I go?

  When the sun came up, I watched the brilliant rays of citrine and garnet fill the sky. From behind the clouds, sprays of white light poured down to earth. When I was younger, I used to think that was when angels came down from heaven to ferry souls back up to the hands of God.

  I wrote about the splendor of the morning skies. How blessed I felt to be able to see even one miraculous sunrise. I imagined what it would look like from the top of a mountain or standing in the sand, peering out over the vastness of the ocean. The sunrise calmed me. At daybreak, there was no room for anxiety, worries, or disquiet.

  Feeling calm, I crawled back in bed and drifted to sleep. I awoke after noon to my mother knocking on my door.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she greeted me with a smile. “I wore you out shopping yesterday, didn’t I? We shouldn’t have been out so long. With you being back on chemo, I just didn’t…”

  “No, Mom,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “I can bring you up lunch if you’re hungry.”

  “That’s okay. I need to get up anyway. I can eat with you and Dad downstairs. It’s not like I’m helpless and dying.”

  “Kate.” My mother’s voice raised half an octave as she said my name.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  When Dr. Lowell first diagnosed me, my parents were overly protective, acting like I was Great-Grandma’s priceless crystal vase, which sat wrapped in bubble wrap in a box in the china cabinet. The second time, they relaxed a little, but they never let me out of their sight. This time, my parents went about their business, and I went about mine. I preferred it this way actually—less pressure on me.

  But every so often, that worried, sorrowful look would cross my mother’s face.

  I wanted to go to treatments, stay positive, and forget all the immature white blood cells that clouded my bloodstream. Already, I looked forward to spring when Roosevelt High would start team golf practice—a taste of normalcy.

  I took a quick shower, threw on some jeans and a sweater, and headed downstairs. After lunch, I played a dozen hands of Rook with my mother. She had taught me to play when I was stuck in the hospital undergoing tests. Then we’d play during my first round of chemo. And my second. And my third. It became our favorite game. Sometimes Dad would play, and when he did, it was an easy win for me.

  I took the bid and reached for the nest, making sure to keep my eyes on my cards. “By the way, can I go over to Damian’s tonight?” After the words were out, I held my breath.

  “Damian’s?” I felt Mom’s eyes drilling into me.

  I cleared my throat. “Uh, yeah. He asked when he sent the flowers. Red’s trump.” I threw out the red 1, keeping my gaze down.

  Mom played the red 7, and I pulled in the hand. “I thought you said it was just a hospital relationship.”

  I shrugged, putting the red 13 in the middle of the table. “It was—is. It is.”

  “So, is this a date?” Mom laid down the Rook, and I added both of our cards face down in front of me.

  I shifted my eyes upward to her glowing face. “I don’t know.” I really didn’t.

  She played the yellow 8 next to my red 12 and sighed. “Things were less complicated when you weren’t old enough to date. Can’t you just stay my little girl forever?”

  “Sorry, Mom. I don’t possess that kind of power.” I grinned, taking her yellow 10 and setting out the black 12.

  “Be home by eleven.” She pulled in the hand with the black 14.

  “Thanks.” I couldn’t hide my smile.

  “Dr. Lowell’s son. I’d never have guessed,” Mom mused.

  Damian’s house was a good half-hour from mine. Excitement and dread overcame me as I drove. This time, I noticed the towering houses, some with iron gates in front of the driveways, and sprawling brick walls. A few times I considered turning back, but for whatever reason I didn’t; it had been over a week since I’d seen him. And he’d been drunk.

  My heart pounded as I thought about seeing those blue eyes again. The way they looked into mine…wow! There was nothing about him that didn’t make me drool. I mean, I’d already thrown up in front of him—twice!—what was a little saliva?

  I pulled into his driveway and parked my car. The enormous house loomed before me like something out of a Wes Craven movie. If it was dark outside, the place would have freaked me out. I checked myself in the rearview mirror, adjusted my hat, threw on a little more lip gloss, and opened the door.

  Then I closed the door. I leaned back against my seat and shut my eyes. What was I doing? Was I setting myself up for disappointment? Did the other girl know about me? Oh crap! Was I the girl he was cheating on his girlfriend with?

  Maybe the kiss was just a mistake. And the flowers just a friendly gesture. And the text…I slumped deeper into my seat. Was the text just to make the bald girl with cancer feel like she was important?

  I covered my face with my gloved hands, breathing into the cotton material. The thoughts in my head were spinning in circles. Every part of me wanted to believe Damian genuinely cared for me—as more than a friend. The doubt rolled in thick, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  When I opened my eyes, I took a deep breath and opened the door again. This time I stepped out of the car before closing it. I stared at the house for a few moments before I walked up to the front door.

  I knocked, bit my lip, and almost turned back, but Damian answered too quickly. He stood in the foyer: jeans, a blue t-shirt that matched his eyes, and barefoot.

  “Hey,” he said, opening the glass door. The slight grin on his face accentuated his dimples. And his voice, oh! My heart melted at the sound.

  “Hey.” I pursed my lips and inspected the floor as I stepped inside.

  “I’ll take your coat.”

  I stuck my gloves and hat in the pockets of my bubble-coat and handed it over.

  “Thanks,” I replied, still refusing to meet his gaze, scared he’d captivate me more than he already had.

  He laid my things on a bench in the foyer. “I almost thought you weren’t coming.”

  I nodded slightly. “Thank you for the roses. They were beautiful.” I stole a quick glance up at his face.

  Was he blushing? “You’re welcome. I noticed the rose on your diary and took a chance. Are you hungry?”

  “Um.” I hadn’t known what to expect. The note hadn’t gone into details, so I’d munched on some crackers and cheese on the drive. “Yeah.”

  He reached over and took my hand. “Come on, then.”

  His touch surprised me, and I almost pulled back. The warmth sent waves of electricity through me. I didn’t want him to let go, but I didn’t want him touching me, either. There were too many unanswered questions. I still didn’t know if I was angry at him, or if I’d forgiven him.

  Damian led me into the den. The dark curtains were drawn and th
e lights off. The fireplace danced with flames casting a glow over the room. On the floor lay a blanket with a vase of red roses in the middle, and two covered plates of food.

  I squeezed Damian’s hand without thinking. The place looked incredible, like something out of a sappy romance novel.

  “Do you like lobster? You’re not allergic, are you?”

  I looked up at him. The corner of his mouth was turned up, and one of his eyebrows rose.

  “I don’t know, actually,” I breathed. “Did you cook?”

  He laughed. “Take out.”

  Damian led me to the blanket and motioned for me to sit. He lifted out a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass.

  “I…,” I started.

  “Non-alcoholic.” He tipped the bottle over my glass.

  I smiled timidly. “Sure.” Even though the atmosphere of the room was romantic and…well, gorgeous, I still felt like darting out the door, climbing into my car, and making a quick getaway. The wine glass was in my hand before Damian put the bottle back on ice. I took small sips, making sure not to make eye contact. The wineless wine didn’t taste all that great, but it gave me something to do.

  “That good, huh?” Damian asked grinning.

  Keeping my eyes on the floor, I said, “Uh, it’s all right.”

  “Look, I’m not very good at this.” He scratched his head and sighed. “You know, why don’t we eat first—before it gets cold?”

  Damian reached over and lifted the silver lid off my plate. Sitting in front of me, staring at me, was a giant lobster surrounded by rice and asparagus. I’d never had lobster before. I picked up my fork and poked at the hard exterior. It sounded hollow. Damian snickered under his breath as he watched me toy with the dead crustacean. I clicked on it again with my fork, this time harder. Sebastian flopped off my plate onto the blanket. Damian, who had just taken a drink, almost spit it out of his nose. I cleared my throat and lifted my eyes.

  “Sorry.” He bit his lower lip, balled up his hand, and rested his chin on it, covering the smirk on his face.

  After lifting the bottom-dweller back on my plate, I jabbed my fork into a string of asparagus and stuck it in my mouth. Damian did the same. When my vegetables and rice were gone, I was left with the bright red bug. Since my host had yet to break into his, I was on my own to try to figure out how to eat the thing. I wondered if that was his plan—wait it out and have a good laugh.

  I took a sip from my wine glass. My stomach growled. I didn’t want to ask for help, so I took my fork and started poking at the hard shell. A chainsaw would have been helpful, but since I didn’t have one in my pocket, I stabbed the lobster with my fork. It worked—sort of. I broke through the shell and small shards of red flew through the air. Damian chuckled, blue glimmers dancing in the light of the fire.

  “There’s an easier way,” he grinned.

  I glared at him. “Oh?”

  “Want some help?” he asked, trying unsuccessfully to maintain a straight face.

  I sighed, contemplating. No, I didn’t want help, but I had no idea what I was doing.

  Damian didn’t wait for an answer. As soon as he’d asked, he was on his feet and sat down behind me, one leg on either side of mine. “Lobster’s finger food.”

  He wrapped his arms around me, running his hands down my shoulders, all the way to my hands where he placed his over mine. At the same time, his lips moved in next to my ear. I could feel his breath on my neck. Instead of tensing up, my whole body relaxed. Without thinking, I closed my eyes, taking in his touch, his breath, his scent.

  His lips pressed against my neck, and a soft moan escaped my throat. The noise surprised me. My eyes flew open, and without turning my head, darted to him. In the firelight, I thought I saw him smile.

  He used my hands in his to pick up the lobster and pull off its claws. Slowly, he snapped the body in half and started pulling meat out of the tail. He took a small piece and lifted it to my lips. I blushed, opening my mouth. Damian leaned around me as I closed my lips over the white, succulent meat. The buttery goodness melted on my tongue. Apparently the look on my face satisfied him. He kissed my cheek before going back to work. I watched as he pulled the shell apart, alternating between lifting a sliver into my mouth and then his own.

  We sat like that, in front of the fire, with Damian feeding me until I’d had enough. Leaning to the side to face me, he slid his thumb over my lips, upper then lower, then repeated it. His eyes followed his own movements. My abdomen stirred, and I shivered. I’d never wanted him to kiss me more than at that moment.

  He didn’t kiss me. Instead he stood up, handed me my wine glass, then took his and placed it on the end table next to the Victorian-style sofa.

  “Wanna see a trick?” he asked, taking hold of the end of the blanket on the floor.

  “Is this like the table cloth thing? ‘Cause I’ve seen that one before.” I scooted off the blanket and onto the hardwood floor.

  “Something like that.” He grinned and took the corners of the blanket, lifted, and dragged the whole thing behind the loveseat, revealing a clean blanket underneath. “Ta-da!”

  “Amazing. That, I’ve never seen before!” I rolled my eyes, a smile beginning to spread across my face.

  “And that’s what makes it so special.”

  He picked up his wine glass and sat in the middle of the new blanket, beckoning me to join him. I sighed and moved onto the blanket, yet keeping my distance. The talk would be coming. I took comfort in knowing it wasn’t up to me to start the conversation; however, I was probably expected to at least say something. I had no idea what that “something” would be.

  I hated winging it, but what choice did have? It’s not like he sent me a script with the flowers. Surely, he wouldn’t be following any of the tête-à-têtes I’d had with him in my head.

  I crossed my legs and took a sip of wine. Damian sighed and looked at the full glass in his hands. He tapped his fingers against the bowl, making ripples in the liquid. I watched as he licked his lower lip and pulled it between his teeth. Adorable.

  “There’s some, uh, stuff, you should know,” he said, keeping his head bowed. “About what you heard last week. About…”

  The muscles in his jaw clenched. He circled his finger around the rim of his glass, staring at it.

  “I like you, Kate. And,” he shook his head slightly, cleared his throat, and finally looked up. “And because of that, you need to know…I mean, you already know what an ass I can be. But I wasn’t always like that. Not before my mom and Liam died.”

  He dropped his gaze again before he continued.

  “My dad, he, uh, he made all the funeral arrangements by himself. Besides that, he never really dealt with it, you know? It pissed me off, ‘cause throughout the whole damn thing he didn’t say a word to me. Didn’t ask for help or what I thought. He didn’t even shed one goddamn tear over them.”

  Damian’s hand squeezed the stem of his glass, and I worried it would snap in two. His eyes drifted to the fire, then back to the clear liquid. I sat quiet, not wanting to interrupt his monologue; I didn’t know what to say anyway.

  “Liam was his favorite, you know? The apple of Dad’s eye. He was going to be a lawyer, Liam was. Valedictorian. He had just been accepted to Yale. Son of a bitch was a fucking genius. And everybody liked him. Hell, there’s a plaque dedicated to him at the homeless shelter where he volunteered. Even the homeless guys showed up to the funeral.”

  When he spoke, his eyes glazed over, and he never looked directly into mine for more than a second before dropping his gaze.

  “I look a lot like him. But that’s as far as our similarities went, even back then. Dad expected me to take Liam’s place. Fill his giant-ass shoes. Become who he was. Instead, I became everything my brother wasn’t.”

  He paused for a second and squeezed his eyes together. When they opened, they were a darker shade of blue.

  “It hurt, you know? Every time I went to school, I saw Liam. When I came home to an
empty house, I saw Mom in the kitchen and Liam studying at the table. I just couldn’t take it anymore. My dad and I, we’re each other’s punching bags.” Damian let out a soft chuckle before he continued. “He drowns himself in work and gets disappointed when I can’t live up to his expectations for my brother.

  “That’s…that’s what happened at the hospital when you showed up. I never meant for you to hear that.”

  The pain radiated off him like the heat from the burning wood in the fireplace. I wanted to reach out, caress his face. There was anger behind his eyes. And sorrow. So much had been taken from him in so little time.

  “Were you and Liam close?” I asked, hoping he’d look at me.

  He didn’t. “He was my best friend.”

  “If it’s any consolation, your dad’s a good doctor.”

  Damian nodded and looked into my eyes. “He is. One of the best. There’s no one better to take care of you.” He ran his hand over my cheek. His Adam’s apple rose and fell. “Come here.”

  Without thinking, I moved closer. His eyes locked into mine. I sat directly in front of him, my legs folded in front of me. He slid his hand down my cheek, behind my ear, and down the side of my neck. My lips separated as I inhaled, memorizing every touch.

  All thoughts about how he felt about me, what I meant to him, if he was with someone else, were gone. This gorgeous bad-boy just opened himself up to me, allowed me into a part of his soul, and shared a piece of his pain.

  “I’m, uh, sorry for the way I treated you when you drove me home. I…I was an idiot.”

  I nodded. I wanted to tell him it was okay, but nothing came out.

  Damian’s fingertips glided over the base of my neck like a necklace. I swallowed. My body tingled at his touch. He moved his hand down my shoulder, my arm, and to my hip. The look in his eyes reminded me of the intensity of the first time he kissed me. I bit my lip.

  His palm moved over my thigh, and I felt him tug gently under my knee. For a girl with no experience with guys, I instinctively knew what he wanted. I surprised myself when I untucked my leg and scooted forward. He guided it over his and wound it around his waist, drawing me closer as I folded my other leg around him.