Love Always, Damian

by D. Nichole King

“Hi Blake,” I answer.

  “Hey babe. What’s the verdict?”

  Three dates and a handful of kisses don’t exactly qualify for him to call me “babe,” but I don’t protest. We’ve been friends since I enrolled in the marine biology undergrad program at Florida State, and now we’re both working on master’s degrees. Blake is doing the Australia study too. And he wants me there.

  “I don’t have one yet,” I say.

  “Have you talked to him?” he asks.

  “That’s what I’m about to do. I don’t know, though, Blake. What if he can’t handle it?”

  “Then you’ll be on the first flight out of Cairns. It’s gonna be okay, Elizabeth.”

  “You don’t know Damian,” I mutter.

  “And neither do you anymore, right? Give the guy a chance. He might surprise you.”

  I tap my nails on the steering wheel. Blake’s right. Damian deserves a shot to prove himself, and maybe I’m not giving him enough credit. Maybe he has changed.

  Only one way to find out.

  I sigh into the phone.

  “I’ll call you later,” I tell him, peering up at the house again.

  “He deserves to hear it from you,” he assures me. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  “I hope so. Bye, Blake.”

  I press end and take a deep, cleansing breath, keeping my gaze focused on the front door. Damian is expecting me, and I’m technically five minutes late. Even so, I sit in my car a little longer, debating with myself again.

  What if…

  In the back of my mind, I’m convinced I should turn around and go back to my parents’ house. Call my professor and see if there’s another study I can participate in closer to Tallahassee. Even Miami would work.

  Yeah, that’s totally what I should do.

  But…

  Three words: Great. Barrier. Reef.

  I sigh for the millionth time. Let’s just see how the morning goes.

  ~*~

  I hike the strap of my purse over my shoulder and cross the yard to the front porch. After four years away, the prospect of seeing the man I fell in love with has my heart thumping wildly in my chest. I’d like to say it’s nerves over what we need to discuss—if it gets to that—but I’ve always been a terrible liar.

  It’s more than that.

  I should have checked my makeup and hair in the car before I got out. Now, my only option is to comb through it with my fingers and hope for the best. For the most part, I look the same as I did the last time we saw each other. Same long, blonde hair that I curl with the fattest curling iron available. Same arched eyebrows, thick lashes, and pale blue eyes. The biggest difference is in my hips, boobs, and thighs. They’ve filled out since then, and I find myself worrying what Damian will think.

  Ridiculous, yet…ugh.

  Here goes nothing.

  I raise my hand and press the doorbell. Taking a step back, I stare at the door, wondering if my heart will ever slow down.

  And then it opens.

  Standing there in a t-shirt and mesh basketball pants is…Dylan Aoki? Damn, I haven’t seen him in forever. Well, since Liam’s funeral.

  Dude hasn’t changed much. Dark almond shaped eyes and pitch black hair that sticks up on top. He used to tip the ends, but not so much anymore.

  “Elizabeth? Elizabeth Van Zee?” he says, smiling.

  I nod. “Yeah. How’ve you been?”

  He opens the screen door for me and ushers me inside. “Good. What’re you doing here?”

  “I, uh, I’m supposed to be meeting with Damian this morning. Does he—” I scan the living room for traces of leftover immaturity—“live here?”

  Dylan breathes out a laugh. “We’re roommates.”

  Ah, that makes sense. Like Liam with Dylan’s older brother, Damian and Dylan had been best friends before the accident. I’m glad they seem to have reconnected after Kate’s funeral.

  Then, suddenly, Dylan frowns. “Um, he was expecting you?”

  “Yeah, I mean, that’s what I thought from our phone conversation yesterday. Is he not home?”

  Dylan scratches his head while twisting around to look behind him. “Uh…” He drops his hand and turns back to me. “Yeah, he’s home. I’ll go get him. You can sit if you like,” he says, motioning to the sofa before rounding the corner into the hallway beside it.

  O—kay.

  I sit on the edge of the cushion and hear Dylan knocking on a door.

  “Hey man,” he says. “Elizabeth Van Zee is here to see you.”

  There’s some inaudible grumbling and quick shuffling around. Then I hear the soft click of the door as it opens, and Damian’s voice filters into the living room even though he’s speaking low to Dylan.

  “Shit, man. I’ll be right out. Keep her busy or something.”

  Not a good sign. What little hope I had is rapidly diminishing.

  Dylan comes back in, and I smile at him as if I’d heard nothing.

  “He’ll be out in a minute. Can I get you something to drink?” he asks.

  “Oh, no thanks. I’m fine.”

  Dylan takes a seat in an armchair. “I heard you moved to, like, Florida or somewhere.”

  “Yep. I’m studying marine biology down there.”

  “Impressive.”

  “How about you?” I say, making small talk.

  “Pre-med, same as Damian.”

  Well, that’s interesting.

  “Damian’s doing pre-med, huh?”

  “Yeah, some sort of compromise he had with the doctor. Three years later, he’s never bothered to switch to anything else.”

  “Three years? He’s not a senior?”

  “Nah.” Dylan shakes his head. “After Kate died, he didn’t do much. Months later, his dad convinced him to enroll fall semester. Dr. Lowell bought this house and asked if I’d room with him. Not a bad offer.”

  “Not at all,” I agree, and as I say it, someone steps out of the hallway, but it’s not Damian.

  I shouldn’t care. Really, I shouldn’t. I have no right to care. So, why can’t I breathe at the sight of her doing an obvious walk of shame?

  Booze. Girls. Nothing has changed with him.

  I make up my mind then and there. I’m not telling him. I’m not going to Australia.

  The girl, who is barely able to hold herself up, is a tiny thing, probably only a freshman or sophomore. Not legally old enough to be as hung over as I can tell she is. Her hair is a ratted mess, half in a ponytail, half strung out everywhere else. And last night’s party clothes are scarcely covering her frame. Her top is on inside out, the zipper of her skirt off-center, and she’s carrying her underwear instead of wearing them.

  That’s fantastic.

  I glance away when I see the embarrassment flash across her face, her cheeks reddening as she takes in her audience. Quietly, I clear my throat and stare in front of me, wishing I’d stayed home like my gut told me to.

  The sound of Damian’s voice reaches low into my abdomen, and I hate how it still has that sort of power over me.

  “I’ll be right back, Elle,” he says softly from the hallway.

  I feel his gaze pinned on me, but I don’t meet it. Instead, I force a smile and nod. “That’s fine.”

  “No, dude,” Dylan says, standing. “I’ll take her home. Elizabeth came to talk with you, so you should do that.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Dylan help the girl as she wobbles into the kitchen. Damian has no idea how I feel about him, and especially after what I just witnessed, I really need to pull myself together and pretend his behavior doesn’t bother me. Because it shouldn’t. Because I shouldn’t still be in love him.

  He walks around the furniture, and his socks come into my line of sight. “Sorry about that. I overslept.”

  I gather my strength and lift my head. “No problem. It’s”—I swallow—“good to see you.”

  Too good. Damn, if it’s possible, he’s more attractive now than when I last saw him. Not as skinny and
more…sturdy, I guess. Like he’s spent more time in the gym or playing basketball, which he used to do a lot before he gave that up too.

  But what really catches me are those sapphire eyes of his, darker than mine and oh so powerful. I’m glad he doesn’t know I see those beautiful blue irises every single day, and maybe that’s part of the reason I can’t get him out of my head.

  “It’s good to see you too, Elle.”

  Damn my heart.

  I inhale, the air not fully filling my lungs. I can’t let him do this to me. Not when this will be the last time I ever see him. I’m leaving to go home to Florida tomorrow, and I’m not looking back. Out of sight, out of mind…sort of. As much as it can be.

  “You hungry? I thought we could grab some breakfast somewhere,” I suggest. No way can I stay here, on his turf. At this point, I want to eat, say goodbye, and forget I even considered asking him for this favor.

  “Famished,” he replies. “There’s a little diner down the street that serves the best sausage gravy. Almost better than my mom’s.”

  His mention of Nora like that makes me smile. Maybe he’s at least moved into a better place with regard to her death.

  “Sounds promising,” I say.

  I’m not hungry, but if I up and leave, he might figure something’s going on, and I definitely do not want him swinging by my parents’ house to find out. I need to be smooth, calm, and collected.

  Then get the hell away from him and these condemning palpitations in my chest.

  “Come on, my car is in the garage,” he offers, the corner of his mouth tugging up and showing off a dimple.

  Liam had them too. In fact, they’re what made me talk to Liam in the first place. Unlike Liam, Damian’s are far from innocent, yet the dimples give that impression, though, and they, like his eyes, his voice, have the power to pull me in.

  I can’t ride with him.

  “I should drive separately. I don’t have much time today.”

  Damian crosses his arms. His gaze washes over me, and the sexy grin falls from his face. He takes a few seconds to respond. When he does, it reminds me that I’ve known him too long, and he knows me too well. “You didn’t drive all this way to spend a thirty-minute meal with me. What’s going on?”

  My palms are clammy. I have no explanation to give him, so I agree to his riding arrangements. “Nothing. We can take your car.” I stand up, wipe my hands on my jeans, and grab my purse off the sofa. “Lead the way.”

  He eyes me skeptically. He doesn’t buy my response, but he walks to the kitchen. I follow him out the back door that leads into the garage, and I’m surprised to see he still has the same black BMW he’s had since his sixteenth birthday—a gift from his father.

  He opens the passenger door for me, and I thank him. Nora made sure to teach her sons chivalry because, she once told me, “real gentlemen are rare treasures.” I doubt she’d be pleased with how Damian uses her advice.

  Damian backs out of the driveway, and as he glances over his shoulder, I see the wheels turning in his head. The muscles in his jaw tense, and there’s a heavy glint in his eye. My being here is probably as awkward for him as it is for me, though for different reasons.

  Because he never loved me.

  “How are your folks?” he asks when we’re on the road.

  My parents are older, and four and a half years ago, my dad had a massive stroke. He lost the ability to walk, even talk for a while. Physical therapy has helped some, and he can use a walker around the house, but it exhausts him. Damian was there for me when it all happened, and for that I’m thankful.

  “They’re okay, I guess. Mom’s tired, and she had to hire a part-time in-home nurse to help take care of Dad.”

  Damian nods. “I’m sorry, Elle. That sucks.”

  “It’s life,” I say, and as soon as I do, silence drops over us like a wave. I break the surface first. “How about your dad? Things good between the two of you?”

  I ask because after Liam and Nora died, Damian and Jackson were constantly at each other’s throats. Instead of mourning their loss together, they grew further apart. But from what I understand, Kate Browdy helped bridge the gap.

  “We meet for dinner at Hickory Park every Thursday night.”

  I smile at that. “That’s awesome.”

  We’re at the diner now, and we both order coffee. Damian gets sausage gravy over their advertised made-this-morning-fresh buttermilk biscuits, while I settle for a waffle with fruit.

  It’s a little tense between us, and since I’m not going to ask him the favor I originally planned on, I don’t have much to say. He waits for me, though, sipping at his coffee with two creams and twice the tablespoons of sugar.

  I unzip my purse and pull out a package of natural sweetener. I sprinkle it in and leave out the cream.

  “That’s different,” he says, noticing. “You used to dump so much shit in your coffee that it ceased to be coffee.”

  I snicker because it’s true. I probably single-handedly paid someone’s yearly wage at Coffee-Mate. “I guess I got used to the taste of the coffee itself.”

  A few moments of silence passes again before Damian breaks it. “You gonna tell me why you wanted to see me?”

  No.

  I shrug. “I was in town and thought—”

  “You’d drop by and feed me a line of bullshit?” His eyebrows quirk up when he says it, his blue stare holding me in place and trapping me there. He won’t let go until I fess up.

  “I…I had some plans but they got cancelled at the last minute, so what I came here to talk about doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Nothing but truth.

  Unfortunately, he’s not dropping it.

  “How did your plans involve me in the first place?”

  “They…didn’t. I mean, not completely. I mean…” I’m flustered. I don’t have an answer, and I am not—not—telling him what I originally wanted. “It was stupid, so…” I take a drink to avoid answering.

  Thankfully, our food arrives before he can respond.

  “Can I get you anything else?” our server asks, and I shake my head.

  “We’re good, thanks,” Damian says.

  “Enjoy your meal.”

  “I think I’m gonna go wash my hands,” I say. I need a minute to reorganize my thoughts and figure out how the hell I’m going to get out of his interrogation.

  I begin to slide out of the booth, Damian’s gaze hard on me. Believe me, I understand how weird this must be to him. Four years of nothing, then BAM! I show up because I want to ask how he’s been? I wouldn’t buy that story, either.

  When I reach the end of the booth, my purse falls to the floor. It’s still open from when I pulled out my packet of herbal sweetener, and now the contents are spread out on the linoleum. Damian scoots over to pick up the items beside him. He hands me stuff: old receipts, lip balm, two pens, a data stick.

  And…

  “What’s this?” he asks, picking the picture up off the floor.

  No. No, no, no, no.

  Horrified, my cheeks burn red. He studies it, recognition creeping into his face. His lips separate, and his eyebrows pinch together.

  Shit, shit, shit. I shouldn’t have come here today. This, this is exactly what I didn’t want him to find out.

  He flips the photo around so it faces me.

  Bright blue eyes stare back at me, the exact same hue as Damian’s. Long, blonde hair that frames her face falls around her shoulders, and her smile, that sweeter than sugar smile, pushes her cheekbones up so high she squints. I love this picture of Lia—taken only last month when we went to the beach in search of seashells.

  I’m caught.

  I swallow. “My daughter.”

  Chapter 6

  Damian

  Daughter?

  I’m in shock. Ellie’s face softens as she waits for me to piece it together, but deep down, I’ve already guessed. I’m just not ready to admit it to myself.

  My gaze lowers to the age written
on the back: three and a half years old. I turn the picture back over in my palm. She’s Ellie’s daughter all right: same blonde hair, same heart-shaped face, same small nose.

  But I don’t see Ellie in this little girl.

  No, I see my mother.

  After Mom died, I spent countless hours flipping through the picture albums she kept. Photos of Liam and me growing up. Her and Dad’s wedding day. Her childhood. I’d done it because I never wanted to forget.

  And this picture in my hand…is her.

  I’m transfixed as I do the math in my head. The visual confirmation isn’t quite enough, even with my own eyes staring back at me.

  Nine months plus three and a half years puts Ellie and me together the night before Kate’s burial. May—exactly four years ago.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  Ellie studies me, blinking. She’s hoping I won’t figure it out. Or refuse to believe it. And hell, part of me doesn’t. This is too damn big to wrap my mind around.

  “What’s her name?” I ask.

  Ellie sits back down in the booth, her trip to the bathroom no longer a priority. “Lia.”

  “After Liam?”

  “Yeah.” She drops her head, and under her breath she mumbles something I don’t catch. “What was that, Elle?” I ask.

  She hesitates before she glances up at me. “I said I also named her after Kate. Because…”

  I lean back against the booth. She doesn’t have to pick up where she trailed off. The name is because of when and why Lia had been conceived. Finally, we’re getting to the point of Ellie’s visit. This little matter she hid from me. What the hell?

  I return my focus to the picture as Ellie finishes, “Lia Kathryn is her full name.”

  “Lia Kathryn what?” I doubt our daughter has my last name.

  And I’m right.

  “Van Zee,” she answers. Then she lets out a giggle. “I call her Lia-Kat, though.”

  I glare at her, and not only because it’s a stupid nickname. This whole conversation is sinking in and getting too damn real. “Like a house pet?”

  “No. Like, short for Kathryn, Damian.” Ellie’s shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. “I guess I thought it fit, considering…”

  I don’t want to delve into where this is heading. I understand why she doesn’t straight-up call her Lia, but Lia-Kat? Why not gut me all the way through and call her Kate? It’s not like Ellie ever knew her.