Chapter 8 The Double Life
THE DOUBLE LIFE
EMERY
I continue to live a double life. It’s a life that’s more authentic, more honest, but I’m still hiding who I am, who I’ve become, and who I love.
I hate it. The secrecy. It’s unfair. I’ve spent my whole life thinking I wasn’t capable of feeling love or joy or excitement.
But they’ve changed that. My outlook. My belief system.
Some days, I wonder if they were to vanish, disappear, whether or not I’d fall back into the darkness.
I would hope I didn’t. I would hope that parts of my conscious and unconscious mind would hold dear the lessons I’ve learned, the feelings I’ve felt, the love I’ve given and been showered with in return.
A droplet of melting snow falls on the apple of my cheek—a reminder that change is the only constant.
Slush brushes against my boots as Damon and I walk side by side through Central Park.
It’s not as bustling as it is in the Spring.
The weather is cold, the clouds are gray, but I can feel a sliver of warmth from the sun that lingers just behind the fading storm.
Damon’s hand innocently brushes against mine as we continue down our usual path, and I resist the urge to reach out and lace my fingers through his. Unfair, as I said.
This is as close as we can get in public.
How ridiculous. We’ve passed dozens of people, and hardly one person has stared at us with speculation.
Everyone is so preoccupied with their own lives, their own struggles, that they don’t notice us.
They don’t register that Damon Cavanaugh is walking past them.
They don’t care because they’re not looking.
But we still have to worry, we still have to care. For Quin, for his career. For Damon, for his privacy. And for me, so that my happiness doesn’t shatter under the scrutiny of public opinion.
I wish I could hold both of their hands. Enjoy the peace and quiet of their inconvenient love. I wish I could kiss them. For the whole world to see. But I can’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. So I’ll simply cherish these moments for what they are: pretty little promises of a love worth fighting for.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Damon hums, and I glance toward him, his eyes a beautiful shade of brown, like the earth that keeps me grounded. “Anything on your mind?” He swallows, suddenly nervous. “Are you still upset with us about…?”
I can’t be mad at them for taking me to Hades. Whether I like it or not, it’s the only public place where we can be ourselves. The fact that it’s owned by Amir is simply an unfortunate side effect, one that I have no control over. He can tease me all he wants for knowing my secrets, but I know his.
We’re in a cold war. A move from either side and we both lose. Quin and Damon were right; Club Hades is our safe space. I’m not embarrassed. I have to remember that.
I sigh, shaking my head. “No, of course not.”
Damon frowns. “Then what is it?”
“I…” A woman passes us, jogging, her gaze narrowed at Damon. I bite the inside of my cheek as she does a double take before quickly looking away. Defeat washes over me. “That. I hate that. I just… I just wish we could hold hands. Is that too much to ask for?”
A small smile plays on his face, and he hesitates for a moment before holding out his hand. “Take it.”
I stop walking. “There are people around. You know we can’t…”
Damon lets out a slightly exaggerated sigh as he reaches for the hood of my jacket, pulling it over my head. He rewraps my wool scarf around my neck and face, covering most of my mouth and nose.
“There,” he says with a mischievous smirk as he links his fingers through mine. “Now you’re practically invisible.”
I chuckle at his childlike solution. “You’re ridiculous,” I mutter, but there’s an undeniable warmth growing in my chest at his silly gesture. “If anyone should be in disguise, it’s you. I’m not the one the paparazzi follow.”
“But they should. I’d pay millions for photographs of you.”
“Oh, shut up.” I nudge him playfully as we continue to walk in comfortable silence for a few moments. “How… How are you sleeping these days?” I finally ask, breaking the quiet. “You haven’t had a nightmare all week.”
Damon's expression shifts, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools his features. “I’m fine.” His voice is steady, calm, but it’s lacking his usual confidence. My heart aches for him. “Better, I think.”
I study him for a few seconds, knowing he’s not being fully honest with me. There are ripples of tension under his feigned facade, and I hope that he heals. I hope he lets himself heal. “Are you sure?”
He hesitates, his gaze flickering away for a fleeting moment before returning to meet mine. “The dream I keep having… I think… I think it’s trying to tell me something.”
I swallow. “Tell you what?”
The tendons in his neck tighten. “She never got a proper funeral.”
A chill zaps through my spine. “Oh.”
“She had no next of kin,” Damon murmurs, ashamed. “She was all alone in this world, and…and she left it all alone too.”
“Where…” I clear phlegm from my throat. “Do you know what happened to her body?”
God, it’s such a loaded question. Her body. The woman who saved my life. I never even thought about it. What did they do with her? Cremate her? Spread her ashes? Or did they add her to the growing graveyard on Hart Island?
Damon shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe… Maybe Quin knows.”
This conversation can quickly take a harmful turn.
Quin and Damon have agreed to keep this topic off the table for the sake of peace and forgiveness, but I know Damon is still angry.
He’s angry at himself. At Quin. At Charles.
At his own deceased father. Lies breed contempt.
He’s trying to end the cycle. Slowly. Painfully. But he’s trying.
“I-I can find out for you,” I add softly, brushing my thumb against his palm. “If you want. I can find out.”
His jaw tenses. “You don’t need to—”
“I know I don’t need to, Damon. But I want to. I want to help you. And I-I think she deserves a proper farewell.” My heart quickens between my lungs. Her heart. “She deserves a proper burial.”
Damon’s gaze softens with a flicker of gratitude. “Thank you, Emery. I-I appreciate that.”
I squeeze his hand gently, offering him a small smile. “Of course.”
For a moment, we simply stand there, lost in our own thoughts. But then, Damon exhales slowly, as if releasing a burden he’s carried for far too long. But it’s not entirely gone. It lingers. I can feel its presence.
“Let’s go home,” he says with artificial cheeriness. “Quin’s probably done with dinner.”
I’ve come to enjoy washing the dishes. It’s such a mundane task, but it brings me comfort, a sense of normal.
Warm water cascades over my hands as I scrub plate after plate, mug after mug.
The warmth spreads to my whole body as Quin's arms wrap around my waist from behind.
I melt into the familiarity of his touch as he presses a gentle kiss to the slope of my neck.
I lean back into his muscular frame. My home.
"You know we have a dishwasher, don't you?" he murmurs against my skin.
I chuckle, the tension in my shoulders easing. "I do, but I find it soothing."
Quin's hands roam across my waist, his touch sending shivers down my spine as he peppers kisses across my shoulders. "Is this soothing too, darling?"
"More like distracting.” I let out a contented hum, sinking further into his embrace. "Where's Damon?"
"Reading by the fireplace. Where else?"
A soft sigh escapes my lips as Quin's hips press forward slightly, and comfort is slowly replaced with desire. It’s insane.
How easily my body responds to his touch.
How my body aches for more friction. I want to give in to him, let him take me to heaven.
But I stop myself, the conversation I had with Damon lingering in the back of my mind.
Swallowing, I turn off the water and dry my hands on a nearby rag before spinning around. Quin’s arms remain wrapped securely around me. His grin is infectious, enough to sweep me off my feet, but I steel myself.
"Can I ask you an uncomfortable question?"
Quin's expression sharpens, his brows furrowing slightly as he searches my face for any hint of distress. "Of course, darling.” His fingers trace sedating circles on my back. "You can ask me anything."
"It's about Alison," I begin hesitantly. He frowns. “Do you… Do you know what happened to her body?”
Quin stiffens. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s not me.” I swallow, gaze flicking over Quin’s shoulder. “Damon wants to know. He wants… Well, we both think it would be nice to give her a proper funeral.”
“I see.” Quin nods, his features uneasy, not fully transparent. “I believe she was in the ambulance en route to the hospital when she passed away.” He pauses. “After the…transplant, I think she may have been cremated.”
“What do you think happened to her remains?”
Guilt crosses his features. “I’m not sure. I-I wanted to find out but…but I couldn’t risk exposing Damon and our families.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “But I can ask around the hospital. The remains may have been passed down to the state.”
The thought slips past my lips with no authorization. “Or thrown away.”
Quin's face pales. “It’s possible. Jonathan had friends in high places. Based on the lack of accident or police report, I’d assume he paid off everyone involved.”
My gut clenches. “I’m surprised he even called an ambulance to begin with.”
Quin swallows. “It wasn’t Jonathon who called an ambulance.”
I narrow my eyes.
Quin runs a hand across the nape of his neck. “I believe it was a random pedestrian. A tourist.”
“Jesus…”
“People do crazy things for their children,” Quin sighs, and I can hear the regret in his voice. “It took me years before I could look my father in the eyes.”
I glance over Quin’s shoulder toward the living room. “He tried to protect his son, and in the end, he ended up hurting him even more.”
Quin's shoulders sag. "Sometimes, the things we do out of love end up causing the most pain.”
“Hey.” I reach out, laying a hand on his arm, hoping to comfort him. "You did what you thought was right, given the circumstances. I think… I think you did what I would’ve done.”
Quin's jaw tenses with unspoken pain as his gaze searches mine for something I can't quite figure out. "I'll find out as much as I can before I go to Texas next week.”
I lift a brow. "Texas?"
He replies too quickly, the words spilling out almost rushed. "I have a study I need to observe there. I'll only be gone for a day or so."
I ignore the nagging feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach. Or at least I try.
"I see..." I hum. “Well, I hope you get the results you were looking for.”
Quin swallows, giving me a forced smile that does little to alleviate my suspicions. "I’m going to go upstairs and run us a bath. Something tells me we all need to relax a little.”
I return the smile, though it doesn't quite reach my eyes. Just like his. I hate that I can feel the tension between us. I want to let it go. Let it fade back into unblinking love. We both know better than to dwell on the what-ifs or could-bes. They tend to fester and grow into something more.
“That sounds nice,” I say, refusing to succumb to the fear of the unknown. “I’ll be up shortly.”
Quin squeezes my hand, and disappears upstairs.
I sigh and turn on the faucet again, but no matter how many dishes I wash, I can’t scrub away the feeling that there's more to this trip than he's letting on.
But for now, I'll trust him, just like he's trusted me.
I hope our trust is like a diamond. The real thing. Not an imitation.