Chapter 31 The Final Standoff
THE FINAL STANDOFF
QUINTON
I prefer to believe that most people are good. That most individuals comply with a universally accepted moral compass. Do no harm. Be honest. Help those less fortunate than yourself.
Do no harm.
Harm.
I glance subtly toward Emery as she reads the morning paper. She hasn’t cried in two days. She hasn’t spoken his name. She hasn’t brought him up.
At all.
For the first time in weeks, Damon doesn’t exist. She’s attempting to evict him from her mind.
From her heart. She’s trying. But that effort, that need to wipe him from her memories, falls short.
She’s banished him verbally, exiled him physically, but he continues to dwell in every crevice of her emotions.
In the way she grips her mug a little too tight.
In the way she flips the pages of the New York Times.
In the way her eyes never fully shine. Not since he left.
Harm. He’s caused her so much fucking harm.
I refuse to believe it. I cannot fathom the idea that Damon would run into the arms of another woman. Damon is a lot of things, but he’s loyal to those he loves. And he loves Emery. If he didn’t, perhaps he wouldn’t have left—no matter how misguided his departure.
But Emery saw him. She said that she saw him. And I can’t reconcile the two truths. And I can’t keep telling Emery that perhaps she was mistaken. Her entire foundation, her beliefs, have been rattled. I can’t tell her that she’s wrong. But I can prove it.
Evidence is more powerful than theories.
“Where are you going?” Emery’s wary gaze flickers around my face as I arch over and give her a lingering peck on the temple.
“I need to run a couple of errands.” I take a step back and sigh. “I shouldn’t be too long. I’ll pick dinner up on the way home. Italian?”
Emery nods, her lips twisting up in contemplation. “Have you booked our trip yet?”
I swallow. We shouldn’t be running. We shouldn’t be going away without him. “I’ll have options ready for you this evening.”
She smiles faintly. “Options? How exciting.”
Forcing a contented expression, I kiss her again, because once is never enough, and then head to the car.
Luck is on my side today. On my third attempt to track down Damon’s current living quarters, I find him. Today he’s holed up in Soho. Who knew real estate investments weren’t just for growing one’s wealth portfolio?
I rap my knuckles on the front door, inwardly thanking the doorman for being forthcoming. I have the latest edition of GQ to thank. Who’s going to deny information to the May edition cover story?
“Damon! Open the door. I’d like to speak to you.
” I need to keep my composure this time.
I need to approach him like he’s a wounded rabbit, hurt and afraid.
He still has enough energy to flee. Cutting the edge in my voice, I try again.
“Please, Damon. Just give me two minutes. It’s… It’s important.”
The door handle twists and Damon appears on the threshold. I narrow my eyes at him as I take in his surprisingly clean and put-together appearance. My gaze flits across his freshly pressed button-down shirt, the gel keeping his hair tamed, and his newly trimmed beard.
“You look well.”
A faint blush creeps up Damon’s cheek as he avoids eye contact. “What do you want, Quin?”
“In a rush?” I cock my head, faint jazz music sounding from inside his condo. “Or perhaps you’ve got company?”
“I’m busy, Quinton,” he says. My suspicion intensifies as a distant feminine laugh echoes from inside. Damon’s posture stiffens. “Talk, or I’m closing the door.”
My jaw ticks. “You do have company.”
“What do you want, Quinton?” Damon crosses his arms, glaring at me. “Your two minutes are almost up.”
I lean against the doorframe, my eyes on Damon as he shifts uncomfortably. His weight transfers back and forth between his feet, a telltale sign of anxiety.
"Emery saw you with another woman," I say, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside my chest. "But that can't possibly be true."
Damon's face contorts slightly. "She saw me?"
I can't get a read on his reaction.
"Yes. At a restaurant." My thoughts are interrupted by another laugh from somewhere in the house. My jaw ticks, and I add, "She saw you holding hands with someone. I told her it wasn't possible. That you would never—"
"Never what? Fuck another woman?" Damon scoffs, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. "Please, Quin. You know me better than that. I left, didn't I? I'm no longer tied to one woman. If I wanted, I could have ten women in my bedroom and Emery couldn't say shit."
My ears burn. "You're lying, Damon. You wouldn't do that to Emery. You wouldn't do that to our child."
Damon's resolve wavers for a moment. "Are you sure about that? It seems exactly like something I would do."
"You wouldn’t hurt her like this," I insist. "You love her. I know you love her."
Damon steps closer, his face hardening. "Loved, Quin. Past tense. I’ve moved on. I suggest the two of you move on as well.”
"You selfish little prick," I snap. "You’re throwing away everything you had with her, and for what? A quick fuck? She won’t forgive you for this, Damon. She won’t give you another fucking chance."
Damon laughs bitterly. "Good. I don’t need her forgiveness. What I do need is for the two of you to leave me the fuck alone.”
Anger surges through me, and I can’t take it anymore. I burst through the door, my gaze locking on a woman lounging on Damon’s couch, a glass of wine in her hand. She looks up, surprised to see me.
"Hi, I'm—" she begins to say, but I cut her off as I lunge at Damon, socking him in the face with all my pent-up rage.
"You pathetic bastard!"
Damon stumbles back, momentarily stunned. He stares at me for several loaded beats, shocked yet resigned. Before I can apologize, Damon finds his balance and retaliates, his fist connecting with my nose in a sharp burst of pain.
"Get the fuck out of my house," Damon growls. "You have your answer, Quinton. Now fucking leave."
Blood trickles from my nose, but I don't care. The physical pain is nothing compared to the betrayal I feel. "You’re a coward, Damon. Running away from what matters most. Do you think this is living? This is pathetic."
"Get out," he repeats, his voice cold as ice. "Before I make you."
I back away slowly, glaring at him one last time. "You’re going to regret this. Every single day."
Damon doesn’t respond, silently watching as I leave. I slam the door behind me, the sound echoing down the empty hallway. I pause outside his door, catching my breath.
This is it, isn’t it? There’s nothing else I can do. The man I once thought was my best friend is truly lost.
We lost him.
I step into the townhouse, and the moment the door closes, the weight of everything crashes down on me. My face throbs, a sharp pain in my temples. I can’t believe him. I can’t believe this is fucking happening. What a bastard. What a selfish, careless, bastard.
I barely make it two steps before Emery’s frantic voice pierces through my haze of pain.
“Oh my God! What happened to your face?”
“Nothing.”
I brush past her, heading straight for the kitchen. I grab a cloth, fill it with ice, and press it against my nose.
Emery clicks her tongue, undeterred. She takes the makeshift ice pack from my hands, rearranging it more efficiently.
“Damon did this, didn’t he?” she asks.
I don’t reply. There’s no need. Emery sighs, a sound filled with passive acceptance and a hint of something else. Something sadder.
“I’m having déjà vu,” she says, a small, weak smile playing across her lips. “Do you remember? At the gala? We’ve been before, haven’t we?”
My gut twists. I don’t need to confirm her suspicions; she already knows. The look on my face tells her everything. Damon is indeed sleeping with another woman. She knows. But why isn’t she crying? Why isn’t she curled up in a ball? Have her tears finally run dry?
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m—”
Emery shakes her head, readjusting the ice pack. “So, where are we going for the babymoon? You said I have options. What are they?”
Her shift in topic is jarring. I can see the force of the question.
The strength required to move past such a thick and heavy revelation.
But Emery’s always been strong. And perhaps running isn’t the same as moving on.
Damon said he’s moved on. A part of me still doesn’t believe him.
But my father always said that when someone tells you who they are, believe them.
And so, I decide to reluctantly move on.
“I’ve picked a few local destinations. St. Lucia, if you want the beach.
Nashville, for some good food and culture.
Or a remote cabin by a lake in Oregon.” I reach out, taking her hand in mine when she doesn’t respond.
Whether unable or unwilling, I can’t tell.
“St. Lucia sounds nice, doesn’t it? White sand beaches, clear blue water… ”
She squeezes my hand. “It does. But I-I think I’d prefer the cabin.” She pauses, adding meekly, “I think we both deserve some peace and quiet.”
Mostly peace.
“We do, don’t we?” I sigh, bringing her into my arms as I set the ice pack to the side. The tension slowly eases as we cling silently to each other and the idea of a different kind of future. A future without him.
“Are you going to take me hiking again?” Emery asks, her voice softening with the memory.
I lift a brow, casting her a small smile. “If I recall, you weren’t a fan.”
“It was snowing, Quin. It’s warmer now. I think I might enjoy it. Maybe… Maybe I’ll like it.”
“Maybe you will,” I whisper into her hair as she leans her head against my shoulder.
“We’re going to be okay, Quin.” Her grip on me tightens as she clutches onto stability, onto reality. “I… I think we’re going to be okay.”
I want to believe her. I want to hold on to her words like a lifeline. But doubt gnaws at me. We can say that we’re okay. We can say that everything will be fine. But we’re acting. Putting on a performance of a lifetime.
Nothing is fine. Nothing is okay. But there’s only so much I can do. There are only so many shards of fractured glass that I can piece back together.
If this is the bed Damon wishes to lie in, then that’s it. There’s nothing left. I’ve tried to fix it. I’ve tried to mend Emery’s broken heart, but if I can’t bring Damon back, then I’m going to have to fill the void.
“We’re going to be okay, darling,” I whisper, breathing in the scent of muddled hope. “We’ve got each other.”
“And that’s enough.”
But is it? Will I be enough? Or will Emery always feel like a part of her is missing?
No. I can’t think like that.
I can’t manifest such a horrid future.