25. Roman
Roman
I wake up to an empty bed, the sheets cold on the side Damon was in last night.
For a second, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, my body sore in ways I didn’t even know were possible. The memories of last night hit me like a truck—his hands, his mouth, the way he made me feel like I was the only person in the world.
And now he’s gone.
A hollow ache settles in my chest, and I grit my teeth as I sit up, running a hand through my hair. What the hell did I expect? For Damon Ward to stick around and spoon me until morning? The guy’s a fucking hurricane. He blows through everything, leaving destruction in his wake, and I should’ve known I’d be no different.
But fuck, it still stings.
I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom, wincing as the soreness in my ass reminds me exactly why I’m feeling like I just got hit by a freight train. The shower is hot, the steam filling the small space as I let the water wash over me. It should be relaxing, but my mind won’t shut up.
Maybe I was just a distraction. A game. Something to pass the time until he got bored.
Why did he leave? Did I do something wrong? Or is this just who he is—someone who takes what he wants and walks away when he’s had his fill?
I lean my forehead against the tile, my hands braced against the wall as the water pounds down on me. I feel fucking stupid. Stupid for letting him in, for thinking that maybe he wanted more than just a one-time thing.
And what the hell does that say about me? I barely know him. I’ve spent more time hating him than anything else, and yet… I let him in.
Why the fuck did I let him in?
When I finally step out of the shower, the ache in my chest is heavier than the one in my legs. I wrap a towel around my waist, dragging another through my hair as I open the bathroom door.
And my heart fucking soars.
Damon’s standing in my room, looking completely unbothered, with two coffees in a tray in one hand and a brown bag of what smells like breakfast sandwiches in the other. He’s changed out of his clothes from last night, his dark curls a little more disheveled, but he looks… good. Too fucking good for someone who just disappeared on me.
“Morning, Hotshot,” he says as he puts everything down on my nightstand, his smirk faint but still enough to make my stomach twist.
The sight of him sends a rush of relief through me, but it’s quickly followed by anger. “You left.”
His smirk immediately drops, and his green eyes go wide for a second before softening. “I know,” he says, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry. I should’ve woken you, but I didn’t want to. You looked… peaceful.”
I snort, crossing my arms. “Yeah, well, waking up alone wasn’t exactly peaceful.”
He winces, and then his gaze drops to the floor. “I didn’t mean to disappear. I just—” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t have my meds with me. I had to go back to my place and grab them.”
I freeze, my gaze snapping to meet his. “Meds?”
Damon shifts on his feet, still rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s… a thing. Just antidepressants and shit, nothing you need to worry about.” His eyes flick to mine, wary, like he’s waiting for me to judge him.
I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know he was on any meds, didn’t know he needed them. It’s not like he ever struck me as the kind of guy who’d open up about that sort of thing. But the way he’s looking at me now like he’s waiting for me to pull back or push him away… it guts me.
“Damon,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“It’s fine,” he says quickly, his smirk creeping back onto his face like armor. “I’m good. Got what I needed, and I’m here now, so—”
I don’t let him finish. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I drop the towel from my hand and close the distance between us, slinging my arms around his neck and kissing him.
He stiffens for half a second before he melts into the kiss, his hands coming up to grip my waist. His lips are warm, and the slight taste of coffee on them makes me smile against his mouth. When I pull back, his green eyes are wide, a rare look of surprise etched on his face.
“What was that for?” he asks, his voice a little breathless.
I shrug, smirking as I brush a strand of hair out of his eyes. “For coming back.”
He stares at me for a moment before a slow smile spreads across his face, the kind that makes my chest tighten. “Told you, Hotshot. You’re mine. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words shouldn’t make my heart race, but they do. I roll my eyes to cover it, and step back. “You’re such a possessive asshole.”
Damon’s smile widens, and he shakes his head like he can’t believe me. “You should know that about me by now,” he mutters, his tone affectionate.
I can’t help but roll my eyes again and he laughs, the sound low and warm, and it’s like the weight on my chest starts to lift. He didn’t leave me—not really. He came back, and that’s enough for now.
“Come on,” Damon says, tugging me toward the bed. “Coffee’s getting cold.”
We sit down, the paper bag between us, and he hands me one of the cups. The coffee is hot and strong, exactly what I need, and the bag holds a couple of breakfast sandwiches that are still warm.
As we eat, the tension eases, replaced by a comfortable silence. I don’t bring up the meds, and he doesn’t push me to. For now, this is enough.
By the time we head downstairs, I’m already bracing myself for the shitstorm that’s bound to hit. The house is always chaos in the mornings, but today, it feels like a fucking setup.
The second we step into the kitchen, all eyes are on us. Killian, Thorn, Luca, and the rest of the idiots are scattered around, eating, arguing, or half-asleep with coffee mugs in hand. But the moment Damon and I walk in, the noise dies down, and everyone turns to look at us.
Killian’s the first to break the silence, his grin so wide it’s a miracle his face doesn’t split. “Well, well, look who finally decided to join us. You get a good night’s sleep, Bishop? Or were you too busy keeping the entire fucking house awake?”
My face heats instantly, and Damon just smirks like he’s been waiting for this.
“Better sleep than some, I’m sure,” Damon says smoothly, and I fucking wish I had a way to shut him the fuck up.
Killian barks out a laugh, slapping his thigh. “Yeah, no shit. I think the whole damn house knows how you two slept.”
Luca snickers, leaning back in his chair with a wide grin. “I’m pretty sure I heard something about ‘fuck yes’ around 2 a.m. That ring a bell, Roman?”
“Nah, sounded more like ‘fuck, harder!’ to me,” Damien says and honestly, I want to kill them.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, running a hand down my face.
“Don’t forget the banging,” Thorn chimes in from the fridge, his head half buried in it. “Not the fun kind, though. Sounded like the headboard was trying to break free.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” I snap, though the heat creeping up my neck probably kills any chance of authority.
“Oh, come on, Bishop,” Damien says, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “We’re just happy for you. It’s about damn time you got laid. And judging by the noise, it was good.”
Killian turns back to the stove, but his shoulders are shaking with laughter. “Honestly, I’m just impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you, Rome.”
I glare at him, my fists clenching at my sides. “Kill—”
He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Hey, I’m not judging. If anything, I’m proud. You finally stopped being a miserable bastard for five minutes.”
Damon leans against the counter, crossing his arms like he’s enjoying the show. “You’re all way too invested in our sex life.”
Luca raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, so it’s a ‘sex life’ now? Not just a one-time thing?”
Damon shrugs, his green eyes flicking to me. “That depends on your boy here.”
All eyes turn to me, and I suddenly wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole. “Seriously,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “I’m going to kill all of you.”
“And yet, you love us,” Killian says, grinning as he plates another pancake.
I flip him off, grabbing a piece of toast from the counter and shoving it in my mouth to avoid answering.
Thorn shakes his head as he peels his banana. “Y’all are gonna make breakfast really awkward from now on, aren’t you?”
“That depends,” Damon says, his smirk never fading. “On how much noise we make next time.”
Thorn groans, muttering something under his breath as he leaves the kitchen, while Killian laughs so hard he doubles over.
“You’re an asshole,” I tell Damon, but there’s no heat in my words.
“And you’re blushing,” he says, stepping closer so only I can hear him. “Cute.”
I glare at him, but the way he’s looking at me—with that smug grin and those piercing green eyes—makes my stomach flip.
Damon chuckles beside me, his hand brushing mine briefly, and the simple touch sends a spark of warmth through me. He doesn’t care about the teasing—if anything, he thrives on it—and that confidence makes it easier for me to breathe.
“Are you guys done making this awkward?” Eli asks as he walks in, looking like he just rolled out of bed. “Some of us actually have shit to do today.”
“Like what?” Killian asks, grinning. “Laundry? Or are you finally gonna clean up your side of the house?”
Eli flips him off, grabbing a protein bar from the counter. “I’ve got class, asshole.”
“Don’t we all,” Thorn mutters as he walks back in with his bag.
“Alright, everyone,” Killian says. “We’ve got class in an hour, and I don’t want to hear anyone bitching about being late because they were too busy roasting Bishop.”
The others groan but eventually turn back to their breakfasts, the noise level picking up again as they resume their conversations. I glance at Damon, who’s still leaning against the counter, his smirk firmly in place.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask, my voice low.
“Absolutely.”
“You’re a dick.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.”
I roll my eyes and grab my bag from the corner and glance at Damon, who’s still watching me with that infuriatingly smug look. “You coming, or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” he says, downing the rest of his coffee.
Killian whistles as we head toward the door. “Have fun, lovebirds! Don’t break any desks!”
I flip him off without looking back, and Damon laughs softly as we step outside. “That guy’s a menace,” I mutter, adjusting the strap of my bag.
“He’s not wrong, though,” Damon says, his voice low. “You did sound really good last night.”
I glare at him, but the heat in my cheeks betrays me. “Shut up, Ward.”
He grins, falling into step beside me as we head toward his bike. Despite the teasing, despite the chaos of the morning, there’s a strange kind of peace between us.
And for once, I don’t feel like running from it.