“I just,” he crushes his eyes closed, his expression pained.
“You do love her.”
“Always have,” he says. “Always, I knew when we were fourteen.”
“Are you in love with her now?”
“I’m trying not to be.”
“So, you can live without her?”
“Fuck no, but—”
“Can you watch her stare at another man like he is her whole world? Can you watch her pledge her life to another man as she marries him?”
“Jesus Christ, Nat,” he says. “What the hell is happening?”
“The reckoning of too many years of denial,” I take another long sip of my drink, the words coming easier. “You’ve suspected it for years. You wanted to know, and now you do. If you can’t pull the trigger…then bury the gun in a place you’ll never find it again.”
“Nat,” he slides closer to me, patting my knee as the stupid tequila gets my voice shaking.
“Look, Damon, you might think I’m projecting my own shit, and maybe I am, but I have to live with my decision every day.” I grip his jaw firmly in my hand. “I love you too much not to warn you in a scary way.”
“A little help here,” Holly calls as she approaches, hands full of margaritas she’s struggling to keep upright. “We have a soldier about to go down.”
“I’ll say,” I smirk as Damon gives me the stink eye before leaping to his feet to help her.
Holly looks up at him and smiles with her whole being, and I physically feel it when it strikes Damon. “Where did you go off to? Practicing impregnation?”
“Funny,” he mutters, his tone giving his inner struggle away.
She frowns. “What’s wrong? You get some sand in your junk, you look…” she tilts her head. “Constipated.”
Jesus, Holly.
I slap my forehead as he considers her as his life’s purpose, and she all but offers him Ex-Lax.
A girl can only do so much.
Holly steps into the cabana, tossing her wrap off as Damon’s eyes cover her bikini-clad body in one longing and completely conflicted sweep. It’s then I know I’ve gotten through to him.
I take my fresh margarita and decide to stir the pot just a little more.
“Good news, Holly. Damon said he’ll be your wingman tonight.”
Damon’s eyes strangle me in a slow, agonizing death over her shoulder as she situates herself on the chair.
“Really?” She glances over to him, and he gives her a very, very unconvincing nod. Frowning, Holly grips his hand. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, just wiped from swimping.”
“Swimping?” She laughs. “You must be tired. Well, hey, if you aren’t up to tonight,” she says, nodding toward me, “I’ll twist Sister Mary Butler’s arm.” She shifts her focus my way, tossing me into the fire. “How long has it been since you’ve seen action, Nat?”
“I’m good,” Damon interjects. “Just need a power nap.” Time to think. “I’m going to go,” he tosses a thumb over his shoulder, “get some of that…nap.”
He follows that up with the most awkward delivery ever.
“Twatu,” he shakes his head, “to…stay and that,” he gestures toward her drink. “…mmm looks good. I wake up you t-to just text me when you’re ready.”
“Oh my God, Natalie!” Holly’s jaw goes slack as she furiously thumps my arm, fear in her voice, “He’s having a sunstroke!”
“No!” Damon booms and we both jump out of our skin. “I’m fine, baby, see?” He flashes the scariest grin ever. “I promise.”
A burst of hysterical laughter escapes me, but my empathy silences it shortly after. Damon rarely ever lets his guard down this low, nor does he drop the ball. He’s reeling, his struggle at present, painfully palpable.
Was I so obvious with Easton?
Were Easton and I fools to think we hid our attraction, our affection, so well? Joel saw it, and he really didn’t hide that he did. Thinking back, I can remember Joel staring between us a dozen or so times, probably tempted to bang our heads together more than once. Maybe it takes finding a soul-stealing love to truly recognize it—and losing it—to realize it’s worth having, no matter what you have to invest or the total cost.
I’m still waiting on that final sum, but it seems to be the gift that keeps on giving.
“Let’s do dinner first?” Holly asks between the both of us.