Love Always, Damian (27 page)

Chapter 35

Damian

I avoid the den when I walk into the foyer at Dad’s house. The room is decked out in Christmas decorations, and gifts brim out from under the tree for the first time in years.

I toss my coat on the chair in the corner and head to the kitchen. Dad ordered a feast from a local restaurant, but it’ll only be the two of us for dinner.

“Guess we’d better eat before this gets cold,” Dad says.

His eye catches mine for a second before I break the connection. I don’t want his sympathy or an episode of
Wisdom from the Old Man
. All I want is to eat and go home. In silence, I help uncover the food. We fill our plates, pour a couple glasses of red wine, and sit in the breakfast nook instead of the formal dining room.

I take a drink of wine. It doesn’t have much of a kick, but it’s only for show anyway. I stuff a piece of ham and slice of pineapple in my mouth, thinking about how both Lia and Ellie probably would have preferred them on a pizza. I wouldn’t care. In fact, I’d fucking enjoy it if they were here.

The sound of silverware hitting the china fills the room. We sip our wine, and when our plates are empty, we rinse them off and stick them in the dishwasher.

“You know, Damian,” Dad starts, pouring himself more wine, “I’m not going to sweeten it for you—you lost Lia at the mall, and Ellie has every right to be pissed.”

“Oh great. Thanks for the pep talk.”

“But we’re not perfect,” he continues, ignoring me. “Things happen, Damian, and sometimes they’re out of our control. Ninety-nine percent of the time when parents turn their backs, the kid is fine. You screwed up and got the short end of the stick. It could have been anyone, son.”

“It wasn’t anyone, though. It was me. It was Lia. And it was Ellie.” I bow my head, not wanting to continue this conversation. But I go on. “It’s not only that. I’ve put Ellie through so much, caused her so much pain.”

“Damian, you and Ellie have been through more than anyone should ever have to at your age. After Liam died, you bent, and bent, and bent, but together, you never snapped. That’s more than most people can say.”

“Dad,” I say, topping off my wine. “I fucked up too many times. I don’t deserve—”

“Oh stop it. You think I deserved your mother? Because I didn’t. The fact is no man merits the love of a good woman. Not me. Not you. Not anyone.”

“Liam did.”

Dad’s quiet for a moment. “Maybe. But you know what I think your brother would say if he were here?”

“Stay the hell away from my girl?”

Dad snickers. “Let me rephrase that. What the
ghost
of your brother would say?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. “He’d say if you love her, go get her.”

I stare at the wine, thinking about how obvious I must be for my father to see through me.

“Do you love her, Damian?” Dad prompts.

“She’s all I think about,” I murmur.

“That’s not what I asked. Do you love Ellie?” he repeats.

I ball my hands into fists, squeeze as hard as I can, then let the tension drain out of them. “Doesn’t matter.”

~*~

The nurses did one helluva job putting on a Christmas party in The Commons for the kids who had to spend the day here.

Dad needed to wrap up a few things in his office, so I volunteered to help with clean up after everyone had cleared out.

“Perfect.” Leslie shoves a garbage sack into my chest. “Have at it.”

“Wait. Where are you going?”

She winks. “Santa had a long night. Time to get him home and unwind with Mrs. Claus.”

“Right. Merry Christmas to you too.”

Leslie laughs as she walks out, leaving me with the after-party mess. I swipe up the wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows. Plastic cups and plates from off the tables and chunks of food from the floor.

I work my way around the room. At the windowsill, there’s an unopened package with Olivia’s name on it. Earlier, I’d asked Dad about her, and he said she wasn’t any better. I guess that meant no Christmas party.

I tie up the sack, lean it against the wall, and grab Olivia’s present. The hallways are empty now that all the kids are back in their rooms.

I knock softly on Olivia’s door. When no one answers, I quietly push it open and step inside.

Olivia’s alone, sleeping. I walk up to her bed, and her eyes open. A small smile spreads across her paled lips before she yawns.

“Santa left you something at the party,” I say, holding up the gift.

“Open it for me?” she asks, her voice weaker than I remember.

“Of course.” I pull a finger under the tape, snapping it. I’m not sure why, but I carefully remove the rest of the tape to avoid ripping the paper.

“What are you, a girl?” Olivia asks, and I chuckle.

“Okay,” I relent. Then I tear the package open like I’m six again. I show Olivia the box.

“Shutterfly,” Olivia says. “My favorite pony.”

“Where are your parents?” I ask, even though it’s none of my business.

“Work.”

“On Christmas?”

Olivia nods. “Christmas is busy at the hotel.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay. They were here this morning. Did Lia come back?”

The day after Ellie took Lia back to Florida, Olivia had a chemo treatment. When she asked where Lia was, I told her that her mother had returned early and took her home.

“No,” I say. Then to chance the subject, I point to her empty glass. “Can I get you anything before I go?”

“Yes,” Olivia says, “I want to write on the wall. You know, in case I don’t have another chance.”

Everything in me screams to tell her she’ll have plenty of chances, but experience keeps my mouth shut.

“Will you help me?” she asks.

“Sure.”

I hold onto her as she eases her legs over the side of the bed. She’s weak, and I doubt she’s even supposed to leave her room. But she wants this, and I have no problem breaking rules.

She sits, catching her breath. Even the smallest movements exhaust her.

“Let me carry you,” I suggest.

Olivia nods and points to the IV pole. “Don’t forget that.”

I pick her up, and she wraps her arms around my neck. I barely feel them, though. She weighs nothing. Olivia’s slippered feet dangle off my elbow as I reach for her metal lifeline.

“You good?” I ask.

She nods again.

I walk her down the corridor. A few nurses stop to watch, but no one says anything. The Commons is empty when we arrive, and I switch the light on.

“Which wall?” I ask so I know where to take her.

“That one.”

I follow her gaze to the one wall that’s completely void of writing. The one with all the windows.

“You sure you’re allowed to color on that one?” I ask.

“I think so. Someone else did.”

I skim over the bare walls again and see nothing. “Where?”

“Behind the chair. In the corner,” Olivia says.

It’s the same area I first noticed Olivia last summer. Scooting the IV pole in front of us, I make for the chair. Slide it out of the way.

“Down there. I want to put mine next to it.”

“Hang on,” I say, staring at the familiar handwriting. I’d know this delicate script anywhere; I have a diary full of it.

I set Olivia down in the chair I just pulled out, then crouch down at the wall. I touch the words, imagining Kate in this very spot, probably in the middle of the night, leaving her mark in the same manner she did everything—subtle, quiet, beautiful. How did I miss this?

The stars never stop shining, but we only see them at night. The same holds true with us. It often takes the darkest moments in our lives before we can glimpse the most beautiful light. And it’s in that place, that instant, where hope is born. ~Kate Browdy

“I remember the night she crept in here to write that.”

I don’t turn around because I’m not surprised he’s here. Something tells me one of the nurses ratted Olivia and me out to him.

“She’d stopped treatments, and her symptoms were beginning to weigh on her,” Dad says. “I’m not sure how she got up here, but she did.

“I asked what she was doing, and she said she finally figured out what she wanted to contribute to the Hope Wall.”

He pauses. “I wondered why she wanted it way down there, where no one would be able to see it, and she told me ‘because it fits.’ I’m not sure what she meant by that.”

“I do,” I say without thinking. “Kate said something like this once. That in our lowest times, when we’re down in the pit, that’s when we realize what we have.”

Dad’s hand lands on my shoulder. “She said she found light in you.”

My phone ringing interrupts us. I pull it out and check the screen. Ellie’s beautiful face peers back at me, and Kate’s words on the wall swell inside me. In all of my darkest hours, there’s been light, even if I was too damn blind to see it.

I close my eyes. Kate’s holding my hand, and I hear her voice in my head, encouraging me. “It’s in this place, this moment, where hope is born.”

She smiles at me, and I pull away from her because I’m finally ready. Opening my eyes, I slide my finger across the screen and place the phone against my ear. “Hello?”

“Daddy?”

Chapter 36

Damian

“Lia,” I breathe out, the sound of her little voice shooting into my chest.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” she says.

Behind me, Dad helps Olivia write her message on the wall. I stand up and push a hand through my hair before I walk to the middle of the room. “Merry Christmas, babygirl. How are you?”

“Okay. Me and Mommy had turkey and cookies.”

I snicker. “That sounds pretty amazing. I wish I was there.”

“So, why aren’t you?” she asks, and I can picture the look on her face as she says it. Those big blues digging in deep.

“Um, I—” Ellie probably didn’t tell her about the tickets, and since I can’t come up with a good answer, I change the subject. “What did Santa bring you?”

Lia doesn’t answer me though.

“Lia? You still there?” I ask. I don’t want her to hang up.

“Yes. But I asked you first.”

I nod, amused. “Yeah, I guess you did.” I pause. “Is your mom around?”

“Uhhhhhhh…” She hums into the phone like she’s doing something she shouldn’t. “Hi, Mommy,” she says, clearly not talking to me.

“Who are you on the phone with, Lia?” Ellie asks.

“Daddy?” She says it like it’s a question. “He wants to talk to you.”

“You called your dad?”

“Yeah, here.” Lia’s voice sounds further away, and my guess is she’s holding the phone out.

“Elle?” I say, in case she can hear me through the phone.

“Not now, sweetie. You talk to him,” Ellie says, and a piece of me breaks.

Lia huffs when she gets back on the. “She said no.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “Tell her I understand.”

My daughter mutters the words to her mother, then to me she says, “Are you going to answer my question?”

I have to admit, I kind of love her persistence.

“Family is important, right?” Lia says, surprising me. “You said that girl—Kate—loved her family and wanted to give them the best.
We’re
your family. Daddies aren’t supposed to leave, remember? You promised-promised.” She sniffles before she murmurs, “You promised.”

Air is sucked out of me, and it takes me a few moments to respond. “Yeah, I remember.”

~*~

I help Dad take Olivia back to her room. She’s whiter now than half an hour ago, and she seems to struggle with each breath.

“I should stay here tonight,” Dad says, checking her over.

“Yeah, okay.”

Dad presses the nurse call button. “She needs oxygen.”

After that, everything happens fast. Olivia’s eyes roll back into her skull, and her head slumps to one side. The monitor tracking Olivia’s vitals goes off. The screen flashes, dropping numbers. Dad lays her down and unwraps the oxygen cord from the machine. One of the nurses runs in, and Dad barks out a medication order as he places the mask over Olivia’s nose.

I’m frozen in place, watching it play out. Another nurse rushes in followed by the first. She injects serum into Olivia’s IV.

“Come on,” Dad mutters, his eyes glued to the monitor.

A moment later, the alarms stop, replaced by the slow, steady beeps of rising blood pressure, oxygen, and heartbeats. Everyone lets out a breath except me. I’m in déjà vu mode. Even so, Kate isn’t the one who’s on my mind.

I glance over at Olivia’s coloring journal, and what she said about fear and being alone drives into me. I can delude myself all I want, but that’s the one thing that clutches onto me tighter than anything else. Letting go of Kate, keeping my daughter, loving Ellie—I’m fucking scared. What if I can’t live up to their expectations?

I walk behind the nurse and pick up the notebook. Sweep past the pages I already saw to the more recent ones. Olivia’s alone, standing in The Commons. The walls are red again with even more eyes than before circling her. They have her backed up against the door.

At the top of the next page are Kate’s words Olivia copied from the Hope Wall. Below, is what I guess is Olivia’s contribution that Dad helped her with.
Fear is the darkness, and the longer you’re there, the bigger it gets. Courage is the light, and light always defeats the dark.
Don’t let fear win.

The last picture in the book is Olivia standing by the window, letting in the sunlight. Behind her, the eyes fade into the walls.

I look at Olivia. She has tubes sticking out of her, pumping medicine and oxygen in. And yet—

She doesn’t seem afraid. She isn’t allowing her fears to control her, and I realize now it’s time to quit hiding with my tail between my legs and do what I should have done a long time ago. I slip out of the room and start down the hall.

“Damian?” Dad hollers after me. “Where you going?”

I spin around. “Home.”

~*~

Ellie

I lean down and kiss Lia’s forehead. “Good night, sweetie.”

“Mommy?” she says, staying true to our bedtime routine.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you want to talk with Daddy?”

I sigh. “Lia, you’re the one who wanted to call.”

“Grown-ups are so silly, sometimes. You could have at least said hi,” she pouts. “It
is
Christmas.”

“It’s complicated,” I say.

“You love him. He loves you. How’s that compicated?”

“Complicated.”

“Whatever.”

I sweep her hair out of her face. “Baby, it just is.”

Lia rolls her eyes, and I laugh.

“It’s not funny,” she says.

I narrow my eyes into a Mrs. Potato Head version of an angry face. “You’re right. Not funny.”

Lia puckers her lips the way mine are, giving me a taste of what I must look like. When she does it, though, it’s pretty adorable. I glare at her, moving closer, closer, until our noses touch. Then she breaks into a smile, her little dimples pinching inward, and throws her arms around my neck. I hold her against me and kiss her cheek.

When I let go, she waggles a finger at me as if she’s my mother. “He wants to speak with you. That’s all I’m going to say,” she says in her big girl voice.

“Noted. Now go to sleep.”

Lia shoots me one last dimpled grin before she rolls onto her side and sticks her thumb in her mouth.

I slide under the covers of my own bed and lie awake. I rotate onto my stomach, then to my right side. Left side. To my back again.

I’m slipping. Years of being strong, of holding back, and I can’t do it anymore. My train of thought is flirting with danger, but I don’t care.

The bed’s too big. Too cold. And I realize what I’ve always known: there’s only one person who can make it warm.

I’m tired of breathing without him.

I grab for my phone and dial Damian’s number from memory. Voicemail picks up immediately, and my heart sinks.

“You know the drill.”
Beep.

~*~

Damian

I’m still on hold, and it’s been fifteen minutes. Online, all the flights say they’re full for the next two days, and I’m not waiting that long. Fuck, I don’t want to wait another minute.

“Sir?” the lady answers.

“Yeah?”

“I can get you on the ten-forty-five in business class, direct to Tallahassee.”

I check the clock: nine thirty-six.

“The next available won’t be until—”

“I’ll take it,” I say, cutting her off. I give her my credit card number, hang up, and am out the door in under five.

On the way to the airport, my phone beeps, alerting me to a missed call. My first thought is that it’s Dad about Olivia, but when I look, I see it’s Ellie’s number with a message icon.

I don’t hesitate. Her voice sinks through the receiver into my ear.

“Hey, uh, it’s me,” she says. “I want to talk. So, when you get this, no matter what time, please call me.”

I don’t know what she wants to say, but I’d give anything to silence her with my mouth. Then I smile to myself because in a few hours, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing.