Курок Дуглас Пенелопа

I squeezed my eyes shut, tears spilling over. Jesus Christ.

“And I learned, really quick, that life wasn’t going to be pretty. Not until…”

Until…me?

I put the pieces together. His dog at seven, the party at eleven and how his father yelled at him and how his demeanor had already started to go downhill. I had nothing to do with any of that.

“I was so alone,” he explained from somewhere on the other side of my room. “I couldn’t talk to people. I didn’t have any friends. I was scared all the time.” His voice was thick with memory, as if it all happened just yesterday. “I just wanted to be invisible, and if I couldn’t be invisible, then I just wanted it to end. I was going to run away, because…” His sad voice trailed off. “Because the only other way to escape was to end it all.”

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. That’s what was going through his mind when I met him that first time? What eleven year old wants to die?

“You were so little,” he mused. “When you came into the maze and noticed me hiding and crawled inside and sat down at my side, it was like…”

Like you had a pet again.

“Like I wasn’t alone anymore,” he finished. “So little. So quiet. But it was everything. Feeling you next to me.”

God, what was he doing to me?

“You taught me how to survive that day,” he said. “You taught me how to be strong and how to get to the next minute. And the next and the next. I could never forget, and when you came back in high school, and I had changed into this, because I’d seen so much shit,” he went on, “and my desires had morphed into something ugly and twisted, but I’d fucking survived, nonetheless, and didn’t swallow the bad for anyone anymore, because you had taught me how to get rid of the shit. I finally craved one more thing I realized had been missing when I laid eyes on you again.”

I didn’t understand. I was eight. What could I possibly have taught him to keep him surviving? To keep him fighting? And what was missing from his existence after he’d gotten through all that?

“I wanted something good,” he admitted. “Beauty, maybe? The night of the pool party, the house was quiet. It was just us, but you didn’t know I was in the house, too. I watched you dance.”

I remembered that night so vividly. For the two years after that, I’d looked back on it, excited and terrified, but also with this weird sense of being safe in that closet with him.

“You made the world look different,” he told me. “You always had, and it struck me as odd, because I had hated to watch my mother dance growing up. It was just some elaborate lie that I couldn’t stomach, but you…” He trailed off, searching for words. “It was pure, and it was a dream. I didn’t want to change you. I just wanted to be a part of it all. Of everything beautiful you were going to do.”

He sat there for a moment, and everything in my body hurt. I didn’t realize every muscle had been tightened this whole time. This was the first time he’d ever said things like this. The first time he’d ever really talked to me.

“But I was still me, and I scared you that night, because that’s what I do,” he admitted, sounding like he hated himself. “Something amazing happened, though. You followed. You wanted to feel that edge, too, as long as you were at my side, and for a few incredible days, I felt…”

He didn’t finish the thought, but I knew what he wanted to say. It had felt the same with me.

“When it was time to come clean, I couldn’t,” he said, his voice growing thick. “I just wanted to stay there with you. Behind the waterfall, in the shower, in the ballroom… Just stay with you.”

He rose to his feet, and the walls felt too close, and my clothes too tight, and I couldn’t get my lungs to open, because there was too much to take in and not enough said so many years ago. Why didn’t you say all of this years ago?

“Nothing was a lie,” he whispered.

And then he walked out, and my chest ached so badly, for air or for him, I didn’t know, but I ran to the window, yanked it up, and drew in a lungful of air, feeling everything give way. Slip away, fade, and ease.

My fear. My worry. My hatred.

My anger.

Why didn’t he say all that years ago?

Why?

 

 

 

Damon

 

Present

 

The elevator doors opened, and I charged into Michael’s penthouse in the city, turning the corner and strolling into the apartment.

Walking into the great room, I saw Michael, Kai, and Will sitting on chairs and couches, while Rika stood near the wall of open balcony doors, a rare, balmy evening breeze drifting through.

Michael allowed the doorman to let me come up, so he must be intrigued enough to indulge me, and I was glad most of them were here.

I threw the piece of newspaper that I’d folded into an airplane on the table in front of Michael, watching him take it with very little enthusiasm.

He thought he’d have the first word. Nope. I was controlling this conversation.

I looked at Will. “Do you hate me?”

He fixed me with a guarded stare but didn’t say anything.

Then I looked at Rika. “You?” I asked.

She locked her jaw, averting her eyes.

But not answering the question, either.

I’d hurt them the most, and if they could get past this, then I had a chance.

“You’re not my enemies,” I told everyone. “I don’t want that.”

“Then what do you want?” Kai retorted.

I saw Michael open up the airplane to see the article that was in the Post yesterday about the Throwback Night being organized at The Cove this weekend, the old abandoned theme park in Thunder Bay.

I knew they were interested in buying it. It was time.

“I want for us to get back to the plan,” I answered. “To run things.”

We wanted Thunder Bay, and not just a resort. We wanted everything. A whole seaside village as our little clubhouse.

But Kai just scoffed. “We were eighteen. With no clue of the money or connections it was going to take.”

“We have money.”

“No, Rika has money,” Kai shot back. “We have our parents.”

I inched forward. “I’ll control thirty-eight percent of the hotels on the eastern seaboard, twelve television stations, and enough land to start my own state if I want to.”

“When your father is dead,” Will pointed out.

Yeah. Which would happen sooner or later.

“You, Michael, and Kai can have the premier resort destination in three years right here in Thunder Bay,” I explained, “making it the new Hamptons and drawing the elite of America’s major cities.”

“We wouldn’t even be able to get permits,” Michael told me. “Your father and my father have had no trouble convincing the mayor that any jobs a resort will create isn’t worth the business it would take away from their real estate and hotels in the city.”

I cocked my head. “What mayor?”

The four of them stared at me, looking befuddled as they wrapped their heads around exactly what the hell I’d been doing all this time as Crane helped me gather information the past couple of months. Taking down Winter’s father wasn’t just to get Winter.

Kai shook his head. “Jesus.”

“They’ll elect someone new, Damon,” Will argued. “They’re holding a special election in three months to replace Winter’s father.”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “I know.”

And I stood there, waiting for their pea-sized brains to catch up again. Thunder Bay needed a new mayor. One who would give us all the permits we needed to start building over at The Cove.

We had some likely candidates right in this room.

Will dropped his wide eyes, absorbing the idea, while Michael sat back, staring at me.

“You can’t be serious,” Kai laughed out.

But I just cast my eyes to Rika, holding her gaze.

“What?” she asked, seeing me stare at her.

“You’re a good chess player,” I teased. “Politics. It’s the greatest chess game.”

She started laughing. “I’m not running for mayor, so I can protect your business interests, Damon. I don’t want to run that town.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

She opened her mouth to retort, but got lost for words for a moment. Finally, she blurted out, “Why me?”

“Because Michael couldn’t care less, and the rest of us are felons.”

“Hey, it’s America.” Will leaned back, slumping in his chair with a lazy smile. “Anything is possible.”

“You want the press digging up your past?” I challenged him and then looked to Kai. “You?”

The Internet was forever. We’d never get an ounce of peace as things got dug up and blasted online. And Kai and Will especially had no interest in bringing that stress onto their families.

“The girls are clean,” I said. “Rika needs to do it.

She let out a pathetic little laugh, still searching for an argument, and finally looked at Michael who still hadn’t said anything.

“Michael?” she prodded for his help. To offer some excuse why she shouldn’t do this.

But he hesitated, looking apologetic when he finally met her gaze. “It’s not a horrible idea, actually,” he said. “It would give us leverage, and you’d do well by the town. It’s worth thinking about.”

Her eyes flared, looking pissed. “What about Banks?”

“I have bigger plans for her,” I told them.

“Oh, you do?” Kai replied. “I ‘d like to hear the plans you have for my wife.”

“In good time.”

He shook his head at me, everyone falling silent as they processed what I was suggesting. I already gathered Michael had investors lined up and a bank in his corner for the land and the resort, but he wasn’t moving forward, because he anticipated problems with hiring workers and getting permits. That problem was now solved. I’d worked my ass off for a seat at this table.

If the past could be the past and fucking stay there, that was.

They all remained silent, sharing looks with each other and pondering how this would all play out with me involved.

But maybe I couldn’t win them, after all. Maybe the past was too much to swallow.

But then Will spoke up, not looking at me. “Say you’re sorry,” he said.

Sorry?

It only took a moment for me to realize what he was talking about.

He wanted an apology. For everything.

I dropped my eyes, frowning.

He wanted me to cower down? Like we all haven’t made fucking mistakes, and I hadn’t already proved that I wanted this and I was ready? That I wouldn’t go there again?

Words were shit. They didn’t mean anything.

I gave Winter a whole fucking monologue last night, and not one word from her since. What we did mattered, not what we said.

But they just stared at me, all waiting for me to say it, like if I said it everything would be fine. Would it be fine?

I wanted them back, though, and while my father taught me powerful men didn’t apologize, maybe—just this once—I could choke out the words. I had fucked up, after all, and I was actually pretty lucky they hadn’t taken my head over everything.

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

They all just looked at me, frozen, for forever, and my stomach was knotted so tightly, I was about to hit someone if the words hung in the air any longer.

And then Michael rose from his seat and slipped into his suit jacket. “Contact Mike Bower and tell him we want to talk,” he told me and then walked over to kiss Rika goodbye.

I almost smiled. Bower ran the city council. We’d need to talk to him to get Rika on the ballot.

Will and Kai stood up after him, gathering their stuff and starting to leave with him.

“And we’ll meet at The Cove tomorrow with the architectural firm,” Michael informed me as he walked past. “Ten o’clock.”

I nodded, accepting his invitation to be there, relief immediately washing over me.

They left—I wasn’t sure where—but Rika and I stood there for a moment, silent. I knew there were things she wanted to say—maybe get mad about what just happened and being pushed into a new role with a hell of a lot of responsibility she hadn’t asked for—but she picked up her leather school bag and hooked it over her head, walking past me.

I let her go, standing there, but then I heard her footsteps stop and her voice behind me.

“Michael and Kai are smarter than you, you know?” she said.

I listened.

“Because if there’s one thing they know about revenge, Damon, it’s that it won’t feel nearly as good as her love will.”

I clenched my teeth together against the ache in my gut, but I felt it anyway.

Fuck you, Rika.

“But I think you already know that, don’t you?” she continued.

Fuck you so much.

“She’ll make you stronger,” she said. “And we need you strong.”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to feel the shit I felt when I was nineteen when I let myself…want her.

When I let myself fucking love her.

When I let my guard down and believed what was happening between us was stronger than anything and guys like me could have a completely different life.

But God, Rika was right. I knew she was right.

Nothing in my life had ever felt as good as Winter happy because of me.

I’d told her everything last night. I wanted her to understand.

“You should leave her alone,” Rika told me, and her voice was closer now like she’d turned around toward me. “Let her be calm and safe, and give her some room to breathe.”

I wasn’t asking for your opinion.

I heard her step closer behind me. “And in the meantime, be an adult. Get to work on something and show her you can survive without her. Without her respect, you have no chance.”

“No chance at what?”

“No chance at not becoming your fucking parents,” she replied.

A baseball lodged in my throat.

Was she right? Was that where I was heading? Was I ever going to be done with Winter? Did I want any other woman?

No.

And what if I got her pregnant? Would my kids hate me for hurting her? Was it just some endless fucking cycle, because I wouldn’t face that Rika was right, and Michael and Kai knew what I refused to see?

I wanted her.

I broke last night, because I didn’t want this. I just wanted that kid back who sat in my lap and drove my car.

I made her happy. Me.

And instead of sticking to the plan and making her hate that she wanted me, I hated that I still wanted her.

None of it was a lie, except my name.

It was real, and I wanted it again.

I fucking loved her.

Goddammit.

I spun around and walked past Rika, toward the elevator, but I heard her voice behind me again.

“And Damon?” she called.

I stopped.

“When and if she comes around, take her somewhere, just the two of you.”

What?

“It’s called a date,” she explained, “and it’s where you do something she likes that makes her happy. You and she will keep your clothes on for this.”

Oh, you’re funny. I shook my head, leaving her apartment and stepping into the elevator.

I pushed the button for the lobby. “A fucking date,” I mumbled.

 

 

 

Winter

 

Present

 

I came out of the shower, dressed and drying my hair with a towel as I heard the motors of heavy trucks and a jackhammer outside again.

What were they doing? It had been going on since yesterday morning, but I tried not to care at first, and then I just thought it was more installations from the new security. They’d been installing an alarm system and changing locks, but this sounded like serious construction.

I walked to the end of the hall, past my bedroom, and stood at the window, the warning beeps of a truck moving in reverse sounding off outside and workers calling out to one another. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, though.

Damon had disappeared again after the fight in my bedroom, and I hadn’t talked to him or heard him in the house for almost two days.

Two days of freedom, rehearsing at the studio, practicing more at home, planning with Rika and Alex and brainstorming ideas for how to get me on some show bills or into outdoor festivals.

Someone climbed the stairs behind me, and I recognized the footfalls. Crane had this way of falling into his steps, almost like skidding, on the hardwood.

“What’s the noise outside?” I asked over my shoulder.

I felt him approach and waited.

“Mr. Torrance is having the ‘stupid, gaudy, fucking fountain’ removed, he said.”

I almost wanted to laugh at the way he repeated Damon’s words, throwing shade.

But then they sank in.

“Removed,” I mumbled.

He was taking out the fountain in front of my house. Throwing it away. Getting rid of it.

Like he didn’t want any reminder of the past or what he fell in love with about us as a boy.

He wanted to kill it.

I stopped drying my hair, holding the towel in my hands. “Is he here?” I asked.

“He’s close.”

Close. What does that mean? Was he always close? Even when he left?

“Do you need something?” Crane inquired. “I don’t expect him back to the house today, but I can get a message to him.”

I didn’t even know where to start. I wanted to say things to him, but everything in my head was still a hodgepodge of feelings contradicting facts.

I didn’t want to talk, but I wanted to feel him in the house.

Turning around, I followed the wall past Crane, without answering him, and slipped into my bedroom, closing the door.

I’d tried hard not to think about everything he said night before last—keeping busy with choreography and planning—but if I slowed for a second, he was there again, sitting against the wall in my room, and whispering nightmares I’d never seen and confessing secrets he’d tried hard to keep hidden for so long.

Should I forget everything he did? Was it all suddenly okay just because his feelings had been real?

I moved around my room, putting away clothes and cleaning up. Yesterday morning, after Damon’s tantrum, Crane came in and picked up everything his boss shoved onto the floor the night before and replaced my mirror. When I came home later, he’d brought in a contractor who replaced my door. The room was almost back in order. I wished he cleaned up all his messes as quickly.

There is a reason why all things are as they are.

I laid on my bed, hearing the trucks and workers still moving about outside, and closed my eyes, feeling my body relax but not my mind.

The pull of him was everywhere. I remembered so well the feel of teasing each other, laughing through a kiss, the heat of his arms around me, and the way his body craved mine. The way he wanted and the way I’ve always ached for his roughness and danger, his whispers and him.

The way I always saw Damon Torrance’s raven eyes in my head, even before I knew my ghost was Damon Torrance.

 

“Come on,” he says, pulling me through the maze. “You’ll like it.”

“What is it?”

I breathed hard, stumbling to keep up as he races through the other side of the maze and beyond the hedges.

He wants to show me something, but I really just want to stay in the fountain. It’s fun in there—so secret.

But he’s so happy now, and I’m kind of curious.

I can’t stop smiling. My belly has flutters in it.

We run deep into the backyard, our clothes wet and cold as we near the forest line, and I see it right away. I shoot my eyes up, taking in the long trail of wooden boards nailed to the tree trunk, and at the top sits a treehouse disguised above a line of branches and leaves.

Sort of.

It doesn’t look completed, but there’s a really big floor and a railing around the outside. It sits between a split in the tree, two trunks locking it in and surrounded by green. You aren’t just in a treehouse. You’re in the tree.

I let go of his hand. “Wow. You’re so lucky.”

He stands next to me, looking up at it. “You like it?”

I nod, not taking my eyes off it.

I wonder if he did it himself or if someone helped. It didn’t look all fancy like some others I’ve seen, and his dad doesn’t seem like the type to build treehouses, either.

“You go up first,” he tells me. “In case you slip, I’ll be behind you.”