Broken, p.29
Broken, page 29
“That’s not true,” Damien interrupts.
“If you hadn’t already been in love with me,” I continue anyway, “you never would’ve glanced in my direction as I am now.”
“Yes, I would,” Damien protests. “You’re beautiful, Dani, then and now.”
“That’s easy to say.”
“I’m not lying, babe,” Damien insists, but my refusal to believe his words is written all over my face. “Dani, I went into this knowing there was a chance that we’d already lost what we were, that we were both different people now, but I can honestly say I fell in love with you all over again. If it’s possible, I fell more in love with you.”
“I highly doubt that.”
Damien sighs. “Dani, don’t. Stop letting your insecurities creep back in. I love you, and yeah, I love the old you, but I swear, the Dani who’s been through hell and can still make amazing music and melt my heart with the sound of her voice, the Dani who gives Paul a run for his money in the cocky department or endures listening to Raif and Jess bang on about their sex lives twenty-four-seven…” I chuckle. “The same Dani who’s willing to do anything and everything for the people she cares about, who talked a kid down off a bridge and risked her life to save my sister…” Yep, I’m going to cry again. “I love that Dani with all my heart because that Dani is an inspiration.”
“You’re giving me too much credit.”
“You’re selling yourself short,” he counters. “You’re an amazing person, Dani, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of your scars. They are proof of your strength, and what you’ve overcome to get to where you are now.” I sigh. “Everything you’ve been through –”
“Everything we’ve been through,” I correct.
“It brought us back together in the end,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”
Damien’s way with words will forever be a tad annoying, yet they make perfect sense if I slap my insecurities down.
Wobble dealt with, Damien and I continue to rummage through my former possessions until the exhaustion consumes me. One random afternoon nap later, I’m opening my eyes to the faint sound of voices coming from the living room. I wince my way out of bed, but when I hear what sounds like pain in Damien’s voice, I find myself stopping shy of making myself known, listening to the conversation through a slightly ajar door.
“I can’t get it out of my head,” he says. “Every time I close my eyes, I see Dani lying there, not moving –”
“Mate,” Paul cuts him off. “Dani’s good. Yeah, all right, she’s got a few battered limbs, but it’s Dani, that’s not exactly anything new.” I silently chuckle. “And I think you’re forgetting the good parts.”
“I’m not,” Damien protests. “I’m just struggling to let the guilt go, mate.” I think it’s Paul who sighs. “I wasn’t there for her when she needed me. The shooting, Adrian…”
“Mate, we’ve been over this,” Paul says. “We were in Afghanistan. There’s jack shit either of us could have done. None of it is on you.”
“James is,” Damien declares. “And I was right there for the car accident. If I’d just stayed with her –”
“You can’t babysit her, mate,” Paul points out, sounding a lot like me. “Dani is capable of standing on her own two feet, and even if she doesn’t remember it yet, we both know she’s a force to be reckoned with when she wants to be.” Is that so?
“I never should have lied to her.”
“We’ve been over that before too, mate,” Paul states. “Lying was the best option at the time, and chill, I’ll make sure Dani knows it was my idea.” Why am I not surprised?
“It doesn’t matter whose idea it was,” Damien protests, followed by a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just realising how fucked up the past few years have been.”
“All right,” Paul says sternly. “I have held your hand the whole way, mate, but you seriously need to get your head out of the sand.” Damien chuckles. “Yes, you two have had a shit time of it, but who cares? It’s done. Dani’s back, mate. I mean, why the hell are you not shouting hallelujah from the bloody rooftops? Dani remembers you. Hell, she even remembers me, and I’m telling you, I was convinced she’d purposely blocked me out.” I silently laugh. “So, what the hell is with the moping?”
“I’m not moping,” Damien grumbles.
“Yeah, you are, mate, and you need to bloody well stop,” Paul instructs. “Top and bottom of it is, mate, the day Dani died, I lost both of you, and I honestly thought I’d be burying you right alongside her. Until you got that call.” The call to say I was alive, I’m assuming. “Everything you did after that was because you love that woman more than I’ve ever seen anyone love someone, and Dani knows that, so whatever the hell it is you’re worried about, let it go, mate. Just let it go.”
“I just wish things could have been different,” Damien says, determined to wallow. “And when the novelty of getting her memories back wears off, I’m scared she’s gonna remember I lied to her, that I’ve done nothing but let her down, and hate me for it.”
Okay, that’s enough earwigging. As much as I’m appreciating knowing Damien is human and needs to wallow just as much as the rest of us sometimes, I’m not about to let him beat himself into the ground, especially when none of it is his fault. Been there, done that, and it’s not pretty.
I slowly walk out into the living room. “You’re an idiot.”
Damien’s head snaps in my direction faster than the chick from The Exorcist, forcing me to stifle a giggle. Okay, so it’s not the nicest thing to say when someone’s wallowing, but I’m taking a leaf out of Damien’s book and giving it to him straight.
“I hope you’re gonna back that up with a compliment,” Paul jokes, rising to his feet.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “I’ll sort him out.”
“Good,” Paul states, heading for the door. “I’ll go grab us all some tea and be back in a bit.”
“Thanks, mate,” Damien says graciously.
As Paul takes his leave, I stand in front of Damien, and he parts his legs to allow me to get a little closer. I run my fingers through his hair and plant a soft kiss on his forehead. He avoids my gaze for a few moments, but eventually, his tired eyes meet mine.
“You should be resting,” he says.
“And you should be talking to me.” I don’t begrudge Damien talking to Paul, especially when I now know just how close Paul and Damien really are, but I need to know what’s going on inside his head too.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
Damien sighs. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t do that,” I say sternly. “Don’t bullshit me. You promised you’d talk to me.”
“I promised you a lot of things,” Damien says. “That’s partly the problem.”
It’s my turn to sigh. Knowing I probably shouldn’t continue to stand as my legs and ribs are groaning, I sink into the couch beside Damien.
“And like I said,” I state, “you’re an idiot.” Damien turns his gaze away from me, staring ahead blankly. “None of what happened is your fault, babe.”
“I know that,” Damien admits. “But it doesn’t stop the guilt. Joining the Army was the stupidest decision I ever made.”
“Did you ever stop to think joining the Army saved your life?” Damien furrows his brow in confusion. “If you had been with me the night of the shooting, you’d have probably ended up with a bullet to the head like everyone else. In fact, you’d have died making sure I got out, so no, joining the Army was not the wrong decision.”
Damien sighs. “And what about every decision after that? Lying? Trying to push you out into the world only to see you get hurt again? I feel like all I’ve done is bring more pain into your life.”
I scoff, and I’m suddenly realising what it must have felt like to be Damien during the past seven weeks, dealing with me and my constant insecurities and negativity; it’s infuriating. I make a mental note to apologise profusely for putting him through that, but for now, ignoring the searing pain as I move, I force myself onto Damien’s lap to stop him from avoiding eye contact. If I’m going to try to comfort him, I need to know he’s hearing me.
“Dani,” he protests, but I put a finger to his lips to silence him.
“No,” I say. “I need to deal with you before I can rest because I ain’t gonna sit back and watch you beat yourself into the ground. Sorry, you don’t get to be me.”
Damien sighs, remaining determined to avoid my gaze, but I gently grab him by the chin and force him to look at me.
“You need to take your own advice.” I’m sure we’ve just had a similar conversation. “What I’ve been through,” I say. “What you have been through –”
“Mine is nothing –”
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “Do not downplay what you’ve been through.” He sighs. “We’ve both suffered here, Damien, but it’s time to stop dwelling on things that were out of our control.”
“I want to,” he admits. “But after the car shit, I honestly feel like I’m walking on eggshells waiting for the next thing to come along and take you from me. It makes me want to wrap you in cotton wool or lock you in the bedroom for the rest of eternity.”
I laugh, yet I can totally understand Damien’s fears. The difference is I’m feeling uncharacteristically positive.
“Babe,” I say, “I get it, I do, but I have spent the past three years hiding, and I don’t give a crap what the universe throws at me next, I’m not just gonna lie down and let my life pass me by. Not anymore. Because if I do that, then all the shit we’ve been through has been for nothing, and like you said, everything that happened, happened for a reason…” I smile. “To bring me back to you.” Damien lifts a hand to my cheek. “And I’d go through the pain ten thousand times over if I had to. That’s how much you mean to me.”
Damien’s entire body softens as he trails his hand from my cheek to the back of my neck. “Dani…”
“You’ve got nothing to be scared of, babe,” I assure him. “Yes, you lied, and yes, I was pissed off at first, but I was never going to let that come between us. I never hated you. I just wanted an explanation, that’s all.” Damien smiles softly. “Everything you did, you did it out of love, and an optimist would describe it as incredibly romantic.”
“You’re a natural pessimist,” Damien reminds me.
“True,” I agree. “But the point still stands.”
Damien’s hand finds its way to my cheek again. “I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “For the lies. For everything.”
“Don’t be,” I insist. “I’m not.”
“I’d follow you to the end of the earth if I had to,” he declares. “You know that, right?”
“I know.”
Damien kisses me. It starts out slow, but it’s not long before I melt into him, every kiss and every touch meaning more to me than ever before, a combination of love and adrenaline fuelling my need to feel a happiness only Damien can give me. Until the front door slides open, and Damien pulls away, laughing.
“When you said you’d sort him out,” Paul retorts, dumping a carrier bag on the island, “that’s not what I was expecting.”
“With your dirty mind,” I tease, moving to join Paul in the kitchen, “it should’ve been.”
Paul merely laughs. Damien takes himself off to the bathroom whilst I grab three plates from the cupboard, unsuccessfully hiding my wince.
“Easy,” Paul says, followed by an, “Is he all right?”
“He will be.” I nod. “We both will.”
“Good,” Paul states, laying out the takeaway boxes. “I knew you couldn’t stay pissed off for long.”
“At Damien maybe,” I tease. “You…”
Paul laughs, turning his entire body to face me. “Come on then, lass. Get it out of your system.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was a hint of guilt in Paul’s eyes, but I take a step closer regardless, my best stern face in place. I stand for a minute, making him sweat, before wrapping my arms around him, and when he hugs me tight, he laughs.
“It’s good to have you back, Dani,” he says, and I smile into his chest. “Especially so close to home.”
“I’ll have to ask Ray if moving me close to you was intentional.” It is one hell of a coincidence I ended up a stone’s throw away from Damien’s best mate’s hometown, but it’s not really a priority right now. “Thank you.” I pull away to meet his gaze. “For taking care of him.”
Paul pulls me back into the hug. “Till the day I die, lass,” he declares. “Till the day I die.”
“Mate.” I hear Damien’s voice, and I lift my head to see him standing behind Paul. “Get your hands off my girl.”
“For starters,” Paul says, releasing me and holding his hands up in a don’t shoot fashion as I slowly move to grab some cutlery from a drawer with a smile. “Dani is a woman, and second, she wanted that hug just as much as me.” Damien shakes his head, moving to wrap his arms around me from behind as I stand at the island. “Maybe if you showed the lass some real affection…”
I laugh. “And he’s back.” Paul’s cockiness is never far away.
“Would you want me any other way?” Paul asks.
“I don’t want you at all.”
“That she reserves for me,” Damien pitches in.
Paul grimaces as though someone just walked over his grave. “Not what I meant.”
“I know.” I laugh. “But your face is priceless.”
At that very moment, Damien’s door slides open and in walk Raif, Jess and Amy, laughing away. Paul’s eyes turn instantly mischievous.
“I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces,” he mutters. “You do know they’re gonna slaughter us, right?”
“Pretty sure I’m a dead man walking,” Damien says, and I’d love to say he’s wrong, but I already know all three of them are not going to be happy about being kept in the dark. Especially Jess.
“Brace yourself,” I warn.
“Brace yourself for what?” Jess pipes up, catching the tail end of the conversation.
“Oh, just you wait, lass,” Paul states. “’Cause it’s one hell of a story.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
One life story later. One gruelling, exhausting life story full of never-ending questions and explanations that left Raif, Jess and Amy in utter shock is probably more accurate, followed by the longest, most detailed interrogation of my life, plus a few emotion-fuelled spats – Jess being the instigator – and the story is told. Everyone knows everything, from the very beginning to the very end, or to present-day anyway. I’d like to think Damien and my story is far from over. In fact, I’d say it’s just beginning.
Two and a half weeks of resting drag by, and I’m about half a second from calling it quits and going back to work at Dave’s tomorrow when Damien pulls out the surprise of a lifetime in the form of a trip to celebrate the upcoming birthday I’d forgotten about.
Post-Adrian but pre-returned memories, my birthday was just another day in my empty, anxiety-riddled existence, but not anymore. Damien’s determined to make my birthday memorable, even inviting the motley crew along too, and arranging whatever it is he’s apparently got planned for the duration of the trip. Everyone is keeping tight-lipped on the subject, of course.
As I step out of Paul’s van, my eyes widen at the sight of a beautiful mansion-sized house in front of me. I stand for a minute, taking in the white-painted, exterior brickwork, and the Greek-style pillars that form an entrance porch that leads to the front door. The windows have old-style shutters outside, painted a weird light green colour that almost matches the grass, but not much else, and the windows themselves are Victorian rather than the usual PVC double-glazed type.
I follow the others inside and step into a grand hallway, a beautiful Cinderella-style staircase taking centre stage. The floor is hardwood, not cheap laminate, and there are tables at either side of the hallway playing home to a couple of vases full of flowers. The walls are standard magnolia, but there are several pieces of abstract artwork, giving the room a nice colour burst.
“Wow,” I whisper.
Raif leads the way through the door to the right, and the rest of us follow into what I’m assuming is the living room, but given the size of the house, I can imagine there’s more than one. It’s a nice room with three sofas making an N shape, and a large mahogany coffee table in the middle. There’s a flat-screen telly, at least sixty inches, hanging above an old-fashioned coal fire and Victorian-style fireplace. Talk about mixing the old with the new.
Craving caffeine, I step through the archway and wow, what a kitchen. All white cupboards and jet-black granite worktops, with a Damien-style island in the middle, albeit twice the size and playing home to eight stools in the same shape as the sofas. Appliances wise, I’m assuming it’s all built in, hidden by cupboards, which makes it Damien’s idea of a perfect kitchen: neat, tidy, and clutter-free.
Damien intervenes, ushering me back into the living room with a stern reminder of my injuries and brews up for the group. That’s when I spot a pile of presents sitting on the coffee table. I hadn’t expected gifts, but I’m not going to say no.
“Open mine first,” Jess insists, thrusting her gift into my hand as I plonk myself down on the couch.
I rip off the bright pink wrapping paper, opening the box underneath to find a cheesy but sweet bracelet with the word friend engraved on a dangling, broken love heart. Jess swiftly reveals a matching bracelet with the word best on it.
“I suddenly feel about ten years old,” I say. “But thank you.”
A joint Jess and Damien gift comes next in the form of a photo album with the words just in case you forget written upon the front cover, which is cheeky, but it makes me laugh. Inside the album is a collection of all the photos Damien kept, and a description of who, what, when and where written underneath. Putting aside the worry the two of them obviously think another serious head injury or brain damage or possible dementia is in my future, I’m genuinely touched. It’s a heartfelt kind of gift.
