Master of Death (Hollow #2)

CHAPTER 25

A few weeks later, on Friday, I wake up on the wrong side of the bed—both literally and figuratively.

I barely sleep without Damon. And I miss him terribly.

The only good thing about today is the sunshine that smothers Chicago as we near the end of April.

A strange sadness creeps upon me all day, and I’m at my wit’s end by seven o’clock. I just finished another report, and I’m exhausted. The heels don’t help, though at least I’m comfortable enough in jeans and a black blazer.

I ask Damon if he needs anything before I go home. He doesn’t, so I wish him good night.

“Gemma.”

I’m about to leave his office when he smacks the door closed with his palm atop my hand, his other hand gripping my waist underneath my white shirt.

“What do you want?”

He turns me around, and I see guilt and wonder and admiration when I stare into his eyes. “It’s been three weeks.”

“So? What do you want from me? For me to give you another chance? And then what? What happens when the baby’s born? Will you bail on us then?”

I’m officially pregnant. I don’t know why, but having my doctor confirm it to me through blood work makes everything surreal.

He shakes his head. “I would never . I asked for a minute to breathe, not to end us.”

“You ended us all on your own.” I push against his chest. “Every time you leave, you betray me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop. Stop being sorry. All I need you to do is talk to me, and you can’t even do that.”

I let him stew on my words before I say something I’ll regret. I won’t do this again. If he refuses to talk to me the same way Harvey did, I can’t do it anymore.

I already shut down my computer for the night, so I grab my purse. I’m out the glass door and inside the elevators. He doesn’t come after me, and for some reason, the thought annoys me. At least he knows Joey’s driving me home.

I don’t expect him at the door at eleven o’clock at night, either, when he rings the doorbell repeatedly.

He stumbles in drunk with his duffel bag in hand. I’m not surprised, yet I can’t muster the energy to deal with him in his current state.

“Baby . . . baby . . . I need to talk to you.”

I shake my head. “Damon, you only open up to me when you drink. That’s not what I want.”

His fingers hold on to his hair like a vise. “Please, just ... I miss you, Red.” He thumbs a strand of hair away from my face. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw you ... so beautiful even in a hospital gown. I swear I couldn’t believe my luck when Katherine introduced you as my new assistant.”

“Damon.”

“Listen to me. I can’t do this sober. God knows I tried.”

We head to the living room, and he sits on the rug, staring into space.

God, he must be really drunk.

Somehow seeing him like this breaks something inside me. He’s hurt, and he doesn’t know how to heal.

“After the accident I was so mad at Palmer, at her parents, at myself, especially ...” His eyes bleed in agony at the memory. “I thought we were happy. I mean, sure, I worked a lot, but I thought she loved me ,” he whispers, referring to the fact that she admitted to cheating on him in her diary.

I want to shush him and tell him that perhaps she did love him in a similar way that I loved Harv, and I still hurt him deeply.

“The night she killed herself, I lost it.”

I hold on to his hand, trying to comfort him.

“I blamed her for the accident, even though I never should’ve let her drive in the first place.” His Adam’s apple moves. “That’s why Sutton thinks it’s my fault—because it is. I helped Palmer heal mentally first, then as soon as she was better, I sprung the notion that a man was now paralyzed because of her. And after visiting you in the hospital, even then, just the thought that you could’ve been more injured too—I lashed out at Palmer in my own way.”

My heart is beating so rapidly it might explode. I taste metal and notice I’m biting on my lip.

“I was working in her home office that night, and I fell asleep on the couch.” He touches his neck. “The next thing I know, something prickles my neck. She drugged me. I couldn’t move . As time went on, words slurred from my mouth while I tried asking her what the fuck she was doing! She was eerily calm as she placed an envelope on the desk and cut herself ...”

He buries his face in his hands, and I sit on the rug next to him, stroking his back.

“I ... felt paralyzed.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe it was karma for the hit-and-run. Anyway, she screamed, and I begged her to stop, but our earlier fight was playing through her eyes. I swear to God, in that moment , she hated me. I could see it. And she had every right to. I blamed her for the accident when she never should’ve driven in the first place, then I hate-fucked her instead of making love to her, and I fucking stood there like a drugged-up idiot, watching her hurt herself.”

Tears glisten in his eyes as he spaces out completely while recounting the story.

I can feel my own emotions pushing against the dam, breaking it, setting them free.

“She told me she popped pills, but she added a couple more. Then she drank some whiskey and ended her life in front of me.”

He rubs his eyes while he continues, “I’ll never forget the look on her face as the knife crossed her neck. The second she did, her sister arrived home, by some goddamn miracle, and witnessed the whole thing. It’s why I managed to escape murder charges, but it hasn’t stopped Sutton from hating me. I tried to scream at Palmer—fought so fucking hard to get to her, to break through the drug, but I was losing consciousness. She wanted to die. I couldn’t protect her, and as soon as she dropped the letter on my desk she was gone. Palmer was gone and she wasn’t coming back.” He places his head in my lap, wrapping his arms around me.

I’m shocked.

Frankly, I never expected him to tell me she committed suicide in front of him. I don’t even know what to say, so instead I trace my fingers over his eyebrows, hoping it calms him.

“Did you read her letter?” I’m referring to the letter to Damon she spoke of in her second diary.

“I did,” he says. “But her words couldn’t undo the damage.”

I take it all in—his pain, his feelings, his words.

“I can’t lose you too.” He looks up. “I loved her ... I did. But that’s not at all the truth anymore.”

I let my own tears spill.

They say the truth will set you free, but sometimes it traps you inside a prison cell beforehand.

I clear my throat, swallowing before I say, “I don’t want you to stop loving her or forget her.”

“No, you don’t get it. I said it’s not the truth. You know the one? The one no one has access to but you? I could die a thousand lifetimes, and no matter the pain, I’d always find my way back to you.”

More tears fall. “If only it were enough to make you stay ,” I croak.

“It is enough. Now you know everything. No more secrets, Red.”

I shake my head. “I’m so sorry, Damon—so sorry I pushed you with this—so sorry you had to go through this alone.”

We’re both silent while I weave my hand through his hair, my mind on overdrive. “The paintings in your office and in your room—they’re hers?”

He nods. “Her family sold her studio and gave me some of her artwork. I always thought it was the accident that caused her to start painting darker, but I guess it was that fucker leaving her.”

That fucker being Gregory, the one Palmer cheated on Damon with.

“Why do you think she kept referring to you as being dark?”

He shrugs. “Not everyone likes getting spanked.”

I don’t even want to picture him doing so to another woman, no matter if she’s dead.

“You have to forgive yourself. For Harvey too. We can’t move on unless you forgive yourself.”

“How can I forgive myself if you won’t forgive me?” he whispers.

I don’t push him tonight. I don’t push myself either. I’m not naive enough to believe I’d ever distance myself from him for months at a time.

Though maybe I should.

“You’re my world. And I feel if I stay away, you’ll be safer.”

I grab his jaw. “No.” I shake my head. “I need you. Damon. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were anyone else. The drug paralyzed you. There’s nothing you could’ve done for her.”

“When Sutton told me Palmer was pregnant, I couldn’t deal with the guilt, knowing I did nothing to protect them.”

“Sutton never told you it wasn’t yours?”

“No, she never specified. That’s what she wanted—to hurt me. Why else would she give me her sister’s diaries when she recently found them? But she’s also going through a divorce, so I’m guessing she wishes even more for her sister to be alive right now.”

“Yeah, that’s possible. What about her parents? Do you still talk to them?”

He chuckles. “Of course not. Our relationship was on the rocks already after the car accident, since they kept her isolated in the hopes of keeping everything hush-hush. We drifted apart after she died. Perhaps they blamed me too.”

God. The guilt he’s harboring. It’s enough to darken anyone’s soul.

“The only reason we got away with the hit-and-run was because we live in Chicago—these things make news for a day, and then they’re over with. But if Harvey’s parents would’ve wanted retribution, they could’ve made more noise.”

“But they didn’t.”

“No,” he mutters. “They didn’t.”

“I suppose when something traumatic like this happens, they were just grateful for their son to be alive. By the time we all processed Harvey’s new way of life, six months had passed. They’re good people—not the type to seek revenge.”

I see him stare at the ceiling, a slight movement to his Adam’s apple. We keep quiet for a long while as I play with his hair again.

“I’m angry at her for cheating on me, for using me.”

“Maybe you should tell her how you feel? Go to her grave.”

“We’ll see.” He looks up at me through long lashes, his stare slicing through me. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, Gemma. I’d give you every part of me even if it brought death to my soul.”

“That’s because you believe yourself to be a monster.”

“You, out of everyone, know that I am capable of being one.”

I shake my head. “You were protecting her. It’s so easy to blame yourself, Damon, but it’s not your fault.”

“I keep thinking, selfishly, if she hadn’t injured Harvey, I don’t think we’d be together.”

I let that news sink in. Really sink in. And I hate that the first thought appearing in my mind tells me there’s nothing I want more than Damon in my life.

I feel horrible, absolutely horrible, because of the mere thought itself.

“What happened after that night?”

“Once I was coherent, Sutton and I spoke to the police, and I went home the next morning. I wanted to die. Every day, I wanted to die.”

“What made you push through?”

“I adapted to my new hell. And one thought kept me going—the red-haired girl from the hospital.”

I tear up at his words, because my angel is what helped me get through the weeks post-accident too.