Page 77 of Stick Handled

When he pulls away, there’s a small, tentative smile on his face.

“Please forgive me. I’m still learning,” he says softly. “But I’m trying.”

I nod, knowing that’s all I can ask for. Real love. And that’s more than enough.

I glance at Damien, who’s been standing off to the side, watching the exchange. When our eyes meet, I see the emotion in his.

“I’m sorry,” I say to him, stepping toward him now. “For everything that happened. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

Damien’s lips twitch up into a small, unamused smile.

“You don’t have to apologize for your brother being a jackass,” he says, his tone light but filled with sincerity.

“Damien…” Rowan’s voice drops, softer now. “I’m ashamed of my actions tonight.” His words are almost hesitant, like he’s unsure of what he’s even feeling. “You and Ares… you guys… I don’t know where I’d be without you. My fear filled my head with all the wrong shit. You’ve always been in my corner, and tonight, I acted like it didn’t mean anything. I’m so sorry, brother.”

I glance at Damien, who stands motionless, his eyes trained on Rowan. The tension between them is thick. I can tell this isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about their friendship.

“I’m sorry, too,” Damien finally responds, his voice rough but thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner and keeping this a secret. I never meant to. I meant to tell you. I just wanted to lube you up before I rammed it in, you know. But then you rammed it in instead,” he huffs out a laugh.

Rowan’s eyes flash with a flicker of guilt and pain. He steps closer to Damien, his voice low, barely a whisper but carrying all the weight of years of friendship.

“I was just trying to keep you from hurting her,” he says, the rawness in his tone making my heart ache for both of them. “But I know I fucked up.”

Damien lets out a sharp breath, his chest tightening.

“You think I’d ever do that?” He shakes his head as if the question itself is absurd. “You and me, we’ve been through everything together. I owe you everything, and we both know that. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit back and let you dictate who I get to be with. Especially not when it’s her.”

Rowan swallows hard, his jaw tense. He’s struggling. I can see it in the way he’s looking at Damien, like he’s seeing him for the first time in a different light.

“Do you think there’s a way back from this?” he asks, his eyes locked with Damien’s. “You’ve been my crutch for so long—you and Ares. I can’t lose you. And I’m sorry.”

Damien’s expression softens, and there’s a long pause where neither of them speaks. I stand there, watching and feeling their love for each other.

Damien steps forward, his eyes steady, as though he’s finally letting go of all the walls he’s built up over the years.

“You won’t lose me, Rowan. You won’t lose any of us. We’re family, and we’re not going anywhere. But you have to learn to trust. Trust that I’ll do right by her.”

Rowan’s face cracks, and he’s finally done hiding it. He reaches out and grips Damien’s shoulder, the gesture more tender than anything I’ve ever seen between them.

“I know, man,” Rowan says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Do you forgive me?”

Damien’s expression softens even more, and his voice is gentle when he speaks again.

“Let me drive your Ferrari for a week, and I might think about it.” Damien’s lips quirk up.

They stand there for a long moment, the weight of everything between them slowly lifting. And in that silence, I realize just how much this moment means to both of them.

Damien reaches out and pulls me into him. Then, he grabs Rowan by the shoulder and pulls him into a tight hug as well. I feel Rowan wrapping his arm around me, the other wrapping around Damien, and I do the same. The three of us, finally breaking down the walls, finally seeing each other for who we really are, flaws, pain, and all.

Damien leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

The room falls back into silence again as we hold each other, but this time, it’s not heavy. It’s lighter. Like the storm has passed, but the air still crackles with the aftermath.

“Well, look at this fucking mess,” a deep voice startles us. We both pull back a bit to look at the door where Ares is standing. His usually cold eyes are soft. How long has he been standing there? The look in his eyes says, “I saw everything.”

Then, with that signature dry smirk of his, he speaks up.

“Mind if I join the therapy session?” he asks, stepping into the room like a ghost, all tall, dark, and intense. His cheekbone is red and already bruising against his pale skin.

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