Page 5 of Surviving the Break
Jarred by a sudden shift of energy in the room, causing a slight restriction of my airflow, I searched for the culprit. Damon entered then. Large and intimidating, even oxygen made way for him. Justin’s eyes collided with his, and I allowed myself a moment to witness their unspoken connection. A second became too much, and I squeezed my eyes shut before opening and tearing them away, only for them to land on the storm of a man observing me thoughtfully from the doorway. Equally intimidating, but not from the threat of violence like Damon. No, his nerve-racking persona lay in his self-assurance. It was in the way he pulled his shoulders back and held his head high. The way his maroon tailored suit made the man and not the other way around. I knew this man. Knew what it felt like to have his competent hands on me. I’d dreamt of him often, and I both craved and hated him for it. I reached a hand out for something to hold on to, but being in the center of the room, I came up empty.How...what’s he doing here?
And then the pieces clicked together in my hazy brain. Ash isAshton.
Lust slammed into me like a freight train, and I bit my tongue to temper it. Anger at the possibility of my carefully ordered life derailing rode lust’s coattails as he flashed me a surprised, but knowing, cocky smirk. I schooled my features to something neutral, even while knowing the man wouldn’t be fooled by my reserved act. I gave a polite nod and shifted my attention to the children yelling my name in the hopes that he’d get the hint.Let’s pretend nothing happened.
But he left his observation spot and cut a line through the room to get to me. His familiar scent tickled my nose, and I held my breath as he crooned, “You must beMr. Max.”
2
ASH
It was a slow morning at Portland International, and with hardly any traffic outside, I caught sight of Damon as soon as I exited through the revolving doors at arrivals.
“Excuse me, sir,” a woman said.
I’d stopped in front of the doors, blocking the small flow of people behind me. I stepped aside, dropping my bag on the floor between my feet, and watched Damon. Parked in the passenger pickup line across the median, he leaned against the trunk of his sleek black car, his arms crossed, wearing a cruel expression. His resting face. My lips curled into an affectionate smile.
Damon had dissociative identity disorder, and his alter, Blake, had been in control for the last handful of years until recently. This would be my first time seeing Damon since his return. On the surface, Blake and I were more compatible, but Damon was the first person besides my mother to love me without condition. Blake could never take his place.
Damon was urban to Blake’s urbane. You’d never catch Blake in fitted cargos and a muscle tee, which was what Damon wore now. Surprisingly, Blake didn’t mind allowing his dark curls to do what they would, and neither did Damon.
I missed him, but how did I tell him that without potentially causing him to retreat into himself? I’d have to relearn how to walk that fine line with Damon. I hadn’t had to in years.
His head turned my way, his eyes widened, and that cruel frown attempted to turn in the opposite direction. I snatched up my bag, an excited chuckle escaping me, and wove through the other cars to get to him.
“You’re here,” I said, excited like a kid on Christmas morning.
He popped the trunk and tossed my luggage in. “Where else would I be? You needed a ride.” Damon’s tone carried a note of bashfulness. I suppressed my grin, knowing he’d get defensive if I were to tease him about it. I could’ve gotten home without him. I’d been doing it just fine for years, but he’d missed me too.
“Of course,” I said, a playful formality to my tone. Turned out dealing with Damon was like riding a bike. One never forgets after all.
Once on the highway, Damon informed me we were headed to a community center in Chadwick for the first appearance of the dance studio where Justin would be class instructor. He brought me up to date on what I’d missed over the past week, before sticking his nose in my business. Same old Damon.
“So, you’re still single?”
While Damon and Justin had been together since high school, I was a notorious bachelor. “Yes, but not because I’m afraid of commitment.” I thought back to a night months ago in a sketchy bar when a sexy stranger had jumped to the same conclusion. I would’ve liked nothing more than to findthe one.“I have no hang-ups about love; I merely haven’t crossed paths with someone I found interesting enough to give it a go with.” Or had I?
“You’re better off by yourself anyway. Too many assholes out there.”
I fought to contain my laughter. Some things never changed. Damon had always been territorial, never one to share his things. Thank God for Justin. I had gained some relief from Damon’s overbearing nature once he came along. “You never did like it when I made new friends. Always wanting me for yourself,” I mused, staring out my window.
“That’s not true.” He handed me his phone. “Can you text Justin and let him know we’re running late?”
“You hated me spending time with my father,” I said incredulously, sitting back to type out the message before dropping the phone into the cupholder.
“That’s because he showed up after not being around and then had the nerve to be an unreliable prick.”
He had a point. “Do you remember that time he promised to take me to the Waffle House? I got my clothes ready the night before, and I was on the porch waiting before the sun came up?”
His face darkened. “How could I forget?”
I’d loved the Waffle House, and I’d had a thing about getting there early. I sat there waiting for hours before my mother convinced me to come inside. I locked myself in my room. A short time later, I’d woken up with crusty eyes to the sound of someone jimmying my window. “You forced me to get up. Said you stole money out of your mom’s purse and we were going to the Waffle House.”
He grunted. “And you said we couldn’t because it was no longer breakfast time.”
I shook my head at my childish peculiarities. “And you said, ‘we’ll turn our watches back.’” I’d smiled up at him, the idea so genius. I’d thrown the blanket back, shoved my feet into my sneakers and shouted over my shoulder, “Let’s go!” When I’d opened my bedroom door, Mom had sat leaning against the opposite wall. Her limbs were stiff; she’d been there for a while. She’d stridden past me and kissed Damon on the forehead. He looked both embarrassed and proud. We rushed out, hopping on our bikes, but not before fixing our watches.
I rolled my head in his direction now. “I never said thank you.” I watched his profile, hoping my words didn’t hold too much sentiment. He nodded, never taking his eyes off the road.
