She let him turn her head, but she kept her eyes closed. “I
don’t want you in my life.” He couldn’t make her love him again. His lips on her forehead, his hand moved to her hair. She should push him away. She held her breath. She didn’t want him, but he whispered her name and it was all the colours of the heavens and she cleaved to him, hands moving under his coat to hold him.
He kissed her, lips firm and sure, mouth gentle, but not hesitant. Her traitor mouth kissed him back, like her insurgent fists filled with his shirt, her turncoat hips pressed to him. But the kiss was just another weapon and she would not sing for him again. She shoved against his chest and he stepped away, dropping his stick.
Hamish was in the hallway. “Everything all right?”
She wiped her mouth and bent to get the stick. “Damon is leaving.”
Damon turned his head towards Hamish. There was a strange moment where no one moved. Damon and Hamish appeared to be sizing each other up. She tapped the handle of the stick against Damon’s hand and he took it. He said, “Be good to her.”
“Now that I’ve learned how again, you can be assured of it.”
Damon used the wall and his stick to reach the doorstep. He moved over the entrance easily, tapped for the stairs then stumbled, going to one knee.
She cried out, dashed forward, but he righted himself and kept moving, tapping down the stairs and the path to the gate, opening it, going through it and closing it behind him. He walked to the gutter. She watched from the doorway as he pulled out a phone. He’d call a cab. He’d get in it and drive away. He’d go wherever he wanted, pick up his life and live it as though she’d never happened.
“You could stop him.”
She shook her head. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re only a shadow standing here. He’s taking the best part of you with him.”
She turned her back on Damon and faced Hamish. “Sentimental rubbish. That makes no sense.”
“You were worried about your appearance and the man is bat blind. And that was the kind of kiss I’d give an arm to experience.”
She stepped around Hamish. Why couldn’t he have stayed in the kitchen? “Yes, well, we know I’m an idiot. I married you.”
“So don’t be an idiot again.”
“I’m not.” Damon was still at the kerb.
“You’re letting the man you’re in love with walk away without you. At least he had the guts to try. You hardly gave him ten minutes.”
She reached for the doorknob to close the door. A cab pulled up. “He doesn’t need me. He’s perfectly fine by himself.” Damon put his hand to the cab roof and stepped off the gutter. He folded his stick.
“No, he doesn’t need you and yes he’s fine, but you’re missing the point.”
She ignored Hamish. She watched Damon feel for the car door latch. He looked back towards the house and she flinched. He couldn’t possibly know she was watching. He couldn’t possible know she was incapable of imagining her life without him.
She closed the door.
She closed that chapter of her life.
35: Surviving
Angus poured. Damon would need more than coffee to make it through the jet lag. But it was a start. He’d kicked around London for two days, thinking Georgia might call, might get over the shock of seeing him and he could start his apology all over again.
Plain dumb to try to see her without talking to her first, but it seemed like the right kind of cheat. If he called her she could hang up, send his number to her message bank. He should’ve called her, got a message to her months ago.
She’d been so upset, wounded, her voice torn up, her words so harsh. He’d forced that kiss on her. God. She hadn’t wanted it at first. But he couldn’t help himself, he needed to touch her so he didn’t fall on his face, and he nearly had anyway. She’d been staying with Hamish all this time, what did he expect?
It’d been tempting to hang out for longer, but she wasn’t going to call. He could’ve gone back to the house but that would be cruel. He’d heard her loud and clear. He could’ve phoned Hamish, but he couldn’t bear the thought of hearing victory in his voice. Georgia didn’t want him in her life. So here he was, sitting across the bar from Angus as he set up for opening, fuzzy-headed and emotionally trashed.
“If your hangdog expression is anything to go by, you’re feeling more than jet lag? You want something stronger?”
Tempting. He shook his head. Stronger was what he needed to be, but he wouldn’t get it from a bottle. “She didn’t want to know me.” But she’d kissed him back, like he was her missing sunlight. He needed to stop thinking about that and focus on how tight and hard her voice was, how much rage there was in the way she pushed him away.