Western Waves (Compass 3)

He and I had a lot in common. We’d both been burned, but somehow, we managed to let love in again. I blamed Stella for that ability—finding the saddest souls and reminding them what love looked like, felt like.

Stella and I kept our conversations growing, too. On a Sunday morning, we lay in bed with one another after yet another round of sex, and I held her in my arms. I’d sometimes notice that even though she was comfortable with me and my hands against her body, she still seemed to have a bit of discomfort with herself.

“You can talk to me about it, you know,” I told her. “Your discomforts. Any issues you’re dealing with.”

She tilted her head a little to meet my stare. “You’re that good at reading me, huh?”

“I have a gift.”

Stella shrugged and waved it off. “I’m just too emotional. So, whenever sad thoughts come up, I push them way, way down. It’s super healthy,” she joked.

I didn’t laugh.

“Do you ever allow yourself to be sad? And I mean for an extended period. After you lost Kevin, you were cracking jokes. Or after the stuff with Jeff, you pushed off really facing your feelings and went into holiday mode. So, do you let yourself sit in your sadness?”

“Gosh, no. That sounds awful. I know staying sad doesn’t do much, so I am for happiness.”

“That’s not healthy.”

She laughed. “Depression isn’t either. I’d choose happiness over sadness any day.”

“But it’s just a fake happiness. Besides, I think there can be beauty in sadness. You have to allow yourself to feel it for a while. You have to allow yourself to feel all emotions whenever they come up. Otherwise, they all get messed up.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I used to push not only sadness down deep, but happiness, too. I was numb to all feelings until I hit my breaking point. It’s like a dam, though. You’re building a dam to keep your emotions in. Trust me, each time you surpass your emotions, the dam cracks a little. Then over time, it completely crashes.”

She nervously bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know if I’m ready to feel it all yet.”

“That’s fine. Just be aware that the dam can break, then it’s overwhelming.”

“Did yours ever break?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I was sixteen years old. I tried to end my life.”

Her eyes widened, and she sat up in shock. “Oh my goodness, Damian…”

“It’s okay,” I soothed her, seeing the tears hit her eyes. “I’m still here. I got past it. But, when those emotions hit, I felt so overwhelmed that they almost ended me. I don’t want that for you. Feel your feelings, Stella…even the hard ones.”

She lay back down, and I pulled her into me. She snuggled in close as her head rested against my chest. “Damian?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so glad you’re still here.”

One evening when I was working late at my actual office, finishing up a few contracts for deals I’d closed, I was surprised to see a person knocking on my door.

“Damian, correct?” Catherine asked, standing in my doorway. She had her designer sunglasses on, along with her designer shoes. Her lips were pursed out in a pout as she slipped off her glasses.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, baffled. She was the last person I thought I’d see standing in my office. “How did you find out where I worked?”

“People are pretty easy to track down if a person is determined.” She walked into the room, uninvited, and took a seat across from my desk. “I think it’s beyond time that we hold a conversation with one another. By the will, we are supposed to have a night together.”

“I am aware and will contact you when I am ready.”

It was hard for me to look at her because all I could think about was the stories Stella told me about Catherine. How she was one of the reasons Stella ended up with so much anxiety. With self-esteem struggles. With doubt of her worth.

If hate was a person, it was Catherine Michaels. And Rosalina. And Denise, too. If Kevin was good at one thing, it was picking awful wives.

“Well, I have an event coming up that I think you should attend. I’ve overseen a huge charity event that happens at the end of the month. Each year, we donate a large sum. It’s the best of the best.”

“Okay?”

“You should come. It’s for a good cause. It’s for a foster charity program to help kids in dangerous environments. Surely, that tugs at your heartstrings.”

Screw her—it did.

I knew how rough it could be growing up in the system. It was why I was so passionate about giving back to a few programs back in New York.

“I grew up in the foster system, too, you know,” she told me.

That tugged at me, too, but I didn’t show it. “Are we done here? I have work to finish.”