He glowers at the assortment of bottles, his jaw clenched. Instead of reaching for a whiskey, he opts for soda water.
"I'm fine," he grumbles, taking a sip before heading to the fireplace.
I follow him through the log cabin, taking in the rustic design. It’s cozy in here. Almost makes it feel like there isn’t a storm brewing on the outside. Damon attempts to start a fire, but the man has little experience. When he’s about to lose his shit, I offer my help. He grumbles, but accepts my assistance. Together, we start the fire. We coax the flames.
The fire crackles but it’s quiet. Too quiet. The silence between us is loud, uncomfortable, and unhelpful. We can't continue like this. We can’t continue in a constant state of awkward pauses and hums. This won't work unless we communicate.
"Is something bothering you, D?" I finally break the silence, placing a log on the fire. "If there is, you’ve got to tell me. We need to be on the same page. We need to be open with each other."
Damon remains quiet for a moment, staring into the dancing flames. "We’ve done this before, Q," he says, his voice gruff. "It didn’t end well."
“Emery is not Alison,” I say, her name bitter on my tongue. Damon winces, and I don’t blame him. Despite our different accounts of history, she hurt us both. “This time will be different, Damon. We can’t punish Emery for our failures. She… She’s told us what she wants. Now it’s our job to make it happen.”
Damon's tensed shoulders sag, and he finally meets my gaze. "I wanted to marry her, Quinton.”
“As did I.” I grip his shoulder, my hold pleading for a compromise. Another chance to get it right. "Which is why I think this time failure’s not an option.” He glances at my touch but doesn’t shrug it off. “I know it’s been a long time, Damon, but try to remember how it was before everything went south. It wasn’t all bad, D. You know it wasn’t.”
Damon licks his lips as he recalls our glory days. “We go slow, Q,” he says, tone stern. “She… She needs us to go slow.”
A smirk clips my upper lip. “I think we should let Emery tell us what she needs. From what I’ve seen,” I perk a brow, “she’s more than willing to experiment.”
“She’s injured, Quin,” Damon says, taking a step away from the fire. “Until all her bruises fade, you and I will be operating at fifty percent. Is that clear?”
I let out a playful sigh. “What about?—”
I'm cut off by a startling crash from upstairs, a loud bang that rattles the cabin. Damon and I exchange a worried glance before sprinting up the stairs, calling out for Emery.
"Emery!" Damon's voice is strained, panic seeping through. “Em!”
When we reach the bathroom, breathless and anxious, we find Emery freshly showered. She's bent over, picking up a fallen vase.
"I accidentally knocked this over," she says, looking up at us, blinking innocently as she holds the white towel wrapped around her body.
“Jesus…” Damon sighs in relief, his shoulders relaxing. "I thought?—"
"I'm sorry," Emery coos, standing up straight. "I'll be more careful next time."
“Good,” I say, mouth dry as Emery accidentally loosens her hold on the towel, revealing just enough skin to render me hopeless.
“Why are you stare—” She frowns, gaze flicking between me and an equally stiffened Damon. And then realization dawns on her, and the skin around her chest flushes with patches of pink and red. She glances down, noticing her bare breasts taunting us. Instantly, a coy, playful smirk spreads across her face, and without hesitation, she drops the towel completely, saying, "Oops."
Damon's eyes widen. “Emery…”
She laughs, the sound so light and carefree, and walks past us toward the bedroom. "I'll be in there if you need me," she says over her shoulder, leaving Damon and me in stunned silence.
Shaking my head, I turn to Damon, woefully amused. "I don't think your plan to operate at fifty percent is going to pan out, mate." I nod toward the executive bedroom. "But go ahead, be the one to let her down."
Damon glowers at me. "She's going to give me a fucking heart attack, I swear. She's injured and she's acting like nothing is..."
"Maybe she needs a distraction," I say, shrugging. "Maybe she wants to forget abouthowshe got hurt in the first place."
“Fuck.” Damon closes his eyes and releases a labored sigh. "Fine," he grunts. "But we go gentle."
I grin. "I'm always gentle, D. You're the one that usually needs restraints."
Damon rolls his eyes and reluctantly exits the bathroom. I follow him into the bedroom, and when we enter, I can’t help but release a hushed chuckle.
Sprawled across the bed, damp and naked, is Emery. Completely passed out and lightly snoring.
