Love Always, Kate (7 page)

Chapter 7

I couldn’t sleep that night. All of my insecurities came flooding back. Were the roses, the apology, a farce? Should I go?

When the sun came up, I watched the brilliant rays of citrine and garnet fill the sky. From behind the clouds, sprays of white light poured down to earth. When I was younger, I used to think that was when angels came down from heaven to ferry souls back up to the hands of God.

I wrote about the splendor of the morning skies. How blessed I felt to be able to see even one miraculous sunrise. I imagined what it would look like from the top of a mountain or standing in the sand, peering out over the vastness of the ocean. The sunrise calmed me. At daybreak, there was no room for anxiety, worries, or disquiet.

Feeling calm, I crawled back in bed and drifted to sleep. I awoke after noon to my mother knocking on my door.

“Hey, sweetie,” she greeted me with a smile. “I wore you out shopping yesterday, didn’t I? We shouldn’t have been out so long. With you being back on chemo, I just didn’t…”

“No, Mom,” I
said, rubbing my eyes. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I can bring you up lunch if you’re hungry.”

“That’s okay. I need to get up anyway. I can eat with you and Dad downstairs. It’s not like I’m helpless and dying.”

“
Kate.” My mother’s voice raised half an octave as she said my name.

“Sorry,” I mumbled
.

When Dr. Lowell first diagnosed me, my parents were overly protective, acting like I was Great-Grandma’s priceless crystal vase, which sat wrapped in bubble wrap in a box in the
china cabinet. The second time, they relaxed a little, but they never let me out of their sight. This time, my parents went about their business, and I went about mine. I preferred it this way actually—less pressure on me.

But every so often, that worried, sorrowful look would
cross my mother’s face.

I wanted to go to treatments, stay positive, and forget all the immature white blood cells that clouded my bloodstream. Already, I looked forward to spring when Roosevelt High would start team golf practice—a taste of normalcy.

I took a quick shower, threw on some jeans and a sweater, and headed downstairs. After lunch, I played a dozen hands of Rook with my mother. She had taught me to play when I was stuck in the hospital undergoing tests. Then we’d play during my first round of chemo. And my second. And my third. It became our favorite game. Sometimes Dad would play, and when he did, it was an easy win for me.

I took the bid and reached for the nest, making sure to keep my eyes on my cards. “By the way, can I go over to Damian’s tonight?” After the words were out, I held my breath.

“Damian’s?” I felt Mom’s eyes drilling into me.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, yeah. He asked when he sent the flowers. Red’s trump.” I threw out the red 1, keeping my gaze down.

Mom played the red 7, and I pulled in the hand. “I thought you said it was just a hospital relationship.”

I shrugged, putting the red 13 in the middle of the table. “It was—
is
. It
is
.”

“So, is this a
date
?” Mom laid down the Rook, and I added both of our cards face down in front of me.

I shifted my eyes upward to her glowing face. “I don’t know.” I really didn’t.

She played the yellow 8 next to my red 12 and sighed. “Things were less complicated when you weren’t old enough to date. Can’t you just stay my little girl forever?”

“Sorry, Mom. I don’t possess that kind of power.” I grinned, taking her yellow 10 and setting out the black 12.

“Be home by eleven.” She pulled in the hand with the black 14.

“Thanks.” I couldn’t hide my smile.

“Dr. Lowell’s son. I’d never have guessed,” Mom mused.

Damian’s house was a good half-hour from mine. Excitement and dread overcame me as I drove. This time, I noticed the towering houses, some with iron gates in front of the driveways, and sprawling brick walls. A few times I considered turning back, but for whatever reason I didn’t; it had been over a week since I’d seen him. And he’d been drunk.

My heart pounded as I thought about seeing those blue eyes again. The way they looked into mine…wow! There was nothing about him that didn’t make me drool. I mean, I’d already thrown up in front of him—twice!—what was a little saliva?

I pulled into his driveway and parked my car. The enormous house loomed before me like something out of a Wes Craven movie. If it was dark outside, the place would have freaked me out. I checked myself in the rearview mirror, adjusted my hat, threw on a little more lip gloss, and opened the door.

Then I closed the door. I leaned back against my seat and shut my eyes. What was I doing? Was I setting myself up for disappointment? Did the other girl know about me? Oh crap! Was
I
the girl he was cheating on his girlfriend with?

Maybe the kiss was just a mistake. And the flowers just a friendly gesture. And the text…I slumped deeper into my seat. Was the text just to make the bald girl with cancer feel like she was important?

I covered my face with my gloved hands, breathing into the cotton material. The thoughts in my head were spinning in circles. Every part of me wanted to believe Damian genuinely cared for me—as more than a friend. The doubt rolled in thick, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

When I opened my eyes, I took a deep breath and opened the door again. This time I stepped out of the car before closing it. I stared at the house for a few moments before I walked up to the front door.

I knocked, bit my lip, and almost turned back, but Damian answered too quickly. He stood in the foyer: jeans, a blue t-shirt that matched his eyes, and barefoot.

“Hey,” he
said, opening the glass door. The slight grin on his face accentuated his dimples. And his voice, oh! My heart melted at the sound.

“Hey.” I pursed my lips and inspected the floor as I stepped inside.

“I’ll take your coat.”

I stuck my gloves and hat in the pockets of my bubble-coat and handed it over.

“Thanks,” I replied, still refusing to meet his gaze, scared he’d captivate me more than he already had.

He laid my things
on a bench in the foyer. “I almost thought you weren’t coming.”

I nodded slightly. “Thank you for the roses. They were beautiful.” I stole a quick glance up at his face.

Was he blushing? “You’re welcome. I noticed the rose on your diary and took a chance. Are you hungry?”

“Um
.” I hadn’t known what to expect. The note hadn’t gone into details, so I’d munched on some crackers and cheese on the drive. “Yeah.”

He reached over and took my hand. “Come on, then.”

His touch surprised me, and I almost pulled back. The warmth sent waves of electricity through me. I didn’t want him to let go, but I didn’t want him touching me, either. There were too many unanswered questions. I still didn’t know if I was angry at him, or if I’d forgiven him.

Damian led me into the den. The dark curtains were drawn and the lights off. The fireplace danced wit
h flames casting a glow over the room. On the floor lay a blanket with a vase of red roses in the middle, and two covered plates of food.

I squeezed Damian’s hand without thinking. The place looked incredible, like something out of a sappy romance novel.

“Do you like lobster? You’re not allergic, are you?”

I looked up at him. The corner of his mouth was turned up
, and one of his eyebrows rose.

“I don’t know, actually,” I breathed. “Did you cook?”

He laughed. “Take out.”

Damian led me to the blanket and motioned for me to sit. He lifted out a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass.

“I…,” I started.

“Non-alcoholic.” He tipped the bottle over my glass.

I smiled timidly. “Sure.” Even though the atmosphere of the room was romantic and…well, gorgeous, I still felt like darting out the door, climbing into my car, and making a quick getaway. The wine glass was in my hand before Damian put the bottle back on ice. I took small sips, making sure not to make eye contact. The wineless wine didn’t taste all that great, but it gave me something to do.

“That good, huh?” Damian asked
grinning.

Keeping my eyes on the floor, I
said, “Uh, it’s all right.”

“Look, I’m not very good at this.” He scratched his head and sighed. “You know, why don’t we eat first—before it gets cold?”

Damian reached over and lifted the silver lid off my plate. Sitting in front of me, staring at me, was a giant lobster surrounded by rice and asparagus. I’d never had lobster before. I picked up my fork and poked at the hard exterior. It sounded hollow. Damian snickered under his breath as he watched me toy with the dead crustacean. I clicked on it again with my fork, this time harder. Sebastian flopped off my plate onto the blanket. Damian, who had just taken a drink, almost spit it out of his nose. I cleared my throat and lifted my eyes.

“Sorry.” He bit his lower lip, balled up his hand, and rested his chin on it, covering the smirk on his face.

After lifting the bottom-dweller back on my plate, I jabbed my fork into a string of asparagus and stuck it in my mouth. Damian did the same. When my vegetables and rice were gone, I was left with the bright red bug. Since my host had yet to break into his, I was on my own to try to figure out how to eat the thing. I wondered if that was his plan—wait it out and have a good laugh.

I took a sip from my wine glass. My stomach growled. I didn’t want to ask for help, so I took my fork and started poking at the hard shell. A chainsaw would have been helpful, but since I didn’t have one in my pocket, I stabbed the lobster with my fork
. It worked—sort of. I broke through the shell and small shards of red flew through the air. Damian chuckled, blue glimmers dancing in the light of the fire.

“There’s an easier way
,” he grinned.

I glared at him. “Oh?”

“Want some help?” he asked, trying unsuccessfully to maintain a straight face.

I sighed, contemplating.
No, I didn’t want help, but I had no idea what I was doing.

Damian didn’t wait
for an answer. As soon as he’d asked, he was on his feet and sat down behind me, one leg on either side of mine. “Lobster’s finger food.”

He wrapped his arms around me, running his hands down my shoulders, all the way to my hands where he placed his over mine. At the same time, his lips moved in next to my ear. I could feel his breath on my neck. Instead of tensing up, my whole body relaxed. Without thinking, I closed my eyes, taking in his touch, his breath, his scent.

His lips pressed against my neck, and a soft moan escaped my throat. The noise surprised me. My eyes flew open, and without turning my head, darted to him. In the firelight, I thought I saw him smile.

He used my hands in his to pick up the lobster and pull off its claws. Slowly, he snapped the body in half and started pulling meat out of the tail. He took a small piece and lifted it to my lips. I b
lushed, opening my mouth. Damian leaned around me as I closed my lips over the white, succulent meat. The buttery goodness melted on my tongue. Apparently the look on my face satisfied him. He kissed my cheek before going back to work. I watched as he pulled the shell apart, alternating between lifting a sliver into my mouth and then his own.

We sat like that, in front of the fire, with Damian feeding me until I’d had enough. Leaning to the side to face me, he slid his thumb over my lips, upper then lower, then repeated it. His eyes followed his own movements. My abdomen stirred, and I shivered. I’d never wanted him to kiss me more than at that moment.

He didn’t kiss me. Instead he stood up, handed me my wine glass, then took his and placed it on the end table next to the Victorian-style sofa.

“Wanna see a trick?” he asked, taking hold of the end of the blanket on the floor.

“Is this like the table cloth thing? ‘Cause I’ve seen that one before.” I scooted off the blanket and onto the hardwood floor.

“Something like that.” He grinned and took the corners of the blanket, lifted, and dragged the whole thing behind the loveseat, revealing a clean blanket underneath. “Ta-da!”

“Amazing.
That
, I’ve never seen before!” I rolled my eyes, a smile beginning to spread across my face.

“And that’s what makes it so special.”

He picked up his wine glass and sat in the middle of the new blanket, beckoning me to join him. I sighed and moved onto the blanket, yet keeping my distance. The talk would be coming. I took comfort in knowing it wasn’t up to me to start the conversation; however, I was probably expected to at least say something. I had no idea what that “something” would be.