Page 67 of Just One Night Together
“Are you done?” he demanded, his tone sharper. “This was sex, Haley, not therapy. I’m sorry I had a nightmare but that doesn’t make me your next project. You have no right to examine my choices and pester me to make different ones.”
“Because I was just a fuck,” she said, her voice hard, and watched him flinch.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It must be what you mean.”
“No, it isn’t...” He fell silent, then eyed her for a moment. “What happened with Garrett?” he asked instead. “What did he do?”
The question caught Haley by surprise but she gave him one of his own answers. “It’s not your concern.”
“You’re right,” he said quietly. He swore under his breath, pivoted, and left her apartment.
Haley swore a little more loudly, locked the deadbolt behind him so that the sound would echo down the corridor, then folded her arms across her chest.
Had there ever been anyone she’d wanted to shake more than Damon?
The cat considered her from his perch on the counter.
“Maybe Ishouldcall you Damon,” she said to him and he jumped down elegantly, coming to twine around her ankles. He meowed and looked up at her, obviously hungry. “Except you have a lot more charm,” she acknowledged. “Especially when you want fish.”
Maybe she didn’t have anything left that Damon wanted enough to turn on his charm. Haley winced and headed for the kitchen to open a can of tuna for the cat.
* * *
It had snowed moreduring the night. There was about six inches of the white stuff on the ground and more falling. Damon zipped up his jacket and marched back to the house, knowing that the exercise would calm his mind.
It always did.
Exercise was one of the keys to his plan. Regular exercise. Healthy eating. Small, achievable goals. One step at a time. Lots of rest. It was all about routine, about controlling the little things so the big ones didn’t overwhelm.
That was how he’d ended up at the gym where he’d met Kyle.
Despite the vestiges of his nightmare, he was thinking about Haley’s words. She hadn’t been angry with him or accusatory. Her tone had been direct but not emotional. She challenged him and she wasn’t afraid of him, and the combination meant that he couldn’t dismiss what she’d said.
The nightmares had returned since his mom had become sick. He’d been without them for years and that made them seem worse. They were pretty much the same, though. And he guessed that it was powerlessness that brought them on, a lack of control, that sense of inevitability and his own impotence in the face of events.
Like that rolling grenade.
He’d never forget it.
He’d never forget that he’d been the one to remind Foster about R.O.E.
Buchanan had lost a hand.
Foster had died.
Not only was he responsible, but he was unscathed.
More or less.
It seemed wrong. He should have been the one to die or be maimed. He should have been the one to pay the price for following the rules.
The therapist had called it survivor’s guilt.
Damon trudged across the park, moving quickly. He had three private sessions in the weight room this morning, back to back, and knew he had to compose himself. Even though he hadn’t had much sleep, he had to make sure those clients got what they paid for. He was responsible. He fulfilled his obligations to F5F. That wasn’t going to change. He exhaled, doing the breathing exercises he’d been taught as a means of calming himself, and tried to focus.
He might have managed it if his phone hadn’t rung.
