Love Always, Damian (11 page)

Chapter 12

Damian

Lia’s antsy, waiting for Ellie to call. She’s sitting at the table, her palms plastered against her cheeks, and her too short legs swinging under the chair. It’s been two days since we heard from Ellie, and I don’t expect my phone to ring for another couple of hours. Her plane is scheduled to land in Cairns at 11:26 a.m. their time, which is over half a day ahead of ours.

Dylan’s read Lia two princess stories, I’ve sat through a few episodes of
Friendship is Magic,
and neither have distracted her. Maybe some food will.

“Let’s go out for pizza,” I suggest. It’s been McDonald’s Happy Meals since she arrived, and I could use a change.

Lia’s head snaps in my direction, and she sits up taller. “Really?”

“Yeah. What kind do you like?”

“Ham and pineapple!” she exclaims, the anticipated call pushed aside.

I grimace. “Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

Damn you, Ellie.

“Come on, Dylan.” Lia yanks on my roommate’s arm.

“Nah, you two go ahead,” he says.

Lia’s face slackens, and she bats her lashes like a pro. “Please?”
Bat, bat, bat.

He’s a goner.

He avoids direct eye contact with my three-year-old teenager, cutting his gaze to me instead.

I shrug. “Everyone’s gotta eat,” I tell him.

“Dude, we walk in a pizza joint together with a little girl, people are either going to stare at us or erupt in applause,” he says, reaching for a way to get out of this.

“True. So, let’s not wear those matching rainbow outfits we’d planned on then, huh?” I slug him in the shoulder. “It’s just pizza. We can talk wedding invitations tomorrow.”

Dylan huffs. “You’re paying.”

“Of course, sweetpea. And you can return the favor later.” I wink and shoot him the sexy smirk the girls at The Underground cream themselves over.

“Fucktard,” he mutters.

“Dickhead,” I return.

By the time we arrive, Lia’s less jittery, and I’m thinking I should earn Dad of the Year for my awesome anxiety-soothing idea.

“Two adults, and she’s three,” I tell the lady at the register.

“Okay,” she says. “Anything specific you want on the buffet tonight?”

“Ham and pineapple!” Lia exclaims with the same enthusiasm as earlier. Girl loves her pizza.

The lady smiles. “I’ll put that right in.”

We seat ourselves, Lia beside me and Dylan across from us, his back to most of the dining room. From where I sit, I can see the whole place. Most of the tables are taken, and I recognize a few students who are staying in town for the summer.

“Do you want something while we wait on your ham and pineapple?” I ask.

“Hmm…chocolate milk,” she decides.

“One chocolate milk coming right up.” I slide out from the booth and head across the room to the buffet. I load up a plate for myself before I fill up a glass with chocolate milk for Lia.

On my way back, I catch a steroid-induced guy glaring at me. Dude looks familiar, but I’m not sure why. I ignore him and head back to our booth.

I sit down, giving Dylan the go-ahead to grab himself some grub.

“Want a cheese stick?” I ask Lia after she sips on her drink.

“What’s on it?”

“Uh, cheese. And bread.”

She makes a face where her nose scrunches up. “Ew, no thanks.”

“So, it’s only ham and pineapple for you?”

“Yep-yep!” she sings and sucks down more chocolate milk.

I make a mental note to talk with Ellie about expanding our daughter’s limited pizza palate. Preferably something not puke-worthy like her current favorite.

I’m too busy with Lia to see someone approach us. Not until he clutches my shirt and rips me off the bench.

“Come here, you little fuck,” he growls, slamming my back against the wall.

My head hits the brick, and the wind is knocked out of me. It takes a second for my eyes to refocus. When they do, I realize this is the same guy who was eyeing me earlier.

“I think you got the wrong guy,” I say. Whoever he is, he has me pinned flat so I can’t move.

“You Damian?” The vein in his too-thick neck pops out in anger.

“Yeah. Who the fuck are you?”

He loosens his grip for a split second, then smacks me into the wall again. My gaze cranks over to Lia in the booth right next to me. She’s backed up into the corner, eyes wide with fear, lips quivering. The way this guy has me, I can’t break free to get to her.

“Lia,” I say. “Lia—”

“Shut up,” the guy demands. To back up his point, he punches me in the stomach.

I can’t breathe.

“You finger-fucked my girl, you motherfucker,” he growls.

“I’ve finger-fucked a lot of girls, asshole, you’re going to need to be more specific,” I cough out.

That vein of his is pulsing now. I don’t see his right hook until he sends it barreling into my face. I immediately feel the burn, and I can barely make out Dylan directly behind the son of a bitch.

“Get Lia, and get her out of here,” I order him, so he doesn’t consider helping me.

The guy is in my face again, blocking my view of my daughter, his breath steaming hot over where he punched me. “Katey.”

Oh shit.

I remember Katey. I didn’t nail her after she told me her name. In fact, I sent her away completely unfulfilled and pissed off.

My eye is swelling shut, but through the other, I see Dylan with Lia in his arms, running outside. Good.

“If you were a real man, she wouldn’t have come home with me in the first place,” I spit out.

A couple of days ago, when I found out Katey’s boyfriend was Toby Stanton, the NCAA national champion boxer, I’d expected this confrontation. Hell, I wanted it, which is why the thought of banging his girl that night had appealed to me—other than the actual banging, of course.

Booze and sex alone don’t cut it for me anymore. No one touches Toby Stanton’s chicks, so pissing him off is a great way to remind myself of who I am.

Now, though, I have Lia. And for the first time in years, I have someone in my life who means more to me than my pain.

Toby thrusts his fist deep into my stomach. Once. Twice. Three times.

I double over, but Toby doesn’t loosen his grip like I’d hoped. No, the dude holds on tighter. Fucking A.

“You lay an eye on her again, I swear I’ll rip your fucking dick off and shove it up your ass. You understand?” he growls. For emphasis, he jabs his knee in my crotch.

Holy hell!

I see stars. Real fucking stars.

I’m on the floor, but I don’t remember how I got there. A foot kicks into me over and over again, making contact with my head a couple of times before everything finally stops.

“Hey, you okay?” someone asks, and all I can think about is how much I hurt. How the voice speaking to me sounds all fuzzy.

I groan. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

I’m not good. I just had the shit kicked out of me in front of a room full of people.

“You’re bleeding,” the person says.

My hand automatically flies to my head. Sure enough blood is pouring from above my swollen-shut eye.

“That doesn’t look good, man,” he says.

“I’ll be fine. Got a towel or something?”

He gives me a wad of napkins, and I press them against my head.

“We called the police,” the kid informs me, “but the guy ran out of here. If you know him, you can press charges.”

I shake my head. “Nah. I—”

I’m dizzy. The room is spinning, and I might puke. I have to push through this though; I have to make sure Lia’s okay.

“I’m good,” I finish. “Sorry about all this.”

Every eye is on me as I struggle to stand up. Mine, however, are on the door. I walk Quasimodo style toward it, ignoring the whispers from behind me.

Dylan has my car parked right outside. I see Lia through the tinted back window, and I let out my relief. I doubt she was in danger, but dammit, shit could have gone downhill fast, and I couldn’t get to her.

I grab for the door and collapse in the seat.

“Dude…” Dylan says, studying me. “What the hell was that about?”

“Me being an idiot,” I reply.

“Daddy?” Lia’s voice travels up to me, worried and small. “Daddy, are you okay?”

I twist around. Her eyes are glistening with tears, and I’d give anything for them not to fall. “Yeah, Lia, I’m okay.”

“Yo, man,” Dylan says, causing me to turn back around. “That is one nasty cut.”

I flip down the visor, remove the napkins, and examine my head in the mirror. He’s right. The wound is gaping open and hasn’t stopped bleeding.

“Hospital?” my roommate suggests.

“No. I’ll call Dad. Let’s get Lia home.”

~*~

I’m lying on the sofa in my living room. Dad took the lampshade off the lamp, and Dylan holds the light above my head, blinding me. Real smooth operation we have going here.

“Son, you can’t go looking for trouble. Lia could have been—”

“Yeah, Dad, I know,” I reply. I don’t need my father rubbing in my mistakes. Karma’s a bitch, and I just got served.

Dad sets the empty vial on the floor. I’ve had stitches before, and I know what’s coming. God, I hate needles and this is gonna sting like a mother.

I hold my breath as he drizzles the local anesthetic over the cut. The idea is for the medicine to kick in before he jabs the needle into the wound. For the record, that’s a load of bull—the topical swash of Lidocaine doesn’t do a damn thing.

“Damian, relax your face,” the doc says.

“Fuck you,” I answer, and he pokes into me again.

Lia’s supposed to be in the kitchen coloring. After what she witnessed today, she shouldn’t have to see this too, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s at the doorway, peeking out.

Dad grins. “All done.”

“Thanks for going easy on me, Dad.”

He shrugs and goes straight for the curved needle and thread. “A little closer, Dylan,” he instructs. My roommate is good at following orders. Unlike me.

My sure-handed father slips the needle into me. I know because I feel the tugging, not the pain anymore.

Then my phone rings.

“Shit. Ellie,” I say, recognizing the ring tone. “Dylan?”

My phone is on the end table he’s sitting on. Knowing Ellie, if I don’t answer, she’ll worry something has happened, especially since we haven’t spoken in two days. I’d really rather her
not
find out about what happened today.

I reach my arm above my head, which earns me sideways glare from the man with the needle. He can wait. I assume Dylan will give me my phone. He doesn’t, though. He freaking answers it.

“Hello?...Yeah, this is Damian’s phone…Oh, hi Elizabeth.”

I’m an idiot. Dylan answering my cell is like calling Ellie myself to say, “Hey, guess what? I royally screwed up today.”

“He’s here. He’s, uh, preoccupied?” He says it like it’s a question, and for a smart dude, my roommate is a complete moron.

“Give me the phone,” I demand.

“Don’t move, son,” my dad warns me.

“Yeah,” Dylan continues with Ellie as if he didn’t hear me. “He’ll only be a couple more minutes. How was your trip?”

“So help me, Dylan, give me the phone,” I try again, louder this time.

“Hold the light steady, Dylan,” Dad says, and I can sense the irritation in his voice. That’s typical, though, when I’m the patient.

“Whoa, wait. Was that Dr. Lowell? Why is Dr. Lowell there?” Ellie’s voice filters out from the phone. Her high-pitched, worried voice.

Terrific.

“Lia’s fine,” my idiot roommate spouts off.

“Shut up, Dylan. Shut. Up. Now,” I growl.

“One more stitch,” Dad says, but it’s not because he’s being nice and informative. “Don’t move, or I’ll make it two.”

“Dylan, tell me what’s going on!” Ellie yells.

“I swear to you, Elizabeth, everything is fine. Lia is in the other room coloring, completely unharmed, and—”

“
Unharmed
? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Is that my mommy?” Lia bounces into the room.

Oh shit.

“Let me talk to Lia,” Ellie demands.

“No,” I clip out at the same time I hear Lia answer, “Hi Mommy!”

“You gave her the phone, Dylan? You ass,” I say.

I’m dead.

“Grandpa’s sewing Daddy up. Some big guy at the pizza place beat him up. It was super scary, and he was saying fuck a lot. You know, that word you said is really, really bad,” Lia rattles off.