“I know it’s literally just been a few days, but bein’ with you makes me feel safe and sound.”
“Being with you makes me feel like I can let down my defences,” Damien said, nuzzling his face to mine. “You’re my steady place, Lana. My freckles.”
I opened my eyes and smiled.
“I used to hate me freckles.”
Damien sucked in a horrified breath. “Why?”
“’Cause everyone said they made me cute, and I hated that.”
“You are cute.” Damien grinned. “Sexy and sinful, too. And beautiful. Man, you’re so beautiful.”
I kissed him, and he smiled against my lips.
“Do you know when I first saw you, I knew you were a girl who could make me happy.”
I leaned back with raised brows. “When you first saw me, I walked head first into you and knocked you on your arse.”
“Yes—” Damien snickered “—but you gave me your hand to help me up.”
“And that gave you the impression that I could make you happy long term?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I knew you’d be someone to always help me up when I’m down, no matter what. That’s why I pushed you away after we were together, you were someone who I knew could reach me at that point in my life where I forced everyone out, and that scared the shit out of me. You’re my ride or die, Alannah”
“That’s so romantic.”
“I can be more romantic.”
“Proceed.”
Damien chuckled. “We’re endgame.”
I stared up at him, bewildered.
“I have no clue what that means.”
“It means,” he murmured, brushing stray hairs back from my eyes. “No matter what has happened between us, or what comes next for us, at the end of the day, you’ll be with me, and I’ll be with you. I know it, you know it … everyone knows it.”
My heart fluttered, and my stomach came alive with butterflies.
“You sound pretty confident, snowflake.”
“I am, freckles.”
“Since when?”
“Since you kicked me in the balls when we were eighteen and told me to go to hell.”
Ten days later …
Ten days had passed since I found out my ma had cancer, nine days had passed since Damien and I officially started dating, and eight days had passed since I found out the treatment plan my ma was signed up for to kick cancer’s arse as well as Branna and Ryder’s twins being born. It was Thursday, the day of her surgery to remove the peanut-size tumour from her breast, and I had never felt as sick in my entire life. I had terrible anxiety and chewed on my nails until I had none left and each of my fingers stung, while others bled.
“Alannah.” Bronagh clicked her tongue, gaining my attention. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.”
I looked at my fingers before wiping them on my leggings.
“I can’t help it.” I cleared my throat. “I feel so nervous I could be sick.”
I looked to my right when the arm around my waist squeezed me.
“She’ll be fine.”
I stared up at my boyfriend and frowned. He had taken the day off work, which worried me because Mr Collins had told him his schedule for the next few weeks was on lock, but Mr Collins allowed him to take the day to be with me. I would forever be grateful to him for that, because I needed Damien by my side.
“You don’t know that, Damien.”
He didn’t reply to that; he leaned in and kissed my cheek instead.
“When she comes out of surgery, she’s going to whoop your butt for worrying so much.”
I tried and failed to smile, so he squeezed me again. The gesture was comforting, but it was his and Bronagh’s presence that really kept my fried nerves in check. When I woke up that morning and got ready to head to the hospital to meet my parents, Damien surprised me by telling me he got the day off work to come with me, and that we had to pick Bronagh up along the way because she was coming too. I didn’t want to cry, so I hugged him with my face pressed against his chest until we had to leave.
That was three hours ago, and my ma was one hour into her surgery. The nurse I had spoken to about my ma’s lumpectomy procedure said there was no time limit because it was a very careful operation. The doctor wanted to remove as little breast tissue as possible while removing the tumour, so he had to take his time. I understood that, I encouraged that, but God above knew that the longer she was in surgery, the worse I felt.
My da seemed to share my anxiety.
He hadn’t sat down once since the doors to the operating theatre closed. All of us had the option to sit in a waiting room, but we chose to sit on the row of chairs lined up outside of the entrance to the operating theatre. My da had been pacing back and forth in front of the double doors from the moment my ma went through them. Every single time they opened, he jerked to attention, but each time, his shoulders sagged when he realised it wasn’t my ma.