Chapter 20: DAMON - A Very Good Bad Idea

Two days after Christmas, Ian and Piper arrive. They drive up in a golf cart with a trailer hitched to the back and a mini plow in the front, though most of the snow that accumulated has melted. Jade and Piper bring in the ice and food, while Ian and I lug the oil canisters to the basement and refuel the boiler.

Once that’s done and we’re back upstairs, Ian motions me into the parlor and lowers his voice. “Piper kissed me.”

I’m stunned by the blast of this momentous development bomb. “Whoa.”

“Right?!” he laughs, unable to keep his voice down. “We’ve been texting this past week—setting up days and times to get the list stuff together. We’d just finished loading up her trunk and we were standing outside her car and I was about to make my move and then—blam—she totally jumped me.”

I chuckle, his enthusiasm contagious.

“And she’s a tiger, man. Well . . . a tigress . . . a wildcat—I don’t know—pick a fucking feline. The point is, it was hot and completely awesome.”

I tap his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Ian. Really happy for you.”

His eyes are bright and darting, like he snorted a line of excitement and is on the verge of OD-ing. “We’re catching a movie tonight.”

“Sounds great.”

Then he sobers. “What’s the deal with you and Jade? The looks you two have been trading—I’m surprised this old place hasn’t caught on fire.”

I rub at the stubble on my jaw, stammering out a laugh. “There’s a lot that’s been happening with me and Jade.”

Ian crosses his arms. “You’re seriously going with Riley’s idea? Cause if you nail Jade then rip her heart out, it could definitely throw a wrench into my thing with Piper.”

“It’s not . . .” So much has changed since that conversation at the country club—too much to lay out in the time we have. “It’ll be fine. Things between Jade and me are progressing nicely. Just leave it there.”

A bottle smashes to the floor from the kitchen. On the other side of the hanging sheet that separates the parlor. I whip around as Piper pulls the sheet back, where she stands stock still in the doorway . . . right next to Jade.

“I was coming in to ask . . .” Jade starts, her face as white as the sheet.

And then she shuts down right in front of me. Withdrawing, blanketing herself with a thick cover of detachment that’s allowed her to survive in her family for as long as she has.

“Actually . . . never mind.”

When Jade walks away, Piper stays for a moment—glaring, her body practically vibrating, like she’s powering up the laser beams that are about to shoot from her eyeballs to turn me into a pile of ash.

“You are a piece of shit.”

With a kick to the gut, I realize how my and Ian’s conversation must’ve sounded to them—Riley’s idea, and ripping Jade’s heart out, and things “progressing nicely.”

Piper follows after Jade, and Ian winces beside me. “That was bad.”

“Yeah.” I nod sharply. “Yeah, that was pretty fucking bad.”

Ten minutes later, Ian and I are in the foyer, waiting. Jade has sequestered herself in the upstairs room again, this time with Piper.

“Screw this.” I’m just about to head up the stairs when Piper appears at the top. She tears down the steps—still vibrating—and ranting.

“Piece of shit! And not a normal piece of shit—you’re a robotic, soulless piece that fell out of the Terminator’s ass!”

You’ve got to hand it to Piper for the imagery.

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, I try to reason with her. “You need to tell Jade—”

She throws up her hand like a deranged crossing guard.

“I don’t talk to pieces of shit.” She jabs a finger at Ian. “Or their sidekicks.”

And Ian is devastated.

“Sidekick? What do you mean, sidekick? I’m a main frigging character!”

But she’s not listening. She charges for the door. “Don’t follow me or I’ll . . . stab you with a seashell!” And slams it behind her.

Bam!

Ian’s feet shuffle toward the door, even as he turns back to me. “I’ve gotta—”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m not screwing Jade over, okay? This is not Riley’s idiotic plan. Tell Piper that—get her to understand.”

“I will.” He rushes out.

Leaving me and Jade alone in the house again.

* * *

There are no stages this time. This is not a serious fuck-up. It’s a misunderstanding—a mistake. I’ll lay it out for her, clarify what she heard, and Jade will believe me. Then we’ll be good again.

Still, when I get to the upstairs door, it guts me that she’s hurting in there. I want to kick it down—make her listen. But that won’t go over well. It’s not what she needs from me.

So I put my hand flat on the door. “It isn’t what it sounded like, Jade. I can explain, when you’re ready.”

She doesn’t come out for hours.

I take care of Cujo in the meantime. When I have him out for his last piss of the night, the air around us is still and frigid. The moon is high and bright—bathing the sand, the waves, and the house in a ghostly silver sheen. We come back in, I crouch down and detach the leash, and when I walk into the parlor, Jade is there—standing beside the fireplace, her arms wrapped around herself.

Her skin is as ethereal as the moonlight, her features composed, her green eyes flat and emotionless—looking at me like I’m a stranger.

“You’ve got one shot. Explain. What was Riley’s idea?”

I don’t polish it up, don’t try to make it sound better than it was. I just give her the truth.

“It was the night before we had to report in here, after Stymie read the will. We were strategizing ways to get you to leave the house—throwing out all kinds of tactics. Riley suggested I screw you six ways from Sunday, get you to fall for me, then dump you—humiliate you—and send you running for the hills.”

She folds her lips together. “I guess I should be flattered you thought I warranted such an intense brainstorming session.”

“It wasn’t that different from what your father wanted you to do to me.”

“But it is different, because I told you.” Her voice rises, swelling stronger, and her eyes flash with fire. And pain. “I sat at that kitchen table and I told you. I gave you everything. And you didn’t. I can’t stop asking myself, why? What would motivate you not to tell me?”

“Because it was meaningless! I was never going to do it. And I’m not a . . . sharer. I’m not”—I struggle to find the words—“. . . open. I’ve told you more shit in the last two months than my best friends who’ve been right next to me for the last nineteen fucking years.”

“I have no idea if you’re telling me the truth right now.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just scared. And I swear on my parents’—”

“No. Not good enough anymore. They’re just words. Just promises.”

“Why would I lie, Jade? After everything that’s happened, what purpose would that serve?”

“To twist the knife. Plunge it a little deeper. You hate my father, my family. You want to destroy him, his company . . .” she shrugs, and it’s terrifyingly defeated, “his daughter. That would be the icing on the cake for you.”

I shake my head. “You can’t seriously think I’m that sadistic.”

Her voice lowers, going far away and hollow. “It never made sense. That we . . . came together so fast. So easily.”

“In what universe has any of this been easy?” I shout.

But she continues like I haven’t said a word. “I’m Ilias Buchanan’s daughter—it never made sense for you to want me, for you to care. Not unless there was another reason, another agenda behind it.”

I point my finger at her. “That’s your father talking. Weaving himself into your head and twisting you up inside. Making you feel worthless because that’s how he controls you.” My tone goes softer—begging. “I want you because you’re beautiful and astounding, you’re strong and so sweet. And I care about you because you’re . . . you. You’re easy to care about.”

“Prove it.”

I shake my head, things moving so fast and out of control, it’s hard to hold onto what she’s asking. “How?”

“Leave with me.”

The air punches out of my chest, but I can’t . . . I can’t have heard her right. “What the hell are you talking about?”

For the first time since she came downstairs, she moves toward me. Stepping closer. “That’s the answer. I’ve thought about it all day—I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. How to . . . solve this. And that’s the solution. We leave. We walk away from the deal, from all of it. And we do it together.”

I reach out my hand, aching to touch her. To make this better, make it all go away.

“Jade, listen to me. You’re not thinking straight. You’re upset.”

“No—I’m being perfectly logical. Prove to me you’re not full of shit and this hasn’t been some warped game to fuck with my head. Give me something other than words. And I won’t have to face my father or be afraid of not being able to stand up to him, because he’ll never want to look at me again. Because I chose you. And you . . . choose me too.”

When you’re caught in an undertow, the worst thing you can do is fight. Twist and struggle, kick and strain. But it’s almost impossible not to—instinct takes over, holding you in its lying grasp. Screaming at you to keep going—keep trying—that if you just fight harder, you can make it to shore.

“If we both leave, the house goes to the Church. That’s not what Clara wanted.”

“Clara was a tired old woman who couldn’t bring herself to choose between us. That’s all this is. It’s all it ever was.”

My ribs crush together at the bleak emptiness in her tone. “You don’t believe that.”

“Yeah . . . I think I do.”

I change tactics, thrashing and jerking. Because that’s what you do when you’re going under.

“Maybe you’re the one with the agenda. Maybe you sat up in that room all day and came up with a new scheme. You talk me into stepping over the property line first, but then you stay. I’m out and you win.”

I don’t actually believe any of that. They’re just things coming out of my mouth to keep the argument going. To buy time . . . to keep from losing her.

A sharpness rises in her eyes and a savage smirk spreads across her perfect lips. “You’re calling my bluff? Fine.” She brushes past me with brisk, purposeful steps. “Let’s go. See if I fucking blink.”

That’s when the panic hits. When she makes it to the door, the porch—Cujo sticking to her heels with agitated alarm.

“Jade! Goddamn it, stop!”

It rushes in, like storm surge, flooding my lungs with acrid salt and suffocating sand. Rising higher with every step she takes toward the gate.

“This is insane—stop for two fucking seconds.”

She spins around. “No! I’m not going to let you touch me and confuse me and . . . play with me. Not if that’s what you’ve been doing this whole time.”

Jade opens the gate, but then I’m grabbing her arm, pulling her back.

Slamming my mouth down over hers.

Nothing about the kiss is tender or soft—it’s bruising and punishing, desperate and fraught. A final gasp for air and last thrust for survival.

Jade tears her lips from mine and backs away, panting—carving my heart out with her eyes.

Then she rocks forward and kisses me back—just as fiercely—biting at my lips and moaning into my mouth, tasting like anger and anguish on my tongue.

When she wrenches away again, for a second I think we might be okay. That she’s calmed, and she’ll stay and we’ll figure it out.

Then she takes a step back . . .

“Don’t—”

And crosses over the threshold of the gate, onto the sand.

A piercing wail shrieks from her ankle monitor, echoing over the dunes, before going silent. And the blinking light turns from green to solid red.

* * *

JADE

“God fucking dammit!”

I’ve seen Damon Burke agitated and enraged, passionate and playful and pleased, remorseful, resigned, even bored. This might be the first time I’ve ever seen him despondent. At least, that’s how he looks—lost and devastated. But I’m not sure if I believe my own eyes anymore.

He breathes hard, his gaze turning angry as he stares at the ankle monitor, like he wants to rip it off and crush it in his hands. His dark-blue eyes dart around the sand, searching for an answer and working out a plan.

“It doesn’t matter.”

When Damon lifts his face to mine, his jaw is rigid with determination. “Come back. Stay with me anyway. Don’t go, Jade.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can. We’ll talk to Stymie. We’ll explain.”

“Those aren’t the rules. I can’t come back.”

Clara’s rules . . . Did she consider that this would happen when she made them? Did she foresee who Damon and I would become while bound here together? I don’t think she did.

And I thought it would feel different on this side of the gate. Hopeful, maybe rebellious—because I’ve taken control and made a choice. But I’m just . . . empty. Drained of energy or tears or, apparently, dignity.

“But you can leave with me, Damon. You don’t need the house.”

He squeezes his eyes closed, shaking his head. “Yes, we do.”

I reach out my hand . . . trying, begging, one last time.

“Come with me,” I say.

He stares at my hand for a long moment, while I hold my breath.

And then he shakes his head.

“Jade . . . I can’t.”

He means he won’t.

It’s like I told him—it never made sense that the man he is outside these walls could love me. That any of this would last.

But this . . . this makes sense.

I pick Precious up from the ground, turn away, and start walking.

His voice chases me. “Jade, come back! Don’t go! Jade, please—please come back!”

He calls for me until his throat goes raw and the words break in half. And I can’t help but picture the little boy he was, in a hospital room, pleading for the only person he had in the world not to leave him.

That’s when the tears come, heavy and scalding. Guess I have some left after all. So I clutch my dog to my chest . . . and run.