The rain had stopped, but the streets of Northbridge still shone like polished stone. Damien stepped out of the black car, and his boots made a small splash in a puddle. The night air hurt his skin and smelled strongly of pine and the river that ran through town.
He didn't care that it was cold.
He just cared about the vague memory he had of her.
Laurie had been here before. He was sure of it, just like he was sure of his heartbeat.
Graham whispered softly behind him. "Sir, the owner of the guesthouse has confirmed it. A woman who looked like her checked in two nights ago. She was wearing a gray coat and said, "I'm carrying a small child."
Damien's hand tightened.
She hadn't gone away like a ghost. She was still there.
She had run.
He had let her get far enough away that she thought he wasn't going to follow.
He clenched his jaw as he looked across the street at the small, warmly lit guesthouse with peeling paint and a flower box that was fighting to stay alive in the winter. Laurie didn't belong there. She was smooth and calm, not like this. She was running across the country with only a baby and horror gripping her spine.
But she had picked this place over him.
The thought made a strong and lasting impression on him.
"Sir, do you have any other orders?" Graham asked.
Damien didn't turn. His voice was too calm for a man looking for peace.
"Stay outside. No interruptions." Don't make any noise."
"Yes, sir."
Damien walked across the street.
He felt like he was marching toward something he had already lost with every step.
There was no one in the guesthouse lobby except for a girl at the desk, who looked up in surprise. Damien didn't even bother to say his name. He didn't have to.
He said softly, "Room number," when she opened her mouth.
She stopped, swallowed hard, and said in a low voice, "Second floor, room 12."
He nodded once.
He didn't run.
He didn't hurry.
He wasn't a man who showed signs of desperation.
But every muscle in his body was tense, and they were all controlled by thin threads.
The stairs creaked under his weight, and the old wood groaned as if to warn him.
Room 12.
At the end of the hall, light came through the door, as if she was scared of the dark.
He walked up to the door and stood there for a while.
Laurie got close enough to touch.
Close enough to lose again.
He knocked by raising his hand.
One time.
Silent but final.
There is a soft rustle inside. A small gasp.
Then came quiet footsteps, as if each one had a question she wasn't ready to answer.
A break.
He could hear her breathing through the door. It was uneven and not steady.
"Who's there?"" Her voice was too quiet. Laurie only talked like that when she was scared.
Damien closed his eyes for a moment.
After that, he said her name.
Not much. Steady. Without a doubt.
"Laurie."
No sound.
A sudden gasp, like a wound opening.
The lock made a noise.
And the door broke open, letting him see her.
Her hair was messy, and the curls around her face made it look darker than he remembered. She had dark circles under her eyes and fine lines around her mouth that showed how tired she was. She shook her hands as she held the door.
She looked at him like he was a nightmare and a prayer she had tried to hide.
"Damien," she said quietly.
He didn't push the door.
He didn't touch her.
He just stood there, letting her see him and feel the weight of what had been left unsaid.
His look softened a little. "You ran a long way."
When she swallowed, her throat moved up and down. "You weren't supposed to find me."
He said softly, "That's the problem." "You thought I wouldn't."
Laurie's fingers gripped the door tightly, making her knuckles turn white.
She wanted to slam it shut. Another part of him wanted to pull him in, remembering how warm his hands were, how steady his voice was, and the promises he had almost made.
Damien was a man who was both dangerous and comforting at the same time.
She couldn't pay for either.
Her voice shook. "Damien, what are you doing here?"
His face didn't change. It didn't need to. The dark intensity of his gaze made every response clear.
"To take you home."
"I don't have a home with you anymore."
His jaw tightened a little, but his stance stayed the same. "Laurie."
She shook her head, stepped back, and opened the door a little wider. Not because she wanted him to come in, but because her legs suddenly felt weak.
"Let me at least explain," she said softly.
"You will," he said quietly as he stepped into the doorway but didn't cross the threshold. "All of it."
She flinched.
"Damien, please don't do this."
"You took my child and left."
That word almost made her knees buckle.
"She was out of breath." "I had no choice."
He said in a low voice, "There is always a choice." "You just didn't give me one."
Her eyes hurt, and tears fell faster than she could blink them away. "Do you think this was easy?" "You think running is—"
"Hard?" he said, his voice low and sharp. "So why didn't you come to me?"
I cared too much about you to let you hurt me.
Because leaving would have hurt me less than staying.
When I told you I was pregnant, your silence felt like you didn't want me to be.
The words stuck to her tongue but wouldn't come out.
Instead, she said, "I would rather not be someone's mistake."
His eyes narrowed. "Is that what you think you were?"
She said softly, "You told me not to expect anything from you." The memories still hurt her chest like glass.
Damien didn't move, but the air around him changed, like a storm that was under control.
"That was before," he said in a low voice.
"Before I got pregnant?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Before you knew you'd lose something you didn't want in the first place?"
"That's not what happened."
"Then what happened, Damien?" " Her voice rose, shaking and breaking. "Explain why you didn't talk to me for days after I told you. you. "Explain why you made me think I was just another problem in your beautiful life!"
Damien took off his mask for the first time.
Just a little.
Enough to show what's underneath.
He said softly and with regret, "Because I didn't know how to keep you without hurting you."
She couldn't breathe.
He stepped forward, now inside, and got close enough for her to tilt her head to meet his eyes. His voice got more personal and open.
"And I've never wanted anything this badly."
Longing, rage, relief, and fear all mixed together into one wave of feeling that hit her firmly.
She put her hand over her mouth and cried.
He reached out slowly, as if he was afraid she would disappear if he moved too quickly, and stroked her cheek with his thumb.
He said, "You should have stayed."
She quietly replied, "You should have asked me to."
Their breaths mixed.
The room felt very small.
Not loud enough.
Damien's voice dropped to a low, creepy whisper. "Where is he?""
Laurie blinked in surprise. "Where is who?"
"Our son."
The world stopped.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't have to.
Her silence proved it.
Damien let out a soft breath. His voice shook a little, even though he was in full control.
"I want to see him, Laurie."
Her heart twisted as she fought between instinct and fear.
"Are you sure you won't take him away from me?""
He looked her in the eye, not coldly or with authority, but steadily. Anchoring.
"No. I won't lose either of you again."
She had a pain in her chest from something she would rather not say.
She nodded after a long pause.
"He's sleeping." "In the next room."
Damien's breath caught, and it was the closest he had ever come to breaking.
"Then show me where he is."
Laurie turned slowly and led him to the bedroom, which was only dimly lit.
Damien followed.
With each step, he got closer to the child he had never held.
He wondered if he was worthy of having a family.
But they are ready to set the world on fire and protect it.