Page 81 of Damon

As we sit down on the rug next to the gifts, I look at Damon and Annie. This festive season is in complete contrast to the previous one. This time last year, I was in my apartment in Canary Wharf alone having given birth only a short time before. My day was spent drinking wine in front of the television, miserable. Every family film or Christmas advert felt like someone pouring salt in my already weeping wound.

I had received one gift that day. It was left on my doorstep on Christmas morning. The small red package was wrapped with a white bow. The label told me it was from Damon, but I never opened it. I simply put it in a drawer and forgot about it, or tried to. The last thing I wanted to do was think of everything I had lost in the twelve months before. So I ignored the present’s existence until yesterday; I placed it under the tree with my other gifts. Today seemed the right time to open it.

“Shall we start with your presents?” Damon says to his daughter. My focus flicks to the mountains of packages beneath the tree. Annie has been well and truly spoiled this Christmas, not only by her father but by the array of adults surrounding her. Harrison had appeared with a sack full of offerings yesterday morning, and every gift was for Annie except one which had Damon and Emma written on the label. That single gift for us is sitting next to my little red package from last year.

Damon picks up a large, soft parcel wrapped in glittery pink paper with snowmen as decoration. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor, and I mirror him opposite. Annie is crawling between us and every so often, little fingers grab for something under the tree.

“This one, Annie,” he says, and she blinks beautiful wide eyes in his direction. He sits the gift in front of her as she moves from crawling to sitting. He makes a small tear in the corner of the wrapping paper then encourages her to pull at it. Once removed, a large brown teddy bear is revealed, and Annie wraps her arms around it, losing all interest in anything else.

Half an hour later, we have most of Annie’s gifts unwrapped. Rolls of paper lie around the floor as she plays with an empty box while the actual presents sit untouched. Damon’s focus comes to me. “Your turn,” he says, softly. His eyes land on the gift from last year and he screws his face, then turns back to me. Confusion flits over his features, and he reaches for the box then turns over the label. “I gave you this last year.”

“I couldn’t open it. It all hurt too much.” My heart aches and tears bead when the memories of how lonely this day was resurface. “I was so lonely without you,” I whisper, my voice cracking painfully. He leans forward and wipes away a stray tear which runs down my cheek.

“Me too,” he says, passing me the gift. “Open it now.”

I take it from his hands, turning over the box as I have done a thousand times before. For the past year, it’s been in my bedside drawer willing me to open it, goading me to know what he sent. A few times I even untied then redid the bow. Damon rocks slightly then uncrosses his legs; he looks nervous as he pulls his knees underneath him. His confidence, that is normally so clear from one look, has evaporated.

“Do you want me to open it?” I ask, and he nods. I untie the ribbon then peel the paper from the package. Inside is a small, red, square box; when I lift the lid, I find a tiny plastic bracelet like the ones they put on your wrist in the hospital. As I pluck it from its resting place, it dawns on me what exactly he has given me.

“I wanted you to have something special to remember her by. So you never had any doubt how important you were in her creation,” he says, barely audible. Those fern-green eyes glance at his daughter then back to me. “She wore this minutes after you brought her into the world. It has both her name and your name on it. I felt it was important you have it as something to…” He trails off, losing confidence in his words.

“To remember her by?” I prompt.

“It seems silly now with how things are.” The base of his throat reddens. I crawl over to him, then lift myself up so we’re at eye level. He swallows visibly, and his breathing increases in rhythm and volume.

“This could never be silly,” I tell him, holding the tiny bracelet pinched between my fingers. “This is possibly the most beautiful gift you could ever give me.” My lips find his. “You are the most beautiful man, Damon McKinney. Never change.”

He smiles shyly, then reaches for Harrison’s gift to us. “Shall we open this?” he asks.

“You do the honors.” On my word, he rips the paper off and stares down at a wooden box with the names Damon, Emma, and Annie inscribed on a brass plaque. He unclips the lid. Inside, we find a black leather-bound photo album with the word Memories written in gold writing across the front. Damon glances at me, and I shrug. He takes the album out and opens it to the first page. It looks blank except from a note attached to the inside cover.

Today is the first Christmas of many. Start creating memories worth keeping.

Damon holds the book between his palms, open at the note. His eyes never leaving the words. “Are you okay?” I whisper softly, and he glances up. Every emotion he’s feeling in this moment is obvious from the look that flits across his face. I see pain, sadness, joy, and hope. A complex mix of happiness and upset.

“Yes. I’m ready to make memories with you. And that means I’m much better than okay. Today I am damn near perfect.”

***

It’s mid-afternoon when I am in the kitchen attempting to recreate a Christmas lunch Mrs. D taught me to make earlier in the month. Our day so far has been perfect, filled with cuddles, kisses, and copious volumes of chocolate. Annie lies sleeping on her playmat when her father walks in; he’s still wearing his festive pajamas. He strolls over as I work at the stovetop, stirring what I hope will be gravy.

Strong arms circle my middle, and he rests his chin on my shoulder. “What are you making?” he asks, his voice deep. Beside us is a stack of already chopped carrot sticks; he reaches for one, and I smack his fingers with the wooden spoon in my hand. Gravy splatters onto the countertop and over his knuckles. He swipes his hand away, then lifts it to his mouth and licks the sauce from his skin. I don’t speak, only smile to myself.

“Bitch,” he murmurs as his lips drop back to my ear. “I could think of another use for that spoon.” He kisses my cheek then moves to sit at the dining table. He opens his laptop.

“You’re not working today, are you?” I ask, confused.

“No, I have a call with Harrison and the team. There’s been an incident. It won’t take long.”

“To do with the case?”

He glances in my direction then shakes his head. “No, this shitstorm is fully on Harrison’s doorstep. Nothing for you to worry about.” My heartbeat, which increased at the mention of an incident, settles slightly. As Damon says hello to the men on the other side of the screen, Annie wakes and shrieks with glee. I go to her, lifting her up into my arms then moving around the kitchen with her on my hip. She giggles, and so do I—all the while I feel intense green eyes watching my every move.

Chapter twenty-nine

Chase, Chase and Waite Law Offices, Canary Wharf

Damon

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