Deep River Promise Jackie Ashenden (best life changing books .txt) 📖

“I get that,” Astrid said quietly. “That’s tough.”

A heavy silence fell, Astrid’s fingers twisting together on her thighs.

“You don’t have to stay, Astrid,” Damon said and took another swallow of whisky. “Like I said, I appreciate the offer of help, but there’s nothing you can do. It’s my problem to deal with.”

Yet she didn’t move. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t offer some support.”

He was standing quite close to where she sat on the bed, the last rays of the sun falling over her and igniting in her hair. She didn’t look so cool and capable now, the snow queen he’d first met only a few days ago. Now, her hair gleamed gold and there was warmth in her gray eyes. The snow queen melted, and for him…

He very much wanted to hold her. But it wasn’t the right time for that kind of thing. He was drunk and his mood was off, and he’d be leaving the next day. Better to end it on the magic of the night before and not on him being drunk and tense and an ass.

Knocking back the rest of the whisky, he put the glass back on the nightstand and jerked his head toward the door. “It’s best if you go, Ms. Mayor. I’m not in the mood for heart-to-heart chats.”

Astrid merely gazed at him. The nervous tension that had been buzzing around her had vanished, and now an air of certainty and determination surrounded her. Which must be where her son got his from.

“Why did you tell me about your daughter, Damon?” she asked.

It was the very last question he’d expected, and it sent a jolt of shock through him. This time he couldn’t stop himself from turning away and walking over to the windows.

“I told you why,” he said, staring out at the river rushing by.

The rain had cleared earlier, leaving the evening newly washed and clean, the light glancing off the river and turning it a deep, endless green.

“You wanted to share it with me, and yet you didn’t want to talk about it afterwards. So why tell me in the first place?”

“Hell if I know.” He stared hard at the water. “Because it seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“You said that secrets were hard to carry all by yourself, so…it seems like you told me because that secret was getting heavy.”

Why was he feeling so tense? Like he was inside enemy territory and looking around for the next attack? Ella had died years ago, and the sharp edges of that grief had dulled. It would always be with him, he knew that, but that’s the way it should be. The extent of the pain measured the extent of the love, and feeling nothing at all would have meant that she was nothing at all. And Ella had never been nothing.

But he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to share her. After Rebecca had gone and the initial shattering pain of the grief had eased, he’d tried to talk about her to various people, his mother included. But no one had wanted to listen, and he’d hated that. He couldn’t stand the thought of Ella’s loss being dismissed because other people found it too hard, or didn’t know what to say, or were too uncomfortable. Her memory was too precious for that. It was easier not to say anything at all in the end.

Caleb had been the only one who’d let Damon talk, the only one who’d listened. He’d understood because he’d been a father as well. Not even his mother had done that for him.

Astrid would listen.

His heart kicked hard inside his chest like a mule. Would she? He’d thought that of all the people in the world, the one person he could talk to would have been Rebecca, Ella’s mother. But she hadn’t even been able to face him. After Ella’s funeral, she’d told him she was leaving, that being in LA was too hard. That bearing his grief as well as her own was too hard. She hadn’t given him a chance to protest or even to comfort her; she’d simply delivered the news, then left.

He’d been angry with her for that. It was unfair of him, but he was. He’d been so full of memories of Ella, overflowing with the need to share them and share his grief, but there was no one around to listen.

The only other person he’d had to talk to had been his mother, and she’d told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want to talk about it.

All those memories, all that pain he’d had to bottle up and keep to himself. Then it had ceased to become a necessity, but a choice. And he’d found it easier not to talk. Easier to keep it hidden because people’s reactions were hard to deal with and he hadn’t wanted to deal with them.

Easier to keep Ella as his own special secret, aching in his heart.

“You may not want to,” Astrid continued in a calm, steady voice. “But if you want to talk about her now, you can talk to me. I’m here to listen. And I’d like to know.”

There was a sunset outside, and it was beautiful.

He didn’t move. He stared out the window at the river and the dusky purple of the mountains beyond, wrapped in the green of the bush and capped in snow. And he didn’t mean to speak; somehow it just came out.

“I don’t talk about her,” he heard himself say. “Because no one ever wants to hear. It’s too hard for some people to bear and it makes them uncomfortable. And Ella deserves more than that. I told Cal because he was a dad and he understood.”

“Is that why he asked you to look after Connor?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Astrid was silent behind him, and she must have moved quietly because the next thing he knew, slim arms were winding around