Deep River Promise Page 24

  “Hey, you can’t be an owner if you don’t live here,” someone piped up from the back. “Them’s the rules.”

  Astrid glanced at Damon, raising one pale eyebrow, inviting him to speak. She seemed so together, but he could see how soft her mouth was, the vulnerability she hid from everyone. Yet even now, after he’d refused her, she was doing her job, carrying on.

  She was so strong.

  “I know the rules,” Damon said, his voice gravelly as the entire hall turned to look at him. “I’ll be passing my share on to Silas.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd, several people turning to look at each other and whispering. April frowned in disapproval, while Harry shook his head.

  “Well,” Mike Flint, the local grump and skeptic, said, “I don’t think that gives you the right to choose which ideas get to be voted on.”

  “I didn’t, Mike,” Damon said. “Astrid and Silas were the main drivers. I gave them some financial pointers. As I told you when we had this conversation a couple of days ago.”

  “You leave him alone, Mike Flint.” April turned around to give Mike a glare from her place in the front row. “And don’t take it out on him just because no one liked your motel idea.”

  “Actually, his motel idea was a good one.” Damon nodded at Mike. “I’ve got it down on the long-term project list. As Mike already knows.”

  Mike snorted and folded his arms, remaining silent.

  “What about Morgan?” someone else called out, and there were a few murmurs of agreement that whispered around the hall.

  Morgan, sitting next to Hope, pulled a face, then stood up, her strawberry-blond hair glowing in the light. “I’m not an owner, as you guys already know.” She gazed around at the gathered townspeople. “And my brother didn’t leave Deep River to me because I didn’t want it.”

  A shocked silence fell.

  Yet Morgan didn’t look apologetic in the least. “I have a vote, just like the rest of you do, but no more than that. And I’m fine with it. For what it’s worth, though, I trust Silas and his friends, and Caleb wouldn’t have left the town to them if he hadn’t trusted them as well.”

  Without another word, Morgan gave a nod, then sat down.

  That Cal hadn’t left Deep River to Morgan had puzzled them all back in the shocked days after Cal had been killed. But they’d all agreed that he probably had a reason for not doing so, and it would have been a good one. Cal never left anything to chance.

  Only his son and the woman he abandoned.

  Damon’s gaze was drawn helplessly back to Astrid, standing at the head of the hall, unmoving and indomitable. She’d seemed fragile to him when he’d first met her, but not now. That strength was there inside her, an iron will like his own. The same kind of will that had made her go on after she’d been left with nothing and no one, with a tiny baby to look after. That had driven her to escape an abusive relationship, to swallow her pride and contact the man who’d rejected her for help, and all to find safety for her son.

  She was a woman worth any price.

  A woman worth loving.

  Yes, and that too. But another man would have to love her. It wouldn’t be him.

  People were starting to chatter again, the buzz of conversation rising, and Astrid called people to order and the meeting went on.

  It went well.

  Kevin Anderson turned out to be a surprisingly good speaker, talking eloquently about the fishing charter business he and a few of the other fishermen were planning. Gwen waxed lyrical about expanding the farmers’ market she’d started in the community center and how she’d roped in Clare from the B&B with her quilting, Filthy Phil with some carving, and Lloyd, the old trapper, with some of his homemade lemonade which he made in addition to his moonshine. And then Phil, who’d made the trip into town specially since he didn’t often come down from his little house on the hill, made a rambling presentation about the wildlife sanctuary that he’d begun building on his property. There was a bit of friction with Mike, who’d gotten up to speak about the luxury motel can of worms, that he’d once put to a town meeting a few years ago and that everyone gave the big thumbs-down to, but then Mike seemed to generate friction purely by existing. Sandy was a welcome breath of fresh air as she stood up to present her ideas for tourism promotion, including making Deep River a stop for cruise ships and other campaigns, appealing to people in big cities who might want a taste of the wild outdoors.

  There were mutterings about tourists and crowds and not wanting things to change, but people generally accepted that if Deep River wanted to survive as a town, they were going to have to pull together on some things. And there was something positive about taking charge of their destiny themselves and not leaving it in the hands of the big-city suits.

  They were a bunch of good people. Quirky and a bit different, but they all had good hearts—even Mike Flint. And they all wanted this to work for their town’s sake.

  After the meeting had ended, Damon slipped out of the hall. He’d been planning to get the plane back to Juneau by the time night fell so he could leave for LA the next day, and he still had to get his stuff together back at the Moose. He’d do a round of goodbyes once he’d packed. No doubt everyone would be in the bar by that stage anyway, which would make things easier.

  Twilight had settled over the town as he made his way back to the Moose, bathing everything in a golden glow. The river looked deeper and greener, the bush on the mountains lush and dense. Even the cluster of buildings at the water’s edge looked less ramshackle and more quirky and whimsical. Pretty, even. A place where people could take some time out from big city life. Where they could sit on the boardwalk with a beer and take in the silence and grandeur of mountains around them, let the peace of the wilderness settle inside them.

  Yeah, this place would be okay. And Astrid would be too, and so would Connor. Perhaps he’d helped them, perhaps he hadn’t, but one thing was for sure: they’d go on without him just fine.

  The thought should have encouraged him, but instead it felt bleak. A bleakness that had always been with him, that he hadn’t ever really shaken after Ella had died.

  He needed to get back to LA; that was the answer for it. Submerge himself in caring for his mother. Watching out for other people was always preferable to thinking about himself and his goddamn issues, that was for sure.

  He went down to the boardwalk and into the bar, climbing up the stairs.

  It didn’t take long to pack his bag. He hadn’t brought much to start with, but by the time he came back downstairs again, the Moose was heaving with seemingly the entire town.

  There were stares as he strode up to the bar, but he ignored them. Hope was standing behind it, regarding him with a steady, dark gaze. “You leaving then, pretty?”

  He smiled, very conscious of how empty it felt. The way it had the night before, as if he were pasting it on like plaster over drywall covering up the cracks. “Yeah, gotta get back to Juneau.”

  “Sure,” Hope said, clearly skeptical. “Will we be seeing you back here, then?”

  No. I’m never coming back.

  “Maybe.” He kept that stupid smile on his face as he felt the cracks inside himself widen, deepen.

  Someone came up beside him and leaned on the bar.

  “So I presume I get a goodbye?” Silas asked.

  “Yeah, well, that’s why I’m standing here.” He glanced at his friend. “You shouldn’t have given Connor my mom’s number.”

  Silas’s expression was unrepentant. “Let’s go into the office and have a conversation.”

  He didn’t want to. He wanted to head out and not talk to anyone. Get in his plane and fly away. Then maybe get himself a pretty woman and a drink, work on finding his way back to the surface of life, because he had a horrible feeling that he’d sunk beneath it somehow and his air was running out.

  But hell, he w
ouldn’t mind giving Silas a piece of his mind before he left.

  Silas turned and led the way into the back office, and Damon followed without a word, shutting the door after him.

  His friend had gone to sit in the chair near the desk, his arms folded, and was now gazing at him dispassionately. “You want to know why I told Connor?”

  Damon gripped the strap of the bag he’d slung over his shoulder. “I think you owe me, considering that was private information and you had no right to give it to a teenage boy.”

  “I didn’t give it to him,” Silas said. “I dialed the number and handed him the phone so he could talk, and I stayed here and made sure he didn’t say anything stupid.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “I know that’s not the point.” Silas’s green gaze was very level. “Connor and I at least wanted to know if all that bullshit you were talking about your mother was true.”

  Anger coiled inside him.

  “It’s not bullshit,” he said flatly. “And why the hell would you think I’d lie about that?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  “Why should I? I don’t have to explain myself to you, Silas.”

  A heavy silence fell.

  His friend looked at him, then let out a breath. “Look, I’m not trying to be a dick. And I’m sorry. Letting Connor call your mom probably wasn’t the right way to go about it. But I want you to stay, Damon.”

  “Why? What does it matter to you what I do?”

  “Because I’m your friend, asshole. And I think you have a lot to offer that this place could use. People like you, which is unusual here, believe me. Usually it takes years for them to take to a stranger. You managed it in four days.”

  The heavy feeling that had been sitting in Damon’s chest shifted and the anger inside him shifted with it. His friend had his back, that was for sure, but then that was Silas. He was always wanting to help people, do the right thing by them.

  “Okay, well, I appreciate it. But you know I can’t.”

  Silas said nothing for a long moment, then he asked, “So what’s the deal with you and Astrid?”

  Yeah, he wasn’t having that discussion.

  “There’s no deal,” he said curtly. “You got anything else to say? Because I need to get out to—”

  “You think I didn’t pick up on the tension between you two up in the kitchen yesterday?” Silas gave him a sharp look. “It was so thick I could have cut it with a knife and spread it on my toast for breakfast.”

  “It’s none of your business,” Damon snapped.

  “I know it isn’t. But I like Astrid and I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  What could he say to that? And he knew the expression on Silas’s face. The guy wasn’t going to leave this alone.

  He let out a breath and scrubbed a hand across his face.

  This was all getting too complicated. Because if he went into talking about Astrid, he’d have to talk about Connor. About Cal. And from there, he’d have to tell his friend about Ella…

  So?

  Something shifted inside him yet again, a certain knowledge. About secrets and the burden of them and how it felt to share them. To know that you weren’t alone.

  Astrid had done that for him. She’d been the catalyst and then, when he’d told her about Ella and she’d told him about Aiden, they’d been there for each other. And though it had been painful, it had also been good. It had made him feel strong in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time.

  Damon took a breath and looked at his friend. Silas was a good guy, one of the best, and they’d all had each other’s backs in the army.

  Why wouldn’t he have your back now?

  Good goddamn point.

  “The deal with Astrid is that you know what’s been going on,” he said before he could think better of it.

  “Ah.” Silas let out a breath. “So you’ve been sleeping with her.”

  Sleeping with her… It sounded so…casual. A cheapening of what was actually between them. But what else had it been? It was nothing at all now.

  “We had an affair, yes. But we both knew it was temporary, and we agreed it wasn’t going to be serious.”

  “Didn’t look not serious yesterday.”

  Damon glanced away, pain settling in his chest. Astrid’s steady gray gaze, telling him that she would always be there for him…

  “I have to leave,” he said. “I can’t give her what she wants.”

  “Uh-huh. And what’s that?”

  Damon opened his mouth. Then shut it. If he was going to tell Silas about him and Astrid, then he had to start from the beginning. He couldn’t tell his friend about his promise to Cal, not yet, because it involved Connor and he wasn’t going to give away the kid’s secrets without asking him first. But he could tell him about Ella at least.

  “It’s complicated,” he said at last.

  Silas nodded as if that was something he already knew. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay then.” Damon dropped his bag on the floor, leaned back against the door, and began at the beginning. With his mother and Rebecca and Ella.

  “Shit,” Silas said in the silence that fell afterward. “That’s…” He trailed off, his green eyes full of sympathy.

  Damon waited for the awkward change of subject or for Silas to simply turn around and leave, because after all, who wanted to talk about the death of a child?

  But Silas went to the desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out the bottle of Harry’s whisky that was in it. Then he grabbed a couple of glasses that were also in the drawer, poured them both a dram, and held out the glass. “Here. I think you could do with this.”

  A tension that Damon didn’t even realize was gripping him eased. He should have told Silas before, he really should have. It was about trust in the end and he did trust his friend, he really did.

  Damon took it and lifted the glass, ready to drink.

  Then Silas raised his own glass and looked his friend in the eye. He didn’t say a word, but then Silas was a man who didn’t waste them. And there were too few words that would encompass what Damon had just told him, and none of them were right.

  “To absent friends,” Damon said, because it wasn’t only Ella who was gone, but Cal too.

  Silas nodded and they both drank. Then Silas said, “Anytime you want to talk, you can.”

  Okay, so he’d been an idiot not to tell Silas, not to trust him either, and he’d been a dick about it, no question. All of this would have been simpler if he’d just been straight from the beginning, but old patterns of behavior were tough to overcome.

  “I appreciate that,” Damon said gruffly. “But as you can imagine, all of this has made it complicated when it comes to Astrid.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Silas allowed, putting his glass down on the desk. “But how?”

  “Because I’m not up for the kind of relationship she needs. Or any kind of relationship, in fact. Which means sticking around here will only make it difficult for her.”

  Silas nodded slowly. “I get it. You’re trying to protect her.”

  “Yes.” He stared back at his friend. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “Well, sure,” Silas agreed. “But you know, sometimes when we think we’re protecting people, it turns out that the only ones we’re protecting are ourselves.”

  Damon stiffened. “It’s not like that.”

  He’s right.

  No, that was bullshit. Silas was wrong. And Damon wasn’t protecting himself; he was protecting Astrid and Connor from hurt and disappointment, because they’d both been hurt and disappointed too many times already.

  He couldn’t love them. He couldn’t love anyone. And it was better that he stayed away so they could both find someone who would.

  Liar. She loves you and you�
��re dismissing it like it means nothing.

  He shoved the thought away, bending to grab the strap of his duffel and hauling it up and over his shoulder.

  “You have to think of her,” Silas said quietly. “Hurting her because you’re too scared to man up is never a good look.”

  Okay, that was enough. He was done.

  He straightened. “It’s not about fear. It’s about knowing you can’t give someone what they need and that they deserve better than that.”

  Silas’s gaze turned assessing. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

  Icy shock slid through him, like he’d plunged headfirst into a pool of glacier meltwater, though he had no idea why. How could he be in love with her? It simply wasn’t possible for him.

  “No.” He met Silas’s green gaze without flinching, because the guy was just flat-out wrong. “I’m not. I can’t. And that’s the reason I’m leaving.”

  Silas only stared at him for a long moment, then he nodded. “Okay, have it your way. I take it you’ll drop the plane at the hangar in Juneau?”

  “Yes. And I’ll call you when I get back to LA. We’ll sort out the ownership stuff then.”

  Silas just nodded, and that was that. There wasn’t any more to be said.

  Damon turned and went out, entering back into the crowded Moose, nodding at Hope as he passed by the bar and then flashing a smile at the various people who greeted him and waved. He didn’t stop, even though politeness dictated that he should. He just didn’t have the energy.

  Outside, the twilight was starting to deepen into night, and despite the cool night air, there were a few people standing in groups on the boardwalk. He glanced around, trying to spot Astrid because he wanted to say goodbye properly to her and Connor at least.

  A flash of movement by the Nowhere pole caught his eye, and he could see Connor leaning against it. The kid was staring fixedly at him, the expression on his face utterly cold, just like his mother’s.