Last Summer: A Novel Page 7

  Ella didn’t let him finish. She closed the distance between them and looked up into his face, her heart racing. “You love me?”

  He smiled broadly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. So much,” he whispered vehemently.

  She beamed. Grasping his shoulders, she stood on her toes and kissed him. “I love you, too.”

  He flashed another smile, but it quickly faded. “But . . . kids?”

  Ella knew that if she was honest with him, right here and now, what she’d tell him would destroy everything that had been and still was budding between them. Ella might not have his disinterest in kids, but what she did have was time. Maybe, one day, once he saw how great their life could be together, she could convince him to change his mind.

  She smiled lovingly. “It’s you I want, Damien.” More than anything. More than kids, she silently reaffirmed, hoping to convince herself that was truly how she felt.

  CHAPTER 8

  March 2019

  Ella smacks the alarm squawking 5:00 a.m. and rolls out of bed. After a visit to the bathroom, she brushes her teeth and slips into her running attire, grabbing up her Nikes.

  Damien waits for her at the front door. “Morning, sweetheart.” He kisses her solidly on the mouth with a groan that sends a delicious ripple through her. “Let’s skip the run and go back to bed.”

  “Uh-uh.” She pushes him away. “Run first.” They didn’t make it out the door yesterday. Ever since Lynn released her for full activity, including bedroom aerobics, Damien hasn’t kept his hands off her. That was two months ago. The sex has been great. Okay, it’s been mind blowing. But she feels like it’s become an excuse not to talk, which they haven’t done much of in four months, not the kind of talking they should be doing. Either he’s still too raw about the accident or he’s too busy with work. Whichever, Ella feels like she’s been left hanging. Her memories haven’t returned. Looking at photos of her pregnant self and staying immersed with familiar people in familiar places as Dr. Allington had suggested when she was released from the hospital hasn’t helped at all. She doesn’t know anything more today about what led up to the accident and what happened at the hospital afterward than she did last November. Only Damien knows what made her leave their condo that night and get into her car, and he’s not talking.

  He also doesn’t want to try for another baby.

  At her eight-week post-op appointment, Lynn asked if Ella wanted to go back on birth control. Ella had been excited to discuss with Damien the prospect of getting pregnant again. But he was adamant. No way. He wasn’t ready. How could she think about another baby when the loss of Simon still gutted him? What if something happened to the baby again? Or worse, what if he lost her instead? Did she have any idea what that did to him, seeing her bruised and battered in the hospital bed?

  Lynn had also asked her about the psychiatrist. Had she been?

  “Once,” Ella answered. Alone.

  The session hadn’t helped. Ella spent an hour expressing her frustrations about Damien and her sadness over losing Simon, but she couldn’t answer most questions the therapist posed. Why did they decide to have a baby when her husband was clear he didn’t want a child? What changed his mind? Where was she going when she got into the accident? Had they been arguing, and if so, about what?

  “On and on the questions went. I couldn’t answer a single one,” Ella explained. “I tried to get Damien to come to a follow-up session, but between his work schedule and his excuses?” She shrugged, tugged up the paper examination gown that had slipped off her shoulder. “I gave up. I stopped asking him to come and I didn’t go back.”

  Lynn touched her arm. “I’ve seen husbands take several years before they can talk about it, let alone try for another kid again. It’s difficult for them to watch their wives lose a child.”

  Ella nodded. She wanted to be sympathetic to Damien’s feelings, but she was the one who carried Simon. She’d do it again given the chance. Looking at her hands in her lap, she picked at a loose hangnail. “Did I tell you Simon was an accident? I think I forgot to take a pill.”

  “No. I didn’t know. But there are other options besides the pill.” Lynn rolled her stool to the end of the exam table and motioned for Ella to scoot her rear to the edge and lie back. She peeked around Ella’s raised knees. “Options you don’t have to remember to take each day.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  Lynn smiled. “Take all the time you need.”

  Damien unbolts the front door, bringing Ella back to the task at hand. She laces up her shoes. Damien is scrolling through his email. He frowns.

  “Everything all right?” she asks. Four clients have left PDN since January, in addition to Royal Gateway. Damien had said his trip to London last November was a waste. He wasn’t able to convince them to stay. He’s found the losses to be more than frustrating. They’re personal. Because each business has moved to CyberSeal, his father’s company.

  “Not sure.” The lines between his brows deepen as he reads the memo, swearing as he closes his email and launches his music app. He drops one of his ear pods in Ella’s hand so that they can listen together. “I’ll deal with it later. Ready?”

  “Yeah.” She plugs the pod in her ear and Damien brings up their Tuesday playlist, a mix of U2, Gang of Youths, and other alternative rock music that gets them fired up.

  They run a seven-mile route through the city streets, making their way to the Embarcadero, where they follow the wharf. The air is damp but the sky clears as the sun breaks over the city skyline and spills its golden light.

  As they run, Ella plots her day. She has to drive to Sacramento to interview the governor over lunch, and on her way back, she hopes to finally nail down the double interview with Emily Blunt and John Krasinski about their latest project. With any luck, she’ll be back in the city by dinner with Damien, maybe even surprise him at the office with Thai takeout. He’s been wound tight, working late hours and traveling almost nonstop trying to retain his clients.

  They reach the final stretch on their route and head back up the hill toward home. Damien changes the playlist and Eminem blasts her ear.

  “Really?” She rips out the pod, knowing it’ll immediately stop the music.

  But Damien doesn’t stop. He picks up speed and Ella has to work to keep up with him. She hollers his name, but he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t slow down. The concrete between them expands and the music cuts out, her pod losing the connection with Damien’s phone. He’s a block ahead and Ella eases to a saner pace, letting him work off whatever’s steaming in his head. Besides, the last hill home is a killer.

  By the time she rounds the corner to their building, Ella’s calves burn and her side cramps. Damien’s waiting outside, pacing the sidewalk to cool off.

  “Lost you back there,” he says when he sees her.

  “The hell, Damien?” She gasps, hands on knees, catching her breath. “What’s wrong with you?”

  He has the audacity to look confused. Ella shakes her head, disappointed, and glances at her watch. It’s getting late and she needs to shower and get on the road. There isn’t time to get into it with him. There never seems to be enough time.

  Ella fires him a dirty look, shoves open the building’s glass doors, and stomps through the lobby.

  Damien follows her inside. She stabs the elevator button.

  “Ella?” he asks, cautious.

  Screw it. She’s so over him not opening up.

  She turns on him. Even drenched in sweat and smelling like a gym locker, she finds him breathtakingly gorgeous. She could jump him in the lobby and not have a care in the world who walked by. Except right now she’s pissed.

  “You ditched me. What’s up with you? Is this just about work or is something else going on?”

  “You know there’s a lot going down.” His tone has softened. She doubts he’ll admit it, but he must realize his speed burst up the hill was a dick move.

  “Then talk to me about it. Don’t shut me out. Or run off with my
music. Eminem sucks, by the way.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches.

  The elevator doors slide open and they step inside. Damien presses the button for their floor. “Can we talk about this later?” he suggests, staring at the panel of buttons.

  “Let me guess. You’re not ready.”

  “No. I have to get to work and you have to drive to Sacramento.”

  “Do you realize it’s been four months?” His brow furrows and Ella gets into his space. The elevator isn’t small, but she makes sure he can’t look anywhere but at her.

  “Four months, two weeks, and three days. That’s how long it’s been since we lost Simon. And we still haven’t talked about it. We haven’t talked about him.”

  He rakes a hand through his damp hair. “No memories yet?”

  “You know they haven’t come back. Not talking about it doesn’t help me. Or us,” she snaps. “I think you’ve had enough time to process. Don’t put off your grief. It only makes it worse.”

  Damien grinds his jaw. She doesn’t care. She’s feeling punchy and her patience is at an end. She wants her memories back, and he’s the only one who can help her.

  The elevator dings and the doors open. Ella leads the way into their apartment. She doesn’t stop until they’re in the master bathroom. She toes off her shoes and kicks them out of the way. Damien peels off his shirt. He watches her strip and turn on the shower, but he doesn’t say anything. Ella tests the water temperature, and he’s still silent. He removes his shoes and tugs down his shorts. He stands there with his cut abs and the indents on the sides of his glutes, and she wants to forget about being pissed and have hot sweaty sex with him on top of the double vanity. But a quickie won’t resolve her frustration with him. Why won’t he talk with her? What’s his deal? Why is he biting his tongue?

  Biting his tongue.

  Ella doesn’t have the chance to dwell on where she’s recently heard that phrase before because Damien says her name when she steps into the shower and under the spray. Turning, she meets his gaze. It locks with hers.

  “I’m sorry,” he says in a heartfelt manner.

  She sighs, gives him one last look of frustration, then holds out her hand.

  Damien doesn’t hesitate. In three short strides, he’s in the shower and she’s in his arms. Then he’s kissing her, thoroughly, and their hands travel everywhere.

  She lets him work out his stress on her. He takes her hard against the tile, then again on the bed, their skin slick and wet, their hair dripping. He drives into her with the same ferocity he had during their run. This time, he doesn’t leave her behind.

  When their heart rates steady and breathing evens, Damien rolls off her. He drapes an arm over his eyes.

  “Damien,” Ella says. “What’s going on with you?”

  He sighs.

  “I want to help, but you have to talk to me.”

  “Ben emailed me.” PDN’s legal counselor.

  Damien rolls to his side to face her. He absently touches Ella’s hair, wraps a section around his finger.

  “I had his team look into our client retention issues.”

  “What did he find out?”

  “One of my employees sold our client list to CyberSeal.”

  “Oh, my god. That’s illegal. Why would he do that?”

  “You know how my dad has wanted to buy me out?”

  “Yeah, and you’ve always said no.” Ella pauses for a moment, piecing it together. “He’s trying to put you out of business.”

  “We don’t have proof he’s directly involved, not yet. But yeah, it’s not like this is a surprise. He’s had it in for me since before I started my company.” Damien drags a hand down his face. He looks and sounds tired.

  Ella’s never understood how a father could act toward his only son the way Clyde does with Damien. But then, Damien hasn’t told her much about their relationship other than things got rocky when Damien’s marriage to Anna eroded.

  Damien glances at the clock over her shoulder. “I have to get into the office. Ben wants to meet.”

  Ella looks at the clock and swears. “I gotta get going, too.”

  Damien gives her hair a gentle tug. “Sorry about the run.”

  Ella playfully scowls at him. “Forgiven. Don’t do it again.”

  “Promise.” He kisses her.

  An hour later, Ella’s packing up her laptop and the voice recorder she uses for interviews when Rebecca calls.

  “Have you left yet?” she asks.

  “Almost out the door,” Ella says, sliding her laptop into its case.

  “Don’t bother. I’ve reassigned to Jordan Talbot. She’s already on her way there.”

  The hell? Ella goes rigid.

  Jordan is a recent recruit. Rebecca lured her over from Town & Country. She has field experience, but she’s still green in Ella’s book. She reminds Ella of herself when she first started at Luxe Avenue.

  “Why did you do that?” Ella asks, her tone measured, trying to quell her anger and panic. Did Rebecca hear about her memory loss? Does she think she’s unfit for the assignment? Ella thinks back over the assignments she’s had since early December. She can’t pinpoint where, or if, she made a mistake that would jeopardize her position or her seniority when it came to the divvying up of assignments.

  “Nathan Donovan called.”

  “Who?”

  “You heard me. The Nathan Donovan exclusive is back on and he assured me that he’s one hundred percent on board. As long as you write it.”

  Air leaves Ella’s lungs in a rush. She slowly sits in her chair. She stares blankly out the window.

  “This assignment’s priority over your others. You spent so much time working on it before. Won’t it be nice to see this gem in print? Hold on a sec, I’ve got his contact info. He wasn’t sure if you still had it. Ah, here it is.” Rebecca rattles off his info and Ella scrambles for a piece of paper. Can’t find one. She grabs an old issue of Luxe Avenue from the corner of her desk and quickly scribbles Nathan’s phone number and address. Truckee. Just over a three-hour drive from San Francisco, assuming the weather and roads are clear.

  “He wants you to meet him at his house this time, not on some godforsaken mountain trail. I don’t know how you did it, backpacking in the wilderness for five days with no running water. You’re a braver woman than me, but that’s why you’re my best.”

  Ella’s hand trembles. She drops the pen.

  “He’ll only talk to you, so don’t botch this like you did last time. I’m not going to let you convince me to kill this article. Call Nathan right away. He wants to start the interview tomorrow.”

  Start the interview? That meant this would be a major feature. The interview would be involved, tedious. Ella broke up those assignments into several blocks over the course of a few days. Sometimes they lasted a week, depending on the subject’s schedule.

  “All right. I’ll call first thing.” She forces out the confirmation.

  “Don’t worry about the governor. He’s in good hands with Jordan. I think it’s time to toss the gal into the pool, see how she swims. Check in with me in a couple of days, let me know how it’s going. Meanwhile, I’ll reassign your other projects so that you can prep for tomorrow. Paul wants to run the Donovan piece in May’s issue.”

  “Sure.”

  Rebecca ends the call and Ella gently, slowly, sets down her phone.

  Who the hell is Nathan Donovan?

  CHAPTER 9

  Ella unpacks her laptop and searches Nathan Donovan. Pages upon pages load, and within minutes, she has his basic stats. Nathan Donovan, celebrity adventurer and star of the hit Nat Geo Wild series Off the Grid! Thirty-seven, separated, and father to one son, who tragically died almost a year and a half ago, right before Off the Grid! was canceled midseason.

  Ella clicks the Images link and a mosaic of photos, from professional headshots to stills of his survival television series and blurry paparazzi photos, fills the screen. With his dark-brown hair, ice
-blue eyes, and a physique carved from military training and the grueling survivalist stunts he showcased on his series, Nathan Donovan isn’t hard on the eyes. He also looks like her husband. Damien’s doppelgänger. Minus the military training and celebrity status, of course. Damien loves a good, long run and bench-pressing weights, but Nathan’s an adrenaline junkie and thrives in the outdoors.

  Wow, she thinks. It’s uncanny how much they resemble each other.

  Ella feels uneasy. Nathan is well known. She should have at least heard of him and his television series. She should definitely remember meeting and interviewing him.

  But she has nothing. Not a single memory. Not even a faint recollection of a phone call or email, let alone an in-person interview that she apparently conducted on some godforsaken mountain trail, as Rebecca described it.

  She’s blocked him from her memory. Just like Simon.

  Ella’s gaze drifts to the office door. Across the hall is Simon’s nursery. The door is still closed. She hasn’t ventured into that room since early December. She did for a month, every day. She’d stand in the middle of the room, hoping the scent of the new furniture or sound of the musical mobile above the crib would jog her memory. They didn’t, so she gave up on trying to remember.

  Well, she’s not giving up any longer. If she did, in fact, interview Nathan Donovan, she’d have files. There would be emails and a log of phone calls. Documents of research notes and uploaded recordings of the interview. But she doesn’t recall his name or seeing a file with her interview notes when she looked through her computer four months ago when she’d hoped to find a document or an email that would help trigger her memories. She’d looked through so many files last November. Maybe she forgot. Frantic, she searches again. She clicks folders and skims through her bookmarks. She looks through emails, sent, trash, and draft folders. She opens her trash bin. Over and over she plugs in variations of Nathan’s name. Not a single document, saved web page, or transcribed voice recording pops up.