I looked at my phone with a sigh. No new messages or voicemails. I was disappointed, but also relieved. I still hadn't decided what my response should be when Damon finally contacted me. It had been days since I'd last seen him.

Damon's behavior had been distressing. I hadn't known he had that kind of a temper. When he'd slammed the door behind him, I'd been more than shaken. I'd been almost frightened. Punching walls and shouting… He'd never acted that way in front of me before, and I was sure if Hope had seen him that way, she would have warned me.

Then again, I'd never heard someone threaten his brother in front of him like that. It was his protective instinct. I felt the same way about my sister. If someone had ever threatened Hope in the same manner, I probably would have been just as eager to give them a beat down.

But it wasn't only that.

Damon was keeping a secret from his brother. If their father had been blackmailing him since they first hit it big, Damon would have been lying to his brother for years. The fact that he could keep something a secret for so long was troubling. Did Damon regularly lie to his brother about other things as well? He was such a straightforward person. Damon didn't seem like the type who could keep a secret for very long.

Then again, I was keeping something from my sister. The comparison between us made me vaguely uncomfortable. I'd never considered myself to be an exceptionally good liar — except regarding one thing.

With a sigh, I flopped onto my living room sofa and mindlessly flipped through the channels, searching for bad reality TV. That bridezilla wedding show was on again. Good enough.

I was five minutes in when I got another urge to check my phone. I'd been looking at it every fifteen minutes.

I'd asked Hope about him, worried, but she hadn't heard from him, and neither had his brother. I hadn't wanted to say anything, to explain why I was worried. From what Hope had told me, they figured he'd gone on a bender somewhere and would turn up in a few days with the mother of all hangovers.

I hadn't texted Damon, either. I hadn't known what to write.

Maybe, Your behavior scared me and I think we should take a break.

Or perhaps, I'm worried about you. Call me so we can talk this through.

Or even, Please tell me you didn't follow your father and now you're sitting in jail arrested for assault.

That last one was just as likely as Damon going on a bender.

I stared at the TV screen. I tried to pay attention, but my mind kept wandering. Not only to Damon, but to my sister, and my dad. Seeing Damon confront his own father had been nerve-wracking in itself, but the whole scene had only reminded me of my own situation.

My father wasn't blackmailing me, or threatening Hope. But his actions hurt the two of us nonetheless. Emotional abandonment, neglect, resentment… Telling your father you were nominated for Valedictorian, showing him your acceptance letter to your first choice college, asking him if he'll attend your graduation, only to have him stare right through you, as if you didn't exist, and walk away without a word…

It hurt.

I knew my father was depressed. That was a given. I didn't need an official diagnosis to recognize all the signs. I wouldn't have been able to get a diagnosis anyway. He refused to go to a therapist. Refused any kind of treatment. I really thought when my sister and I moved out, when he wasn't confronted with the face of the woman he'd lost every single day, he might start recovering.

I'd been too hopeful. Naive. Depression as severe as my dad's rarely just went away on its own. If he would even agree to just see to somebody, a counselor or a therapist, if he just had some outlet where he could talk about his feelings…

But he hated talking about Mom. He changed the subject every time the accident came up. I understood that it might be too painful for him, but it was unhealthy to let an emotional wound fester like that.

And it was getting worse. In the last few weeks, I'd seen a downswing in his mood. He said fewer than a handful of words when I delivered him his food. He could barely look me in the eye, just like it has been when I was a teenager. I'd begun to dread my visits even more than usual.

I didn't know why I still tried. Nothing ever changed. But that kernel of hope inside me just wouldn't die. I always thought that maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time he would look at me and smile, pride in his eyes at one of my accomplishments. Maybe this time he would ask about Hope, wanting to know how she was doing. Maybe one day he'd put on a nice suit and take us all out to dinner, where we'd tell stories about Mom, and laugh and cry together.

Instead, he sat alone in his house, refusing to interact with the world, unable to take care of himself, slowly withering away.

And Hope knew nothing about it. I was the one to take on the burden of caring for him, even thought I was the last person on earth he wanted to see.

That was okay. Hope didn't need to know. She didn't need to deal with all that. What good would it do for the both of us to be saddled with that responsibility? No, as bad as I knew it was, this was one secret I was more than happy to keep to myself.

I'd just returned to my show when my phone pinged. My stomach both dropped and fluttered at the same time. I snuck a peak at it. It was from Damon.

I'm sorry, was all it said.

A million different answers flicked through my mind. I held my phone in my hand, staring at it.

For which part? I finally wrote back.

For storming out on you. For freaking out. I never wanted you to see me like that.

I thought about my reply for a few moments.

Are you often like that? I asked.

No, he wrote back immediately.

You scared me, I admitted. It wasn't just because you went off. It was also because I was worried about what you might do. Worried that you might have gone after your father and done something bad. And then you went silent for days. You didn't even contact Ian. You can't just do that. You need to talk things out when you're upset.

I knew firsthand what happened what happened when someone refused to deal with their feelings.

I know, he wrote. That's why I'm sorry.

Apology accepted, I wrote.

I want to see you.

I hesitated.

Even though he had scared me, I could almost understand it. Getting physical with his father to throw him out, that was reasonable.

Punching walls and doors, the anger and shouting, that was something else. I didn't know if I could get past that. That kind of behavior was a red flag.

But Damon didn't act like that all the time. Or at all, really. He was annoying, and impulsive and yes, downright infuriating at times. But he could also be thoughtful. Funny. Sweet, even.

Not to mention goddamn sexy. I could barely control myself around the man. I was like a cat in heat.

I hated it.

I loved it.

Damon Drake had flipped my world upside down and I didn't know how to handle it.

I think I still need time, I told him.

You have to know I would never hurt you, he wrote back instantly.

I know, I wrote. Because I did know. That wasn't why I hesitated. But I still need to think things through.

The last thing I want to do is fuck things up between us.

My heart squeezed in my chest. I know that, too. You're a good guy.

What happened to me being a jerk face?

I couldn't help but laugh a little. Good night Damon.

Sweet dreams Faith, he wrote. Or naughty dreams. Whichever. But only if you dream about me. If you have sex dreams about some other guy I'm going to get jealous.

GOOD NIGHT DAMON, I wrote again.

I put my phone on silent mode and set it aside. My dreams were full of tempting lips, cocky smirks and green eyes so deep I felt myself fall into them.

When I woke up, I couldn't decide if the feeling of falling was thrilling or terrifying.