I frown. “It wasn’t your job to ask.”
No one would expect a college freshman to assess the mental state of a stranger at a frat party. And while I don’t remember much, I can say with some certainty that if he would have started asking questions I didn’t want to answer, I would have found someone else to help me check the items off of my list. Truthfully, I was lucky I ran into him and not some other asshole who would have gladly taken advantage of me.
“Maybe not, but I didn’t have to dive into the madness headfirst, with no plan and not a care in the world about how it was going to turn out as long as I got to have you.” Both his nostrils flare, and he pushes out rough breaths that make his chest heave. “Eric wouldn’t have done that. He would have taken one look at you and gotten you out of there.”
My heart aches at the longing in his words, the jealousy in them wrapping around my lungs and squeezing as I listen to him compare himself to his best friend. Eric was the other, better, side of my coin. He always gave me so much comfort; his presence was like a calming salve,soothing away old hurts, providing steady support and quiet words of reassurance that didn’t stop coming until he was sure he’d kept me from going off the deep end.
There’s no denying Dom is different, mainly because he’s always the one sending me off the deep end, but also because in the weeks we’ve been together, he’s shown me he’s willing to jump off the cliff with me if talking me off the edge isn’t an option. He always gives me space to be angry and a little unreasonable.
Before we were us, I thought he got a sick satisfaction out of striking the match and watching me burn, but now I know his fascination with my fire is because of how closely it resembles his own. Eric was my better half, but Dom is the mirror image of my soul. The place where all my shadows and every burst of flame are known, understood, and loved.
Of course, there are differences in my relationships with both of them, but I don’t think one is better than the other, because the result is the same. With both him and Eric, I’ve felt supported, protected, and safe to be any version of myself.
“Don’t do that. We have no idea how Eric would have handled that situation, and we never will.”
His lips curl into a sarcastic smile. “I guess we’ll just agree to disagree.”
“Dom.”
“What’s your next question, Sloane?”
Even though I know exactly what I want to ask next, my lips don’t part. Suddenly, I wish I didn’t come here, because seeing him be this man—this brooding, drunk asshole who reminds me so much of the person I used to call my enemy it hurts to look at him—is ripping me apart.
This isn’t my Dom. The one who sent Mal to check on me when I freaked out. The one who comforted me after I got into it with my mom. The one who went out of his way to save me before I even thought to call him mine.
I take a deep breath. “Why did you get the tattoo?”
Tension lines his shoulders, and the muscle in his jaw starts to tick rapidly. He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You don’t do anything without a reason, so tell me why. If you were so convinced you were bad for me, so determined to believe I was the best version of myself with Eric, why would you get a permanent reminder of that night?”
“So I could remember to hate you!” he roars, throwing his hands in the air like he’s physically releasing the truth. “You forgot me. And out of all the men on the planet, on thatfuckingcampus, you found Eric. The one person I could never try to steal you away from. Not even if it meant watching you fall in love with him or standing beside him while he made you promises I never got the chance to. I watched you build a life with him, and it hurt. Wanting you. Loving you. Being yours when you were always his. It all hurt, and so I decided to try hating you instead.”
“And did it work?”
He hesitates, just for a second. “Yes.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Each one landing its punch until I feel broken and bruised. I don’t even flinch at his raised voice, don’t even care about the resentment coating his words as he talks about watching me with Eric. What hurts the most is hearing him say he did hate me. After weeks of believing the words he whispered to me that first night in my bed—I never hated you, Sloane—the confession has tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes.
“Dominic…”
“Tell me you regret it, Sloane.”
I search his face, confused about what exactly he wants me to say I regret. The night we spent together? The past few weeks where I’ve allowed myself to think of him as my home?
“What?”
“You’re asking me why I made the choices I made. Why I didn’t break you and Eric up so we could be together, as if you wanted things to go differently, sotell me. Tell me you regret falling in love with him.” He’s stalking toward me, and with every step he takes forward, I take one back. “Tell me you regret marrying him. Tell me you regret letting him kiss your pretty mouth and claim every inch of your body. Tell me you regret building a life with him and wearing his ring every day. Tell. Me. You. Regret. It.”
I put my hands on his chest to stop him from coming any closer. “No. I don’t regret it.”
And it’s the truth. While I’m actively grieving the future Dom and I lost, I can’t bring myself to regret what I got to have with Eric. It’s just hard for me to think of all of our happy moments together without considering what it must have felt like for Dom.
“I know you don’t, angel. He was your Prince Charming, your knight in shining armor, and all I am is the jealous asshole who fucked his best friend’s widow after years of fantasizing about her. The piece-of-shit liar who used you to make the dreams of a college freshman come true.”
Our faces are so close I can practically taste the vodka on his breath. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can’t even begin to think about what to do with all the fury building inside of me. Incited by the ugly, nasty words spoken by the man I love who seems determined to hurt me.
“You don’t mean that.”
