“Like hell, I don’t.” He barks out a gruff laugh, eyes flaring as he wipes a tear from my cheek with his index finger. “I’m surprised you’re so upset. Weren’t you just trying to end this last night?”
I lift my chin. “That was before…”Before I knew I was the woman who put that haunted look on your face. Before I knew I was the woman you loved enough to carry the pain of losing her with you every day.
I don’t say any of those words, but Dom sees them. He sees them etched in my features, stamped across my face like I’ve put them ondisplay just for him. I suppose in a way I have. I know how easily he can read me, even when he’s experiencing the first alcohol-induced buzz of his life, and I wouldn’t have started that sentence, or thought those thoughts, if I didn’t want him to know about them.
The dark eyes I’ve spent weeks falling in love with laugh at me.
“I don’t know what you came here for, angel. This was never supposed to be more than a casual arrangement, and you got what you needed out of it. Your skin should be well and truly sated until you find yournexthusband.” He’s speaking through clenched teeth, forcing each word out of his mouth. “And don’t worry about anyone finding out about this. I might be a selfish bastard, but I never break a promise.”
He hovers over me for a second, his handsome face twisted into a mixture of self-loathing and anger that would break my heart if I wasn’t so pissed off at the things he’s just said to me. Then he pushes off of the wall and moves back to the couch, shoulders sagging like letting the most hurtful things he’s ever said to me fly out of his mouth has brought him great relief.
In that moment, I hate him. Only a little, not more than I love him, and not enough to lessen the sting as his words settle against my skin. The comment about finding my next husband cuts especially deep, and I think maybe that was the point. I’ve sparred with him enough times to know he’s always precise and intentional with his blows.
Tears swim in my eyes, and I just let them fall. I don’t even care if he knows he’s hurt me. Some part of me wants him to know, because it’s still stupidly hoping the sight of them will cause my Dom to resurface and send this monster back to whatever cage it’s been living in.
It feels dumb, trying to reach my Dom when the man in front of me is so eerily similar to the person I used to dread spending more than a minute around by myself, but I can’t stop, because I love him, and I don’t want to believethisis how we end.
Him, drunk and lashing out like an animal with a wound they won’t let anyone see, let alone fix. Me, reaching for him even when he keeps pushing me away. I know this is just pain. This is just him acting out the same way he did when I thanked him after Club Noir.
That was about his father, and I don’t know how exactly, but this is about that old bastard too.
Sometimes I forget about the parallels between my childhood and his. Both of us grew up with one parent whose unconditional love wasn’t enough to shield us from the damage of their narcissistic partner. And as a result, we grew around the shadows they gave us, walking around like open wounds looking for any excuse to turn a spark into a flame. It’s no wonder he took one look at me that night and felt relieved. We’ve always matched each other’s energy. Sometimes in the worst ways, but sometimes—especially over these last few weeks—in the very best ones.
I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to let his father or my mother take another thing from us. And the only way to prevent that from happening is to make him accept that we’re nothing like them.
“You’re so full of shit.” I force the words past the lump in my throat. “All of this talk about not being good enough for me because you’re like your dad or you’re not like Eric. It’s all bullshit, Dominic. You gave up the chance at something great because you saw that your best friend was happy. Selfish men don’t do that.”
I move over to him, sitting on the coffee table and taking his hands in my mine. Dom’s head snaps up, his brows furrowed together in surprise. For a second, I think I see his expression soften in reaction to my tears, but it’s gone in an instant, so I continue.
“I can’t say I understand why you didn’t say anything all those years ago, but I’m thankful you didn’t, because it gave me a chance to love Eric before his life got cut short. It gaveyoua chance to love him too, even in the moments you were bitter and jealous and hating both of us for havingeach other. I don’t know why things worked out the way they did for us, but I’m not sorry. Because in some way, I know I couldn’t have been yours if I wasn’t his first.”
Letting go of his hands, I reach up and cradle his face between my palms, forcing him to look at me for this next part. “And I am yours, Dom. I’m so fucking yours, and you don’t even know it because all of the stuff that’s happened over the last few days has stopped me from being able to tell you the one thing I’ve known for a while now: I love you. I love you so much, and you can try to scare me away, but I’m not going anywhere unless you look me in the eyes and tell me this is over.”
The first time I say “I love you” his eyes fall shut, and his face morphs into a pained expression. The second time he shudders as if he’s literally revolted at the idea of me loving him and shakes his head until I release my grip on his face. And when I’m done talking, my heart has left my chest and made a new home in my throat.
I feel like I’m going to throw up as I wait for his response. Seconds seem to stretch into hours as I wait for the familiar warmth of that midnight gaze to caress my face, and all the while, I hold my breath.
But when he finally opens his eyes and looks at me, I know I’m not about to get the reaction I was hoping for.
“This is over.”
***
I don’t know how I make it from the tenth floor to the sidewalk in front of Dom’s building. But one second I’m on my knees in front of him, telling him how much I love him, and the next I’m swiping at tears that refuse to stop coming as I walk toward my car.
Every step I take seems to make the crack in my chest splinter more, and I have to force myself to keep moving. Putting one foot in front of theother even though I think I can feel myself actively dying. But every beat of my heart reminds me that it’s notme. It’s the hope—for me, Dom, and our future—that was bursting out of me on the drive over. It felt like a flower in full bloom, shifting from tight buds to beautiful, unfurling petals reaching toward the sun.
And now the edges of the petals are turning black, curling back onto themselves before breaking off and floating away.
My eyes are on the ground, tears blurring my vision, as I make my way to the parking area for visitors. People are walking around me in both directions, everyone too busy or caught up in their own world to notice the heartbroken woman moving at a snail’s pace on the sidewalk.
Not that I’m complaining. Running into anyone, but especially someone I know, while I’m crying outside of Dom’s building would be embarrassing and weird. I probably wouldn’t even have the capacity to come up with a good lie about being here, which would mean risking people finding out about us when everything is already done.
Knowing I don’t want to deal with the heartbreak of losing more of the people I love, I open up my bag and start to dig for my keys. I’ve just put my hand on them when my shoulder collides with someone else’s, almost making me drop everything. Startled, I look up with an apology already on my lips.
“I’m so—” The words die on my tongue as my mind puts a name to the familiar face staring back at me. Thin lips curled into a scowl masquerading as a smile, brown eyes filled with displeasure, flawless tawny skin over cheekbones that are more prominent today than I’ve ever seen them thanks to the sleek ponytail she’s wearing. “Kristen.”
My heart sinks as I try to imagine what I must look like right now. Eyes puffy and swollen from tears that are still falling, clothes wrinkled like I’ve just rolled out of bed, hair in a messy bun that’s probably got more than a few loose strands flying around.
