During that whole interaction, Dominic said nothing about me being a part of them. He only stated he wanted to fuck me and let me have a baby for them. Not even that I could keep the baby or have anything to do with it afterwards. Maybe they didn’t even mean it like that. Maybe that’s a kink they both enjoy like calling Dominic Daddy. It definitely makes more sense than the idea that — out of the nineteen years of us being in each other’s lives — that they suddenly decided that I’m what they want.
Insane mentality.
Disgusting behavior.
Not once has Nicolas or Dominic made a single indication that I even existed in their orbit. From the moment Mom introduced us, I held the importance of a potted plant.
There, but zero worth.
Granted, I was thirteen and they were already in university, but I held onto my fledgling feelings, hoping they might notice me.
They didn’t.
Not once.
Why would they now?
Feeling stupid, all that warm, gooey feeling evaporates to ashes and I sit amongst them feeling defeated. Humiliated. Part of me can’t help the morbid satisfaction at my own pain.
It’s what I get for being such a horrible creep. For inserting myself in a place I don’t belong. This delusion was built on a house of cards that just collapsed beneath me and I’m winded.
“Didn’t we host last year, and the year before?” Walker states, breaking through Mom’s explanation of something I hadn’t been listening to. “Can’t we give someone else a chance to waste money?”
Mom bristles. “We have the nicest house. The biggest one. It makes the most sense.”
Nose crinkled beneath the silver arch of his glasses, Walker sets his paper down gingerly next to his empty mug. “But it’s always such a mess. We wind up finding trash for months stuffed into random corners. I’m not sure I want to deep steam the carpets again.”
I don’t know how he doesn’t see the thin ice he’s treading across. Mom’s entire demeanor has shifted. Her chin has tilted, slitting her eyes and there’s a thin pinch in her lips that has me shifting in my seat, bumping into Dominic.
The man in question cocks his head in my direction. His warm, watchful gaze searches my face and I quickly look away.
Try to.
A warm, sturdy palm settles along my lower back. Steady and grounding. It burns through the thin fabric separating us to scorch skin. Mom is forgotten as I face the man watching me like he can see straight through into my soul at all the broken pieces.
“We can move the gathering,” Mom retorts with brittle edges. “I only spent two months preparing and getting everything organized.” Her apron is snapped off with sharp tugs and tossed on the opposite counter. “But if you’d rather someone else take over, I can get some reading done. I’ll just throw everything in the trash and—”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Walker cuts in with a calmness that contradicts the annoyance in his eyes. “I simply said I didn’t want it held here at the house.”
“If not here, then where would you like it?” Mom shoots back, arms folding.
Walker shrugs, reaching up and dragging off his glasses. “Anywhere.”
“What about the cabin?” Jacob interjects. “It hasn’t been used in a while.”
The rest of the conversation drifts away as I find myself caught in Nicolas’s silver gaze. I expect annoyance that his boyfriend is touching me. Jealousy even. But there’s only a quiet contemplation that tells me nothing.
“If that’s what everyone wants,” Mom gripes, moving to reclaim her apron. “I just wish people respected me enough to see the effort I put into everything I do for this family.” The strings are pulled and knotted at her lower back. “Some can’t even be bothered to come down in proper clothes.”
It doesn’t take a degree in rocket science to acknowledge that I’m the culprit. I’m the only one in pajamas. Technically, they’re loose cotton slacks and a tank, but I sleep in them.
“I don’t think that should count against a person.” Dom shifts in his seat. His hand slips off my back, leaving a chill that makes me want to lean back into him. “It’s the holidays. If it wasn’t so cold in the morning, I’d be sitting here in my jammies, too.”
Nicolas takes a long, greedy sip, scowls down into his cup and mutters, “You don’t wear jammies.”
Dom smirks. “Would make for a great conversation starter.”
Despite the embarrassment warming my cheeks, I chuckle, earning a wink from the man next to me that makes my cheeks prickle. But it’s the distraction Mom needs to forget about me and focus on them.
