“I was,” she whispers, but doesn’t open her eyes. “Why do I do what?”
For a split second, I consider telling her to go back to sleep. But something about the shroud of darkness gives me the courage to repeat my question. “Why do you do this?”
“Because you won’t stay at my house.”
I rest my lips on the top of her head. “Go back to sleep.”
“Why do you do this, Dom?”
Leaving my lips touching her hair, I don’t move. I don’t answer her either. Instead, I concentrate on the way the fan moves the air across my foot that sticks out the side of the blankets.
“The answer was yes,” she breathes. “When you asked me earlier tonight if it made me jealous to see you with Red—the answer is yes. I wanted to punch her in the face.”
The grin that tickles my lips can’t be stopped.
“Even now,” she continues, “thinking about her smug face sitting in that office so close to you, I get mad. Thinking about her getting time with you I don’t drives me bananas.”
“I like it.”
She pulls her head back and looks at me. In the dim glow of the streetlight streaming through the broken blinds, I can see her face. Her eyes are heavy, her face flushed from the heat of my body as a slow grin spreads across her cheeks. “You like that I’m mad?”
“Hell, yeah. There’s nothing sexier than a woman claiming her property.”
The insinuation dawns on me as the words leave my mouth. We pick up on it at the same time. She watches me, her breathing shallow, as she tries to decipher my reaction.
I just walked into a minefield and know I’m going to get my legs blown off.
I don’t react. Looking her in the eye, I wait for hers.
“Are you?” she asks.
“Am I what?”
“Mine.”
“You don’t want me,” I scoff with a burn in my chest. Tugging her down so she’s lying next to me again, I look at the ceiling.
The silence feels thick in the little room, the only noise that of Nate leaving the bathroom. My stomach knots, a familiar anxiety coiling up in my gut. It’s like being a kid again—my brother in the next room as I lie awake, waiting on the world to come caving in.
“Do you remember the first time you came to my house?” she asks.
“Of course.”
“You were late. I was told someone would be there between eight and noon and you got there around four.”
“It was hot as hell and everyone’s A/C units were messing up,” I recall. “My first job that day put me behind.” My hand runs up and down her arm, causing her to loosen up some against me.
“I opened the door,” she says, “ready to give someone a speech about time management and then I saw you.”
“You were so hot … literally and figuratively,” I chuckle. “You were every repairman’s dream in your little shorts and cutoff shirt.”
I feel her smile against my side. “I’ve never been as instantly attracted to someone before. I didn’t even know whether I should let you in or not,” she giggles.
“Oh, you let me in all right …”
Her hand hits my chest and I jolt, making her laugh. We settle back down, a little tension having drifted away.
“I think,” she says, forcing a swallow, “I think when I first started seeing you, it was just lust.”
“I hope it’s still lust,” I counter, reaching around and cupping her full tit in my hand. “God knows I still lust after you.”
“To ease your concerns, I plan on sitting on your cock in a few minutes and riding it until I come.”
“Can we skip to that part now?” I ask, twisting her nipple between two fingers.
“No,” she says, stifling a moan but not stopping me. “As I was saying, at first I think that was the extent of my reaction to you.”
“So you wanted my cock? That’s it.”
“At first,” she laughs. “Maybe. But then something happened. I got to know you.”
“It’s amazing you’re still here.”
“Dominic. Stop.” She struggles against me, fighting against my arm that’s holding her to me. Eventually, I let go and she sits up. She gives me a look that I’ve only seen a few times, but one I think she must’ve learned from her mother. “You know what’s amazing?”
Assuming that this is a rhetorical question, I don’t answer. Instead, I focus on not pulling her mouth to mine and kissing the hell out of her. This time, not even because of lust. This time, because of how she’s looking at me.
Moments like this scare the fuck out of me with Cam. I worry that maybe she’s getting in too deep with me, even though I do my best to keep her at semi-arm’s length. I try not to encourage her infatuation with me, to not let her entwine herself in my day-to-day as much as possible. When she looks at me like this, like I could be something to her, I falter.
There are things about me that she doesn’t know. I don’t want to tell her, afraid she’ll see me differently. Yet, it’s a burden I carry on my shoulders because sooner or later, if she doesn’t walk way for another reason, it’ll come up.
“The way you help your brother is amazing,” she says.
“Do you know how many times he’s helped me?” I lift a brow.
“You always say that, but I see you giving way more than him.”
I bite back my next words. My throat squeezes closed, my annoyance at her perceived understanding of my relationship with Nate making it hard to breathe. As I watch her face shadow with the realization that there might be more between my brother and I than she comprehends, I war with whether to bring up the past.
If I don’t, I’ll continue to have this worry in the pit of my stomach. If I do, it could be the end of all this like the flip of a switch. I don’t know what will happen when she sees all of me.
“I like your brother. I do. A lot, actually. But you shortchange yourself when it comes to him. If he asked you to give him this apartment, you would. And that’s awesome of you, Dom,” she says, placing a hand on my chest. “It’s one of the reasons I like you.”
Her palm flexes over my heart and she looks at me so earnestly, so tenderly, that I know I have to tell her. Now. Before I lose the courage. If she walks, at least she does it before she gets in any deeper.
Shifting under the blankets, I move so I’m sitting upright. “When I was sixteen,” I say, clearing my throat, “my father beat the shit out of my mother.”
She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Why would he do that?”
“Because it was a Thursday,” I say, emotionless. “Because we had ham sandwiches for dinner. I don’t fucking know. But it happened a lot and this particular night in June, it was really bad.”
“Did he hurt her?”
“Most nights he did. Usually a few bruises, a few chunks of hair missing, things that became almost normal to us. Isn’t that sick?”
Her eyes fill with tears as she watches me recant my childhood.
“Then, one night, things were different.” Forcing a swallow, I take her wrist in my hand and hold it. She slips it down so our fingers interlock and lays them, together, on my stomach. “I was in bed, my room just below my parents and it began. It was almost predictable, which is crazy. It started with yelling, then crying, then he’d throw her around until he was done.”
“You had to hear that?”
Ignoring her question and the tears slipping down her cheeks, I stare at the glow of the television power switch across the room. “It got bad. And it didn’t end. And I heard her cries turn to screams …”
Camilla squeezes my hand so hard it almost hurts.
“I went up the stairs, seeing Nate behind me at the foot of the stairs when I got to the top. He came up as I opened the door to my parents’ room.”
“What happened?” she asks quietly.
“The sick fuck had her on her back, on the bed, a gun pressed against her temple,” I say as calmly as I can. “I, um, I was afraid to move. Afraid to speak
. Afraid that something would cause him to pull the trigger and shoot her in the head. She looked at me, her hand sort of halfway reaching out in an attempt to keep me back.”
“Oh my God.”
“He had a hand around her neck, holding her there. He must’ve heard me because he turned and I remember his eyes were like he’d been possessed or something. They almost glowed,” I recount, shaking my head. “He was demonic.”
“He told me to stay back,” I continue, “rattling off how my mom was a whore, all this bullshit. It ended with the gun being pointed at me.”
“Dominic!” The panic in her voice only feeds the frenzy in my body as I recall the scariest few minutes I’ve ever experienced.
I don’t bother giving her the details about how he called Nate and I the biggest regrets of his life. That he blamed us for his bottle-a-day vodka habit or told us we’d grow up to be just like him. There’s no point in going through all the movements of the next few minutes that only seemed like seconds. None of that matters.
“The gun eventually went off,” I say, still looking at the television button. “It was supposed to fire at my mom, but the bullet hit the wall instead. I can still hear the wood splinter, the pictures that hung near the spot dropping to the floor and the glass shattering everywhere. Nate and I lunged towards him. Nate tried to hold him down and I worked on getting the gun away. His breath burned with cheap vodka …”
Tearing my gaze away from the television and to Camilla, I see the tears dotting her face. Reaching up, I brush them away. “The second bullet went through his neck. It was supposed to hit Nate, but I moved his arm just a micrometer to the left and it got him instead.”
Cam rests her forehead on mine, her body shaking as she cries. I hold her to me, reassuring her that it’s all okay. Maybe me too.
“My prints were on the gun,” I say, more clearly now. “We were afraid we’d go to jail for killing our father. Nate was going to take the rap for it. He was in my face, telling me what to do, what to say. We were so scared. We sat there, blood pooling around us, our mom sobbing, crying over this asshole until she was covered in his blood too. Then, you know,” I gulp, “we had this feeling of almost relief.”
“What happened?” she sniffles, pulling away.
“I wasn’t letting him take the fall. It was an accident. So when a neighbor called the police, I told them I did it. I wasn’t letting Nate take the fall.”
“Did they believe you?”
“Yeah, I mean it was investigated, but with mom’s injuries they ended up letting it go. It was self-defense.”
She stills, absorbing what I’ve just thrown on her. I hold her, finding some comfort in the feel of her body against mine as I wait for her reaction.
“Dom,” she chokes, pulling away. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Holding my breath, I try to steady my heart. “Why would I?”
She searches my face, but without the suspicion I expect. In its place is a look of resolution, of consideration, that steals my voice.
“Then why did you tell me now?”
I squeeze a swallow down my throat, wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. I guess it felt like the right time.” Looking at the floor, I feel a burst of panic. “It was an accident, Cam. I know it—”
She reaches out, her fingers cupping the sides of my face and halting my words. Her touch is so tender that I don’t really know how to react. I wait for some outburst or question or a shove to get more answers, but none of that comes. Instead, her eyes fill with tears as she strokes my cheeks.
“I can’t believe that happened to you,” she breathes. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. There’s nothing fine about this,” she fires back, getting situated beside me. “How dare you have had to go through that. How dare he do that to you!”
“He’s dead,” I point out.
“And you have to live with it.”
Her consideration for me, that her first thought is of me, sends a warmth shooting over my entire body. I don’t even feel the pain in my side, nor the headache I’ve battled all evening. It’s all numbed from this relief.
“Babe, Ryder’s asleep down the hall,” I say, a smile gracing my lips. “Keep your voice down.”
She blushes, taking my face in her hands. “This is why we should stay at my house. I need to talk to you and I need to be able to express myself.”
“It’s one in the morning. We can talk tomorrow,” I yawn, pulling her down beside me.
As she nuzzles under my chin, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
“Dom?”
“Yeah?”
“You were wrong when you said I don’t want you.”
We lie in the quiet, the fan swirling above us.
“Cam?”
“Yeah?”
“You were wrong when you said we’re free to do whatever we want.”
My cheeks break into a smile as I say the words because I’m mostly sure she’ll still be here in the morning. Maybe even next week. And when she curls her leg around mine and crushes her body against me, I close my eyes and fall into the best sleep of my life.
Nine
Camilla
“You can tell Nate lives here,” I laugh, peering into the refrigerator. “You have eggs, ham, some vegetables. There’s even juice!”
“I have food,” Dominic sighs, pouring a cup of coffee. “You act like there was nothing here before.”
I look at him over the refrigerator door. “A pound of bacon and a bag of cheese fries doesn’t count as food, babe.”
“I happen to really enjoy a good cheese fry.” He tips some creamer in his mug and settles at the table.
“That’s a snack,” I say, pulling out the eggs and ham. “Not a meal.”
I work around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. I thought for sure he was supposed to be at the gym this morning, but he hasn’t said anything. He doesn’t even seem rushed, which is odd for him when he has to train. It makes him antsy and irritable, but today he’s as calm as can be.
Looking up, I catch him watching me. Sticking my tongue out, I shake my knife at him. He laughs easily, happily, and picks up a magazine and leafs through it.
I cut the ham and beat the eggs, all the while keeping an eye on him. He seems different today. The lines on his face seem less carved and there’s a softness to his frame that is unusual for him straight out of bed when he’s still mentally going through his day.
It’s a good look on him, one that tugs at my heartstrings. I imagine this is what he would be like if he was in college and just getting up in the morning for class and not the laborer-turned-fighter. Or is it the other way around? Did he take up fighting as a coping mechanism for his father’s death or did he learn to fight because of his dad?
My knife clamors against the counter.
“You okay?” he asks as I scurry to pick it up
“Yeah. Sorry. I dazed off.”
His brows furrow, but he doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, he looks towards the door as Nate walks in with Ryder on his shoulders.
“Look who’s here, Ry!” Nate looks at me and grins.
“Camilla!” He holds his arms out to me, his little blue eyes sparkling.
“Hey, Ryder,” I say, wiping my hands on a towel. Lifting him off his father’s shoulders, he wraps his arms around my neck. “How are you, buddy?”
“Hungry.”
“I’m making breakfast. Want to help?”
“Yes. I missed you,” he says, pulling his face away from mine. “You’re so pretty.”
“Easy there, Ry,” Dominic says. “That’s my girl.”
“My girl,” he says, burying his face in my neck again.
“Looks like you have some competition,” I wink, carrying the boy to the kitchen counter. I sit him next to the cutting board, hand him a strip of ham, and go back to preparing breakfast.
Nate walks behind me, lowering his
voice so only I can hear. “I had a deposit pending in my account today, Priss. Seriously. Thank you.”
“Shhh,” I say, keeping my head down. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome for what?” Dom asks, looking at us over the top of the magazine.
“For not beating his door down last night,” I say. “Did you hear him snoring?”
A small smile crosses Dominic’s face. “No. I slept. Strangely.”
“Well, he snores. Prepare yourself.” I look at Ryder. “How do you sleep with him sounding like he’s sucking in the house like that?”
Ryder giggles, holding the half-eaten ham in the air. “He is loud!”
“You little snitch,” Nate laughs, picking up his son. “Let’s get you in the bath while we wait on breakfast.”
They trample off down the hallway, Ryder’s laughter making the apartment seem so much brighter. I watch them until they’re out of sight. When I look back at Dominic, he’s watching me.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, setting the magazine down.
“I don’t know. Just what a little piece of sunshine that boy is.” I pick up the knife again. “I love how happy he is to see me. It makes my day.”
“Everyone is happy to see you.”
My cheeks flush. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah. I might not answer, but you can ask.”
“Jerk,” I laugh. “Were you supposed to go to the gym this morning?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
He kicks back in his seat, the sunlight highlighting the ridges in his stomach and the lines on his arms as he grips the back of his seat. “I was gonna go. Yeah. But I changed my mind.”
Looking down, I pour the beaten eggs in a skillet and arrange the ham in another. I don’t want him to see the smile drawn deeply across my lips.
“Does that surprise you?” he asks.
“Kind of. You usually go on Saturdays.”
“Maybe I needed a break.”
“Maybe I’m glad you took one.”
The air between us changes. The levity from Nate and Ryder are gone, as is the easiness of the morning before their arrival. Now we’re sitting a few feet from one another, albeit on opposite ends of the smallish kitchen, waiting out the other’s next move.
The Landry Family Series: Part Two Page 28