The story he told me has been on my mind since the moment he delved into the tragic events of that night. Even after he fell asleep, which was odd in and of itself, it was me that laid awake. I rolled away from him and cried. Then I moved towards him and held him tight, hoping some of my energy would pass into him as he slept.
I couldn’t tell him that it was him, not Nate, that snored. I’ve barely seen Dominic sleep, much less that deeply. But last night, he did. And I held him, prayed for him, wondered how much that devastating night impacted the man that has turned from an easy date to something that might be so special it scares me.
“You know, sometimes when I’m sleepy, I say shit I don’t mean.” His voice cuts through the air like a sharpened knife.
“Okay.” Forcing a swallow, I keep my back to him. Running a spatula along the bottom of the egg pan, I watch them puff up into golden pillows. “You didn’t talk in your sleep, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
Flipping off the burners, I turn to face him. His features are pressed together as he surveys my reaction.
“Then what are you saying, Dom?”
“Last night, I told you a story.”
“I remember.”
“And afterwards, you said in a roundabout way that you meant it when you said you wanted me.”
“Yes,” I say, pulling in a lungful of air. “I did.”
He drops his arms to his sides and lets them hang towards the floor. “How did you mean that?”
There’s a hope infused in his voice that turns me to mush. It’s not that much different than listening to Huxley ask Lincoln if he’s really going to play catch or Ryder asking me if he can really have another popsicle. It both warms and breaks my heart.
Coming around the counter, I stand in front of him. He looks up at me all delicious with his tousled bed hair and morning stubble scruffing his face.
“When I said I wanted you, I meant … I meant I don’t want to stop seeing you,” I admit. “I sort of wait every day for you to move on, and if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want you to.”
Not a muscle moves, but his eyes sparkle. “You mean that?”
“Of course I do.”
“Even after knowing …”
I take his hand and press it against my cheek. “Dom, what happened to you was horrible, but if you think I’m going to look at you differently because of what you had to do to survive, to save your mother, your brother, you’re crazy. If anything, I think more of you.”
He stands, towering over me. Twisting his hand, he laces our fingers together. “I don’t want to taint your life with mine.”
“How could you think that?”
He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Your family would cut you off if they knew you were fucking the help.”
I jerk my hand away. “For one, you are not ‘the help.’ And for two, fuck you for even saying that.”
“It’s true.”
“For three, if you think all we’re doing is fucking, then we should stop,” I say, biting back tears. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like just fucking to me.”
I barely get the words out of my mouth before his arms are wrapped around me. I don’t cry, but my heart squeezes so hard that I can’t breathe.
Those are words I’ve wanted to say for months now but never could find the spot to say them. If I would’ve thought about it a few moments ago, I would’ve held back. But I didn’t, and while I’m partially terrified of what he might say, I’m also relieved.
“At least I got you pissed off,” he jokes, stroking my back.
“Not funny,” I sniffle.
“No, it’s not. You’re right.” He rests his head on top of mine. “It’s a huge fear that my life will poison yours. You have everything going for you, lady. I feel like I’ll hold you back, even if I’m pushing you along.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“Because I can’t let that happen.”
He finally lets me go. We stand inches from one another, both of us clawing at the proverbial cliff we’re about to go over, not sure if we want to fall together or just cling to where we are.
Clinging is safer. Falling could be amazing or could destroy everything.
“Will you do me a favor?” I ask, working to keep my hands from shaking. I’ve gone this far—I might as well push.
“Depends on what it is.”
“Will you go to lunch with me and one of my brothers?”
“Hell, no,” he laughs, sitting again. “Why would I do that?”
Sighing, I put a hand on my hip. “You know how you feel about not letting me ruin my life?”
“Yeah.”
“They feel the same way.”
“Exactly,” he breathes. “They think I’m going to ruin your life and you want me to sit there and take it?”
“It won’t be like that.”
“Yes, it will.” He shakes his head. “Besides, what am I going to do? Pretend to have something to talk about with them? Play make-believe that we have anything in common? For what, Cam?”
“Because it would mean a lot to me,” I whisper. “It would take so much pressure off my plate. If we are going to keep just fucking or whatever this is for much longer,” I gulp, “I’m going to tell them about you.”
“Even knowing what you know, even having Nolan be my uncle, you’d still tell them?”
“Yes.”
He considers this, to my surprise.
“They don’t think anything about you because they don’t know you. I’m not asking you to meet my entire family—”
“Good.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m just asking to meet … an emissary, of sorts,” I offer, thinking immediately of Ford. “Just meet one of them so they can tell the rest of my family I’m not fucking some serial killer or bank robber. Okay?”
“You do realize I’ve killed someone. This may not work out in your favor.”
“You didn’t kill someone,” I say softly. “You protected your family. The same thing my family is trying to do for me, just in a different way.”
A flash of understanding flickers across his face as his brother’s voice comes down the hallway. He looks at me, his big, blue eyes wide and worrisome. “This matters to you?”
“Yes. So much.”
“It’s just to make things easier on the home front?”
“Yes, Dom,” I sigh again. “I won’t take this meeting as meaning that you—”
“Fine.” He cuts me off, his chest rising fast and hard. “Fine. I’ll meet one of them to make things easier for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, not entirely sure if this is a win or a loss.
Ten
Dominic
A bag of groceries in each hand, I kick the door closed behind me. There’s water running in the bathroom but the apartment is quiet otherwise.
Walking into the kitchen, I grin around the keys I stuck in my mouth. Camilla’s mark is on everything. The salt and pepper are sitting on the middle of the stove, not jammed in a cabinet like I leave them. There’s a towel folded next to the sink that’s empty.
The bags hit the counter with a thud.
The scent of Cam’s perfume lingers in the air, despite the fact that she left hours ago. I’ve worked out, showered, and grabbed a list of things Nate asked me to pick up from the market since she went home early this afternoon. Still, I can feel her here. And I miss her.
Taking out the items one by one, I ignore the growing sensation in my chest. It’s a nagging feeling, one that digs at you until you’re spurred to action. I’ve trained my brain to think of anything else in times like this. Like it’s supposed to, my mind flickers through punching combinations, mixed drinks, random television trivia, but none of it works. None of it can distract me from her.
Not that this is an unusual development. I think of her all damn day. Today was different, though. More specific.
Instead of imagining h
er tight pussy or hearing her laugh at some stupid joke, today I’ve thought of the look she had in her eyes last night. It was devoid of judgement. There was no fear, which was my fear. It was just the look of a woman caring about … me. The real me. The me that has all this dirt and garbage and not-so-nice things. Me. Dominic Hughes, born April 8, 1989.
It’s like she sees me as someone worth seeing.
“Shit,” I say, blowing out a breath.
Taking out the last item, a jar of smooth peanut butter, I walk to the pantry and place it inside. I turn towards the kitchen table when I see a piece of white paper on the floor next to Nate’s shoes.
Lifting the folded piece of paper that looked like it had fallen to the spot where it was lying, I open it. The top has the logo of the bank Nate and I use. Beneath that is his name and a figure much larger than it should be.
“What the fuck?”
Bringing it closer to my face and ignoring the vomit that swirls at the base of my throat, I see that it’s a notice of a money transfer. My body slumps, realizing he must’ve gotten the loan fast-tracked. I make a note to give him hell about moving out and start to drop it onto the counter. Before it falls from my fingers, I snatch it up again.
Camilla Jane Landry is listed at the bottom as the sender.
“What?” I hiss. The paper rasps as I shake it straight again. “What the absolute fuck is this?”
The lines blur as a heavy dose of adrenaline kicks in. The numbers don’t make sense and it sure as hell doesn’t make sense to see Cam’s name on a bank receipt with Nate’s name attached.
The rush of blood to my head causes me to wince, my jaw clenching so hard it throbs. A million thoughts roar through my mind, searching for a logical explanation to a situation I can’t make sense of. Because there is no sense to make of it.
“Did you get the ...” Nate’s voice drops off as he rounds the corner and stops in his tracks. He takes a quick look at my face, then to the paper, then to my face again. His eyes widen. The hand that’s holding the towel he was using to dry his hair falls limp at his side. “Dom …”
“First question, where’s Ryder?”
“With Chrissy. Why?”
“I don’t want him to hear this conversation,” I state, the paper quivering in my hand.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m torn here, Nate,” I bark, twisting the paper around in my hand so he can see it. He blanches. “You’re my brother, so I’m like, ‘Yeah, there’s a logical explanation to this.’ Then I look again and, you know what? There’s no logical explanation to this.”
His head shakes, his chin dropping to the floor. “Look, Dom, I can explain.”
“Oh, I hope you can,” I growl. “And you better fucking start right now.”
“Camilla offered to lend me the money—”
“And you fucking let her?” I shout, the muscles in my face straining as the words eject from my mouth. “You fucking let my girlfriend loan you ten. Thousand. Dollars?”
“I’m going to pay her back.”
My laugh isn’t from amusement. It shakes with a fury I haven’t felt in years. Nate picks up on it because he takes a half-step backwards. “This isn’t about you paying her back, cocksucker. This is about you taking the motherfucking money!”
Each word amps up my anger, each syllable getting a little louder until I’m almost screaming. My temples throb. The veins in my throat threaten to burst as I rip into him. Still, there’s so much fury fighting to get out that it doesn’t help.
“You know how this shit works. What the fuck are you thinking?” I step to him, my eyes glued on his. “What in God’s name made you think this was okay? What made you think you could do this and not even fucking ask me?”
We’re toe-to-toe, only inches separating us. Just like in the ring, I can taste his fear—sense his trepidation that I may close the distance between us with my fist faster than he can see it coming.
My chest rises and falls, nearly touching his on the uptake. If he wasn’t my brother, I’d lay him out. If I wasn’t his brother, he wouldn’t let me get away with this either.
“You need to calm down, Dom.”
“You have about ten seconds to explain or I’m going to assume there’s not a good reason keeping me from knocking you the fuck out.”
“I’ll get the loan. I’ve been approved. I’ll just transfer it back to her. This isn’t a big deal.”
“You paying her interest?” I spit.
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t fucking know,” I roar, turning away before I topple over the edge. “You don’t fucking know because you didn’t think it through!”
Before I think better of it, I grab the edge of the table and slam it into the wall. A picture of a set of praying hands that hangs on the adjacent wall slams to the floor. I stand, staring at the mess, my breathing completely erratic. It occurs to me I might pass out.
“Dom, man, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. She was just helping me out.”
I don’t answer. I don’t even look at him. I can’t. If I turn around, I’m going to do and say things I’ll regret. I’m self-aware enough to know that.
“I’m sorry.”
“That doesn’t cut it, Nate,” I grimace. “Not this time.”
He blows out a breath. His steps patter the floor behind me as he moves across the kitchen. “What do you want me to do? Want me to give it back to her?”
“I don’t know what to do now. You’ve already taken it.”
“What’s it hurt? For real?”
Spinning on my heels, I face him. “What does it hurt? What you did was complete disrespect.”
“To who?”
“To me,” I seethe. “To my girl.”
“How am I disrespecting Cam? She offered it,” he reiterates, bewildered. “Maybe you I can see. But her? Fuck that. She offered it. She can afford it.”
Waiting until I can semi-compose myself, I watch him. He opens his mouth and closes it a few times as I glare at him. The longer I wait to respond, the longer his words have to soak into my brain … and piss me off worse.
“Is that what you think of her?” I ask, my heartbeat racing once more. “You think she’s some kind of credit card?”
“Of course not.”
“How’s she gonna feel about this in a couple of days? You think she won’t feel like you just cashed her out? Like you used her for a buck? No, ten goddamn thousand of them?”
“It’s not like that.”
“But what if it is?” I say, balling my fist at my sides. “And what about her family? Her brothers? You don’t think they’ll know there’s money missing from her account?”
“Why would they? She’s an adult.”
“Because that’s how shit works with them,” I say through clenched teeth. “What’s that make her look like?”
All he can do is shrug.
“I’ll tell you what it makes her look like. It makes her look like she needs monitored like a baby and she doesn’t,” I boil. “Who goes around loaning ten grand to someone they just met?”
“It’s not like that.”
“It doesn’t matter. You just gave them every reason in the world to think the worst about her, you fucking idiot.”
“I—”
“They already treat her that way,” I say, cutting him off. “They coddle her and treat her like a baby, and she’s fighting to get out from under that. Then here you go taking advantage of her.” I tug at my hair, the roots threatening to give as I yank on the locks. “If you were anyone else, I would kill you for doing this.”
“For taking a loan?”
Dropping my hands to my sides, I look at him like he’s the dumbest person I know. Maybe he is. “No. For putting her in this position. You took advantage of her kindness without thinking about how it might affect her.”
His shoulders sag.
“Is there anything else I should know?” I sigh. “Anything else you’ve done or taken
or discussed that I’m going to be hit with coming up?”
“Of course not.”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, my fists burning from being clenched, I look at my brother. “Things were just maybe starting to go right, Nate. And then you go and fucking do this at the worst possible time.”
“What time is that? How is it any different than yesterday or tomorrow?”
“I’m supposed to go to dinner with her and one of her brothers tomorrow night.”
His brows lift. “Oh. That is a little different.”
“Yeah,” I nod, feeling the weight of the world sitting square in the center of my chest. “It is.”
“What brought that on?”
I force a swallow. “I don’t know. A moment of weakness, I guess. But I was hoping to go into it with a game plan. Of trying to make myself out to not look like the no-good asshole I am, see if there was a chance to maybe do something with this thing with Cam despite every indication there isn’t. Then you go pull this fucking stunt.”
“So don’t go.”
“No, I have to go now,” I scoff. “If I don’t, I’m suddenly the no-good that also managed to con ten grand from her and bailed.”
“You didn’t—”
“The one brother you talked to at the bar. The one you hated. What was his name?”
“Lincoln.”
“Lincoln,” I repeat. “Okay. Were the rest of them as bad?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just hated that cocky son of a bitch.”
“But you lumped them all together because you didn’t like Lincoln. Right?”
A look of understanding flashes before his eyes.
“So whether or not this had anything to do with me at all, I’m guilty by association. By blood.” I shake my head, the anger starting to surge again. “You know what? Fuck you.”
Swiping my keys off the counter, I glare at him as I march by.
Eleven
Camilla
“I liked the one with watercolors, but not so much the primary tones,” I say, balancing the phone on my shoulder as I wipe off the countertop. Tossing the sponge in the sink, I lean against the counter. “The reds and blues are too much for the design. Too heavy. Lighten it up some.”
The Landry Family Series: Part Two Page 29