“No, you won’t,” he says, shaking his head. “We’re going.”
“Why?”
“Because if he’s going to judge me, I’d at least like him to have met me once. I don’t want my complete reputation with Ford to be based on two interactions with my brother.”
Looking at me over his shoulder, he heads to the front door. With his hand over the knob, he gives me a sad smile. Sunlight pours in the room when he pulls the door open and steps onto the porch. “I’ll pick you up at eleven. See ya, Cam.”
For moments longer than I should, I stand in the foyer and look at the closed door. I wait for him to come back in and kiss me goodbye. Then I hear the Camaro fire up in the driveway and my heart sinks.
With tears flooding my cheeks, I hope beyond all hope he’s wrong. That this isn’t the start to the end of us.
Twelve
Camilla
I observe my watch moving another minute forward, making it seven after eleven. That’s seven minutes after the time Dom said he would be here today to pick me up. Dom’s never late, not without calling.
For some reason, I didn’t call Sienna after he left yesterday. I sent Joy to voicemail and poured a glass of wine and sat on the sofa alone. Having someone around would only have made it worse, made Dominic’s absence that much more obvious.
He sent one text really late saying goodnight. It was a quick, simple few words that at least let me know he was thinking about me. I returned many more words than he sent, but there was no follow-up. I waited for almost an hour for a reply that never came.
I curled up in one of his t-shirts with the phone to my chest like it brought me closer to him somehow and fell asleep with tearstains on my pillow.
Just when I thought things were turning for us, moving to something more solid, this happens. Usually things like this are just a misunderstanding or something dumb that can be fixed. This is not. I can feel it. This is a harbinger of what we’ve both feared: that we’re too different to work.
It’s a conversation we’ve had many times, a case-in-point that’s made over and over again. It’s why he hasn’t met my family. It’s the reason he doesn’t want me at the gym or bar. This is why we argue over who pays for dinner when we go out—when I know he’s tight on money and he refuses to let me pick up the bill—and why I don’t understand why he thinks fighting is an acceptable job. He also can’t fathom how my family is so entwined.
We’re entirely different. It’s something we’ve always known. Maybe we both thought it would end before it mattered, but it didn’t. And now it does.
A separate, equally intricate knot has twisted itself in my stomach that I can’t loosen. When I think of Dominic and our argument, I think of Nate. My stomach rolls every time I consider I may have put a wedge between them. If anyone knows the importance and preciousness of a sibling bond, it’s me. To think I might’ve chipped away at that makes me want to die.
Now, eight minutes past eleven, I wonder if he didn’t stay up pondering the same questions, coming to the same realizations … leaving me sitting here this morning for nothing.
A knock sounds against the door and my heart leaps with the doorbell. I’m halfway there before I have to go back to the sofa, swipe up my purse, and then almost jog down the foyer again.
Taking a deep breath, I pause and try to remember the little positive mantra Mallory teaches at yoga. But after a few seconds of nothing, I can’t resist seeing him any longer and yank open the door.
A crisp blue and white striped shirt covers his chest, a pair of khakis I didn’t know he owned span his long, lean legs. His hair is styled to the side like he only does when he takes me out to dinner. He pulls his sunglasses off and I see a little puffiness beneath his blue orbs reminiscent of mine.
“Hey,” I say, forcing a swallow.
“Hi.” His eyes drift easily down my yellow dress, pausing at my espadrille sandals, before roaming back up my body again. “You ready?”
“Yeah. Let me lock up.”
He waits patiently while I fiddle with the locks and I hold my breath as I turn around. Any other day, my hand would find his as we make our way down the sidewalk. Today, his palm finds the small of my back and guides me towards his Camaro instead.
His hand is heavy against the thin fabric of my dress. I can smell his body wash, a clean, cedar scent lingering under the spice of his cologne. Breathing it in, I let it dawdle on my senses, giving me the comfort I’ve craved for hours.
Without a word, he pops open the passenger door and watches me climb inside. He closes it softly before moving around the front of the car and slipping in the seat beside me.
Our gazes meet somewhere over the console and a million things are said, but none of them involve words spoken.
The engine roars to life, the tires semi-squealing as he moves us out into the street of my neighborhood, through the gates, and out onto the main road.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I admit as we wait at a stoplight. Turning to look at him, he’s watching me with a furrowed brow.
“I told you I would.”
“I know. I just thought …”
“At least you’re thinking now. That’s a plus.” He shifts into first gear and charges the car forward. It zips through traffic and hits another red light. “I’m really trying to not be mad about this. I’m trying to be logical.”
“I appreciate that.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, but it’s not quite a smile. “I know your intentions were good.”
“Dom, I didn’t mean to cause a problem with this. I—”
I’m silenced by the bark of the tires and a lurching of the car as we propel forward. My heart thumping in my chest, my back is pressed into the leather as we speed down the next block to the next light.
“Have you told Ford about the loan?” he asks, looking forward.
“No.”
He rolls his thick, muscled neck around his shoulders. “All right then.” He accelerates once more and we take a sharp right.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Are you and Nate fighting?”
His jaw tenses, but he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “No. I’ve decided you two are adults. I’ll let you handle your own business.”
It can’t be that easy. My stomach drops. “Dom?”
“What?”
“You know what,” I sigh, “I’ve worried about this all night. Tell me you two aren’t into it because of me.”
“Not because of you, sweetheart. Because he didn’t have the respect for either of us.
I grab the door handle as he gasses it again, the car roaring beneath me, and then whips a quick left. “Ford is bringing Lincoln,” I tell him.
“Great.”
“I know Nate didn’t really hit it off with Lincoln, but he’s not a bad guy,” I insist. “He’s funny and loves sports and really is a big kid. I think you’d like him if you gave him a chance.”
“I bet I’ll love him,” he says, the sarcasm unmistakable. “And two against one should be a blast.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s just coming because they are going golfing afterwards right near the restaurant. This isn’t a big conspiracy or something.”
“Tell you the truth,” he says, piloting the Camaro into the parking lot, “I’m fairly certain I could take the both of them. I’m not really worried.”
“Hey, now,” I say, “my brothers are no joke! Ford is a legit badass and Lincoln was a professional baseball player.”
“They golf, Cam.” He flips off the ignition and looks at me. A huge, shaky sigh of relief pushes past my lips as I see the hint of playfulness in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure golfing removes any badges of bad-assery they may have.”
“Whatever you say,” I grin. “But don’t get Ford on the ground. I’ve seen him in action.”
“I’m sure,” he teases.
“Hey, just offering you a little insight. Take it or leave it.�
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When he doesn’t answer, I look at him. Studying his profile, I can’t believe how good-looking he is. Even though I’ve seen him a thousand times, it catches me off-guard.
His skin is the perfect tan, the scruff on his cheeks makes my fingers itch to touch it. There’s a little bend in his nose. He says it’s from a right hand in a boxing match when he was a teenager. On anyone else, it would look like it needs fixed. On him, it’s sexy.
He takes a breath, holds it, and looks at me. Sucking in a breath of my own, I give him a smile—a real one.
“There we go,” he says, twisting his lips to hide a smile.
“What?”
“I’ve missed that smile.” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. “You look really pretty today. I don’t think I told you that.”
“You didn’t. You were too busy being mad at me.”
That does it. He grins at me, the sexy one that melts me from the inside out.
“Are you still mad at me?”
“Yes,” he says instantly, the smile dropping from his cheeks. “I don’t like you risking yourself. Not for Nate, not for Ryder, not for anyone. And I’m pretty pissed off no one thought I should know about this.”
“Okay, you’re mad. What does that mean?” I ask, the shakiness in my voice back.
“I don’t know,” he says sadly. “Let’s get through this lunch before we try to hash that out.”
He hops out of the car and opens my door before I can get my buckle off. Swinging it open and offering me a hand, he pulls me to my feet. We stand only inches away, both fighting our natural inclination to kiss or hug or make contact of some kind.
“You look really nice today,” I tell him. “If you weren’t mad at me, I might’ve said you looked super sexy in khakis, but you are mad and I don’t want to go thinking those kind of thoughts about you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it might be a lonely night tonight.”
We turn towards the door, him a step behind me. “You were right about one thing, Cam.”
“What’s that?”
He steps around me and opens the door to Hillary’s House, his brows tugged together. “It may be a lonely night.”
Thirteen
Dominic
I’ve driven by this place a hundred times in my life but never stopped. As soon as I step foot in Hillary’s House, it’s everything I thought it would be—an uppity place that tries so hard not to be. It’s like when we go to a fast food place and get the triple burger with bacon and curly fries instead of the burger that costs a buck off the discount menu… only in reverse. It’s our way of feeling fancy. This is their way of feeling like an everyday man. Someone just needs to clue them in that the everyday man doesn’t walk around in loafers or pearls.
A stillness settles over me, causing my palms that were a little sweaty to dry, as I spot what has to be her brothers at a table in the back. This happens before I walk into the ring. It’s a silence that trickles from the top of my head, through my chest, over my gut, and down to my feet. It washes through my veins and allows me to focus on the task, or men, at hand.
Some fighters get amped up, go nuts, before the bell rings. Not me. It’s a waste of energy. I need all of mine on the job to be done. Especially today.
Cam gives me a reassuring look as we make our way through the restaurant. There’s a sparkle in her eye, one I see often when she talks about her family. It’s fascinating. The idea of having a family as close-knit as the Landry’s is completely alien to me. She has friends, like Joy, but the stories she shares are always of her sister or one of her brothers or one of their wives.
We approach the table and I set my gaze on the two men. I’ve seen them before on television for different things, mostly charity events and political campaigns. At the moment, I wish I’d paid more fucking attention.
This is not my element, and it’s both of them versus me. If I didn’t have this loan bullshit on my mind and all of the related complications, I’d feel better about this.
Ford and Lincoln look enough alike to undeniably be brothers, yet one is wider and blonder and the other leaner and darker. The blond one laughs, shaking his head at the other as we approach.
“Hey, guys,” Camilla says. The forced cheeriness goes unmissed by all of us. Their heads whip up, doing a quick fly-by of Cam and then land on me. “Dominic, this is Ford,” she says pointing to the lighter-haired one. “And this is Lincoln.”
“Hey, Dominic,” Ford says, standing. He’s about my height and weight with a clean look about him. There’s no doubt he’s assessing me, but he’s classy enough about it. “Nice to meet you, man.”
“Same here.”
We exchange a firm handshake and courteous, yet guarded nods, as we take our seats. My chest tingles, burning with the anticipation of what’s to come. It’s the same sensation I experience as I wait for the referee to start a fight. It’s the unknown, not sure what will be coming your way but knowing you better be bringing your A-game because your opponent sure as hell is.
Camilla settles in to my right as I finish my introductions. I flash her the best smile I can, maybe for more my own reassurance than hers, before resting my eyes on Lincoln.
He’s sitting across from me, a wide smirk on his face. Holding back a chuckle, because that won’t get me anywhere, I’d put money that’s the exact face that made Nate want to send Lincoln’s teeth across the bar.
“Lincoln,” I say, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” He shakes my hand, his grip stronger than it needs to be. I return it with as much force as he’s giving plus another couple pounds per square inch. The fucker grins. “Dominic, was it?”
“Yeah. Dominic Hughes.”
“Where have I heard that name before?”
I shrug, sitting down. “Who knows? It’s a small world.”
He nods again, this time looking up as the waitress slips between him and his sister. “What can I get y’all?”
“I’ll have a water, please, Lola,” Ford says. “No lemon.”
Cam takes the menus from the raven-haired waitress with a smile and passes them around the table. “Me, too.”
“What about you, Linc?”
“Water.”
“Make it four,” I chime in, watching Lola’s eyes glitter as they meet mine.
My stomach twists and turns as I feel the Landry eyes peering at me, waiting for me to fuck up. Lola is attractive. There’s no doubt about that. But she’s not what’s sitting next to me, and anything compared to Cam loses.
“You aren’t a Landry,” Lola grins.
“No, he isn’t,” Camilla says with a little more force than necessary. “Lola, this is Dominic. Dom, this is Lola.”
We exchange hellos, cut brief by Cam’s grabbing my hand under the table and locking our fingers together. I smile at the touch as I watch her place them next to our silverware with a pointed glance Lola’s way.
If we were alone and I wasn’t trying to keep my head about me, I’d find it incredibly hard not to give her hell about this. My lips would be on her as soon as Lola walks away, the demonstration more of a turn-on than I can muster.
Satisfied that I’m taken, Lola traipses towards the kitchen. Lincoln snickers.
“Is this Swink’s version of going caveman?” he cracks. “I think you were almost hateful with that. I kind of like it.”
“Hush,” she glares at him. Her cheeks go rosy, her hand slowly slipping from mine. “Don’t be an ass, Linc.”
“That’s like asking the sky not to be blue,” Ford scoffs.
“Well, fuck you too,” Lincoln says, continuing on with some inside joke the three of them laugh at that I don’t understand.
Instead, I sit back in my chair in wonderment. It’s like being at a table in a foreign land full of customs and exchanges you haven’t seen before. It’s like Nate and I, but on a whole other level, like what Nate and I and Joey could’ve been if Joey hadn’t been
run over, our mother wasn’t weak, and our father not a useless son of a bitch.
Cam elbows me in the side, making me jump. “What?” I ask.
“I was just asking you what you do for a living,” Ford says.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “I work for Monstone Repair.”
“That’s heating and cooling, right?” Ford asks.
“Yeah. That’s my nine-to-five,” I say, wondering if they even know what that truly is. “I also bartend some at my brother’s bar.”
Lincoln leans forward, his athletic reflexes on full display. “The Gold Room?”
“Yeah.”
“You resemble the guy we met down there. What was his name?” he asks, turning to Ford. “You know who I mean? The guy behind the bar.”
“Nate,” Ford and I say at the same time.
“That’s my brother,” I continue. “He said you were in a while back.”
Lincoln reclines in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He twists his lips before smacking them open. “Dominic, your brother is kind of a dick.”
“He can be. But, funnily enough,” I say, looking him right in the eye, “he said the same thing about you.”
Ford laughs as Lola places glasses of ice water in front of each of us. She then scribbles down our order and leaves again—this time with no ogling.
“I kind of want to revisit this Nate thing,” Lincoln says, leaning against the table with his jaw set in stone. The look he gives me ramps my blood pressure. I feel my fingers automatically moving, stretching, readying themselves for a fight should it happen.
“Let’s move this conversation along before it becomes a giant pissing match,” Cam sighs. “Ford, what did you do today?”
“Not a lot,” he says, trying to navigate everything around him. “I worked some. Going golfing after this.”
“You golf?” Lincoln asks me.
“Uh, no.”
“That’s too bad.”
“And why is that?”
“I’d love to beat your ass on the golf course,” he grins.
The Landry Family Series: Part Two Page 31