Chapter 23 Dominic
Dominic
“And many more!” my father cheers after we finish singing “Happy Birthday” to Louie.
Everyone joins in, even Sherry and Hannah, encouraging my grandfather to blow out all eighty-five candles that my mom managed to get lit on the massive buttercream cake I know she ordered from Triple Crown Bakery—her favorite—in Franklin.
“Make a wish!” my sister, Dakota, exclaims just as Louie starts to suck in a deep breath of air.
He stops mid-inhale to say, “I wish—”
“No!” my mom exclaims. “You can’t say your wish out loud, you know that!”
Louie just rolls his eyes. “Laura, I’m a man who is surrounded by the people he loves most. I don’t need to wish for anything except for God to call me home within the next few years.”
“Grandpa Louie!” my sister chastises with an exasperated sigh. “Stop talking like that, you old goat.”
My grandfather just cracks up and looks across the table to where Sherry stands beside Hannah.
Hannah’s gently holding her mom’s hand, something I’ve learned she does when she gets worried about Sherry’s current state of mind.
Most days, Sherry is blissfully wrapped up in the world of NCIS, but every once in a while, when thoughts of the past and her true reality start to filter through, she can get scared and act out of fear and impulse.
I’ve never seen it, but once, when Hannah came into CMA with tired eyes, she mentioned having a rough night with her mom.
“Sherry, darling, would you mind helping me blow out all these candles?” my grandfather asks, and Sherry’s smile damn near lights up the whole room. She puts a surprised hand to her chest.
“Me?”
“Yes. I’d be honored if the prettiest gal in the room would help me blow these candles out,” he says with the kind of sly, flirty smile I haven’t seen on his face since my grandma Harriet passed away eight years ago.
Sherry’s cheeks turn pink, but she also doesn’t hesitate to walk over to where Louie sits behind the lit-up cake.
“When I was a little girl, my mother used to have me blow out my candles. She’d always have a cake ready and waiting for me when I woke up in the morning. It always made me feel so good.”
Louie reaches out to hold Sherry’s hand, and with his charming, patient guidance, the two of them blow out the candles on the count of three.
The room erupts into claps and cheers and more “happy birthdays,” but my focus is on Hannah, watching the way she discreetly lifts her hand to swipe at the faint emotion that’s trying to run down her face.
The sight stirs a mix of protectiveness and longing I can’t quite explain.
I’m walking over toward her before I can even think twice about it and putting a comforting but steady hand on her hip. She glances up at me, her eyes filled with confusion over the affectionate move, but I just softly smile down at her and squeeze her hip.
It’s not long before her attention is back on her mother, watching carefully as Sherry and Louie cut the cake together. I squeeze Hannah’s hip again when I feel her fidget on her feet.
I didn’t bring Hannah and her mom to my parents’ house without thinking it through. I knew they’d be understanding of Sherry’s condition, because everyone in this room knew and loved my grandma Harriet. And we all witnessed what something like dementia can do to someone. Grandpa Louie, especially.
Sherry gives my grandfather a big hug, her mind not lost in NCIS drama, but perhaps filled with nostalgia over the memories that she can’t quite grasp or relive but are still there within her subconscious.
Right now, her mind appears to be lost somewhere in her adolescence, making her face light up with this girlish grin and giggles flow past her lips whenever my grandpa Louie smiles at her.
“I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time,” Hannah whispers, but her voice is so quiet, I can’t tell if the comment was even for me.
“I’ve seen her this happy before,” I say softly into her ear, and Hannah’s head jerks up to meet my face. “Whenever she looks at you. Even when she thinks you’re Ziva. There’s always this deep, unconditional love there behind her eyes.”
Her reaction is instant and raw. A tear slips down Hannah’s cheek, and without thinking, I reach up to swipe it away with my thumb. But even that doesn’t feel like enough—not when I’m so acutely aware of her pain, of her strength—and I press my lips gently to her forehead.
“I’m glad you guys came,” I tell her. “It made my grandfather’s day.” It made my day.
“I’m glad we came too,” Hannah says, and with the tenderest of touches, she reaches up to brush some of my hair away from my face. “Thanks for inviting us.”
My gaze flits between the beautiful warmth of her brown eyes and the gorgeous pink of her lips. I want to kiss her again, the urge so strong I’m seconds away from giving in to it, despite the fact that we’re in the middle of a room filled with my family.
But my mom, always the happy hostess of our clan, pops the moment like a balloon when she asks Hannah if she wants a piece of cake.
Hannah clears her throat, blinking, and answers my mom with a stuttered “Y-yes, please.”
“And Dominic, honey, how big of a piece do you want?” my mom asks, turning her attention to me, a secret little smile on her lips. But then my phone starts ringing in my pocket, so I hold up a finger as I pull it out to check the screen.
Incoming Call: Shane, it reads.
“Be right back,” I announce, giving Hannah’s hip one final squeeze before excusing myself from the room.
I can hear my mother telling Hannah that she thinks I work too much as I cross the hallway and find a quiet spot inside my dad’s office to answer the call.
“Yo,” I greet.
“Waylon is in custody,” Shane says, getting right to the point. “Got arrested for picking up a prostitute downtown. He’s at the station now.”
“No shit?” I respond, my mouth gaping in surprise.
Shane snorts. “Pretty sure we’ve never had a suspect make it this easy for us.”
The mere mention of Waylon’s name sets me on edge.
Getting him down to the station for questioning is something we’ve been working on for the past few days, but the man hasn’t been easy to nail down.
Not to mention, he’s called in a few more times to Hannah’s Ruby line.
Every single time, he’s verbalized his sick fantasies that involve causing women pain. A lot of fucking pain.
A visual of Hannah’s uncomfortable face during one of those calls pops into my mind, and I clench my jaw.
“Have you questioned him yet?”
“No.”
“Good,” I answer, my mind 100 percent focused on having a face-to-face with the son of a bitch. “Wait for me.”
“Okay. Where are you? What’s your ETA?”
I glance back toward the kitchen, realizing my current logistics are a little complicated. “I need, like, forty minutes. Just have to take Hannah home first.”
“Take Hannah home?” he questions. “Where are you?”
“At my parents’ house.”
“Hannah is with you at your parents’ house?” His voice has an edge. An edge I don’t necessarily understand. More like you don’t want to understand.
“It’s Louie’s birthday,” I try to explain, but the line goes silent for so long that I end up asking, “You still there?”
“Yeah. I’m here.” Shane’s voice is the kind of quiet that doesn’t make you feel good. “But I can’t deny I’m having a hell of a time understanding your current situation.”
My current situation—a.k.a. why Hannah is with me.
“Just sit tight. I’m on my way,” I retort, ignoring whatever he’s trying to insinuate. But his words echo long after I hang up, forcing me to confront what I already know deep down—this isn’t about the case anymore. It’s about protecting Hannah. It’s about her.
And you’d do just about anything for her—no matter the cost.