Chapter 41 Dominic
Dominic
“Dom, sweetheart, would you like some soup?” Lovie asks from the kitchen, and I glance over my shoulder to offer a smile in her direction.
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
The rule hits a little too close to home, if I’m being honest, but not in the way Gibbs means it.
In the way that makes me wonder if I’m solely responsible for Hannah refusing to talk to me. Did I bulldoze her? Did I push her too far?
Even though my whole intention for stepping in and helping her financially was well meaning, did I insert myself into something I shouldn’t have?
I don’t fucking know. Truthfully. And every time I think about our last conversation, the one that occurred damn near the same exact spot that Lovie is currently standing while she ladles her homemade potato soup into three bowls, I only find myself more confused.
Sherry bursts into laughter at something Gibbs says on the screen, and I silently wonder if the fact that I’m sitting here, on the sofa with Hannah’s mom, is evidence of my transgressions.
In my defense, I texted Lovie to make sure that Hannah was at work, even though I had a feeling she was. I’ve become well versed in her Call Me Anytime schedule, and she hasn’t had the foresight to un-share her phone’s location with me—thank God. But I did double-check for confirmation.
And even though Shane wanted me to grab lunch with him at his favorite sub shop on the West End of Nashville, I couldn’t shake the need to stop here for lunch to see how Sherry was doing.
It’s been more than two weeks since I’ve seen her, and I guess, in a weird way, spending time with her and Lovie is the closest I can get to spending time with Hannah. Because fuck, I miss Hannah. I miss her so much it makes the simple act of breathing feel like I’m doing it with a gun to my head.
“Lunch is served!” Lovie announces, and Sherry doesn’t hesitate to hop off the couch, her body as spritely as it’s been since the first day I met her, and head over to the big farmhouse-style dining table in the center of the room.
She sits down in her favorite chair at the head of the table and dives right into the bowl of potato soup.
Lovie and I are a little slower in getting to the table, but we start eating soon after that.
“Tony, what’s our priority case this week?” Sherry asks around a mouthful of bread.
“Well . . .” I pause, trying to recount the last episode I watched of NCIS just last night. It doesn’t take long for me to recall enough details from episode 17 in season 7. Pretty sure it’s called “Double Identity.” “We’ve got that shooting of a marine officer in Washington, DC.”
“Oh yeah.” Sherry nods. “The one that happened in Rock Creek Park.”
“Bingo,” I say, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Lovie. “After some digging, we’ve found that he was a marine lieutenant who went missing in Afghanistan six years ago. And after even more digging, we found that he has not just one wife, but two.”
“He created a whole second life?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Let me guess, Tony,” Sherry says with a big smile. “You’re subscribing to your famous theory.”
“And what’s that theory, Sherry?”
She flashes a full-toothed smile at me. “Always suspect the wife.”
“I can’t deny I’m suspicious.” I shoot her a crooked grin, always in awe of how Sherry knows NCIS like the back of her hand. “What do you think we should do?”
“Didn’t McGee find out a PI had investigated the victim?” she asks, hitting the nail on the episode-synopsis head.
“Yep.”
“I think we need to look into that PI. Find out who hired him.”
“I think that’s great advice.” I reach out to gently tap her hand, which rests on the table. “Always thinking with your head, Sherry.”
“Oh, don’t go all soft on me, Tony,” she says with a little laugh. “We got a case to solve. We don’t have time for your song and dance.”
I laugh at that. Lovie does too.
And it only takes Sherry a moment or two to go back to eating her soup like the whole conversation didn’t even happen.
“You want me to tell Hannah that you stopped by?” Lovie asks, her voice edging with curiosity while her eyes carefully assess my face.
“Actually, I think it’d be good if we keep this little visit to ourselves.”
“Okay.” Lovie nods, but her eyes stare at me curiously. “You know, it’d be nice if you gave me a little idea what’s happened with the two of you . . .”
“I think that’s Hannah’s story to tell.”
A smile appears on Lovie’s lips. “You’re a good man, Dom. And I’m sure whatever’s happened between you and my Hannah Banana will work itself out.”
Fuck. I can only hope. Though, as more days pass with zero communication from Hannah, I’m starting to fear the worst.
“You know, if you hang around for another two hours or so, Hannah should be getting home. Her shifts at Progress Mutual end at three.”
Her words make my brain skid to a stop.
“Progress Mutual?” I question, lifting my eyes from my soup in confusion. “She took a second job?”
“Oh no, honey.” Lovie waves her hand in the air.
“She quit the other one,” she says, clearly avoiding what the other job entailed for Sherry’s ears.
Most of the time, Hannah’s mom is naive to what’s really going on around her, but from what Hannah’s told me, every once in a while, she has a lucid moment.
Clearly, Sherry finding out that her daughter was working a phone sex hotline so she could keep Sherry comfortable in her own home wouldn’t make her feel good.
Lovie’s words roll around inside my head until they make sense. Hannah quit Call Me Anytime?
Relief floods my chest, sharp and immediate.
Not because I’m some macho asshole who couldn’t handle my girlfriend working a phone sex hotline.
I have no problem with sex work in principle—it’s the danger that comes with it.
I’ve been a cop too long not to know how many sick bastards prey on women in vulnerable positions.
I’ve seen what happens when things go horribly wrong, and two girls murdered while working at CMA is more than enough to make me glad Hannah’s out.
The truth is, part of that relief comes from knowing how much she hated the job.
But mostly? It’s knowing she’s safe. Shane’s latest update on the CMA case wasn’t exactly hopeful.
No wiretap, no solid leads, nothing but a couple of officers relistening to Hannah’s calls and hoping for a break.
The case is running on fumes, and the thought of her still being tied up in all that mess? It’s unthinkable.
I’m over the moon that she’s out of it, away from the danger. That she’s safe.
But another part of me feels bad. And real goddamn sad.
Am I the reason she quit CMA?
Of all the things I wanted to do when I paid off the reverse mortgage on her mom’s house, causing her additional stress wasn’t one of them.
Way to go, Dom. Way to fucking go.