Chapter 14
tell me it wasn’t you
DOMINIC
September
Miles and I sit on the bench outside the shop. He’s smoking while I’m texting back and forth with my cousin Ethan. He lives in Chicago, and we don’t really see each other that often, but we’re close. He’s ten years older than me, and I swear, the guy knows everything and everyone.
Including the California Thunders’ new goalie.
Me:
You really think he’ll drive all the way from Santa Clara for a tune-up?
Ethan:
I said he would, didn’t I?
Me:
Okay. Give him my number, and we’ll figure it out
Ethan:
Already did. He’ll call you soon
Me:
great
Ethan:
Did you know Brody’s in Spain now? He’s staying for three months
Me:
Yeah, he called my old man a week ago
Ethan:
He makes more money than either of our dads, yet they still think of him as their rebellious kid brother
Me:
He’s only 10 years older than you. And before Brooklyn, you gave him a run for his money in the rebellion department
Ethan:
I did, and you’re failing me. You should be the one taking up the mantle now
Me:
Maybe one day
Ethan:
Or maybe you’re skipping that part and going straight into family mode
Me:
My break is over, and so is this conversation. Next time you talk like that, I’ll block you
Ethan:
How very mature of you
Me:
With a laugh, I lock my phone and slip it into my pocket. No matter how many times I wash my hands, the scent of motor oil lingers, and there are always smudges of grease under my fingernails.
I lean back on my elbows and survey Will, one of the oldest mechanics in Dad’s shop, as he works on a dark green, 1970 Chevy Impala.
Miles offered to help him, but he said he had it all under control. That’s no surprise. He’s always preferred to work alone.
“What did your cousin want?” Miles asks, smoke pouring from his nostrils.
“He’s sending a new client our way, the new goalie for the California Thunders.”
He turns to me, eyes bulging. Coughing, he exhales smoke into my face. “An NHL player?”
“Yeah.” I cough too, pushing him away. “He used to play for Chicago. Hung out at Ethan’s bar a lot, so they became friends. Sounds like he wants to bring his G-Wagon for a tune-up.”
“That’s awesome! A connection like that could be a step in the right direction for the custom shop.”
“Yeah.” I nod, though I don’t feel nearly as excited as he sounds.
It’s hard to feel excited since my high school coach called a few days ago. He asked if I’d be interested in an assistant coach position. It’s unpaid for now, but he said if it works out, he could eventually get the school board to approve a small salary.
I told him I’d have to think about it. Even now, I’m not sure I’m ready to be anywhere near the field or the game—though with each day, the prospect of being back in the football world becomes a little more tempting.
“Any plans for tonight? Wanna hit the Cove?”
I slouch down on the bench. “Ask me when we finish working on that M4 coupe.”
“Shit. Don’t remind me. I fucking hate what that lady did to her car.”
With a groan, I haul myself up. “She’s a customer. We gotta do what she wants, no matter how much we hate it.”
“When we open the custom shop, I’ll only take on projects I want to work on.”
I bark out a laugh as I head back to the open bay and the BMW on the lift. “Guess I’ll take on the rest, which means I’ll be the only one working.”
I was ready to leave, had changed my clothes and everything, when I made the stupid decision to check the BMW’s battery connections for corrosion. Now, I’m hunched over the engine, my back tense, my street clothes a mess.
All I want is to take a hot shower and go to bed, but Miles and Matt insisted we hit the Cove tonight for, in Miles’ words, booze and girls.
Yeah, as if alcohol will do me any good when I’m this fucking exhausted.
“Hey.”
At the greeting, I snap up straight, hitting my head on the open hood. “Fuck!”
“Oh God! I’m so sorry.” Remi rushes to my side as I turn to her. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I rub the top of my head, grimacing.
She smiles, fiddling with the hem of her white tee. “How are you?”
Instead of replying, I turn back to the car and close the hood. It looks okay, but I’ll check it again tomorrow morning with a clear head.
“I’m good,” I finally say as I head to the grease-stained sink. “Why are you here?”
I twist the faucet handle, and cold water runs over my hands. Dark streaks swirl down the drain as I reach for the soap. I squirt it into my palm and scrub hard, my fingers working to get rid of the grease lodged under my nails.
“I was on my way home from work and thought I’d check on you, since you never replied to my texts.”
“Well, hi, and I think you should go,” I grit out without turning around. “As for the texts, I didn’t see them until this morning, and I’ve been busy here all day.”
“Don’t be like that.”
I shake the water from my hands, turn off the faucet, and reach for a towel. My knuckles are raw, just like the calluses on my palms, but I dry them a little too vigorously anyway as I turn to face her.
She’s leaning against the tool bench with her ankles crossed, wearing light blue jeans and flip-flops.
“Remi, we’ve been over this a thousand times. We broke up. For good. You need to move on.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“I want to.” I toss the towel onto the bench and step toward her.
Her red hair is curly again, and it spills over her shoulders.
Her alabaster skin is flawless, her dark eyes and red lips in sharp contrast. She’s a beautiful girl, and there was a time when I was truly into her, so much so that some days, my head would spin when we were this close.
Now, though? Her presence brings a sense of nostalgia, I guess. We had some good times together.
But there’s also regret. Regret for what I put her through after the car crash, gratitude for how she stayed by my side during my darkest days.
I cup her cheek. “It’s time to move on. You deserve so much better than me.”
“Or maybe it’s time for you to stop telling me what to do.” She leans into my touch, her deep brown eyes shining as they search mine. “You are what I want. Only you.”
With a step back, I shake my head. “You should go home. I’m sure it’s been a long day.”
“What are you doing tonight? I saw Miles on his way out. He said you were going to the Cove.”
Annoyance flares to life inside me. Dammit, Miles.
“That’s the plan.”
“I was there with the girls last night, but I could—”
“No. It’ll just be me, Miles, and Matt. I don’t plan to stay long. I gotta be up early tomorrow.” Head lowered, I head to Dad’s office to lock up. Remi follows closely, her flip-flops slapping softly against the concrete floor.
“Are you sleeping with someone?”
“No.” I snag the keys hanging inside the office door and shuffle to the entrance.
“Then why are you being so cold? We used to fuck all the time, even when we were broken up.”
“Because, like I said, it’s time for both of us to move on.” I step outside and hold the door open for her.
With a huff, she stalks out, but she stops beside me and crosses her arms. She’s fuming, her breathing quick and ragged.
My mood was already shit, so I don’t want to put up with her drama. I rein in my frustration, lock the door, and turn to her. “Bye. It was nice to see you.”
“Uh-huh.”
Hands hidden in my pockets, I head to my car.
“Just so we’re clear,” Remi calls across the parking lot, “I won’t give up on you. But I’ll give you space and time, because you’re the one for me.”
Shaking my head, I bite back the rebuttal clawing its way up my throat. Arguing with her is the last thing I need at the end of this long ass day.
Shower. A simple fucking shower. That’s all I need.
A notification from my group chat “The First Rule of Fight Club”—the stupid-ass name Matt picked—pops up on my screen. The guys want to know when I’ll be at the Cove.
Me:
I’ll be there in 40
Matt:
What’s taking so long?
Miles:
We’ll be drunk by the time you get here
Me:
That should be fun, since I won’t be drinking
Matt:
Buzzkill, but one point for being DD
Miles:
The girls tonight are on another level. If you don’t get your ass here ASAP, you’re gonna miss out
With my focus still fixed on my phone, I push open the bathroom door. Instantly, I’m assaulted by the scent of caramel. It’s followed by a gust of humid air that makes my tee cling to my chest. Surprised, I snap my head up, and what I see sends heat straight to my groin.
Mia is standing in front of the sink with her back to me. Her body is wrapped in one pink towel, her hair hidden in a second one that’s twisted turban-style on top of her head.
Unaware of my presence, she sets a bottle on the counter and gingerly rubs some kind of cream onto her face. Her damp skin glows under the light, water droplets clinging to her neck and shoulders.
I let my focus wander down her spine, enjoying the view, but just as I’m about to lower my gaze to her ass, my brain registers a tattoo peeking out from under the towel. Suddenly, my limbs feel heavy, my ears ringing.
Because that tattoo is the one I see almost every fucking night in my dreams.
The room spins, and the walls close in on me. With my chest constricting painfully, I step inside the bathroom and shut the door behind me. The sound startles her, and she turns around, one hand gripping the towel where it’s tucked between her breasts.
“What are you doing here?”
I run a hand down my face and close my eyes, my stomach roiling. This can’t be happening.
Behind my lids, memories of that night flash. My big hands gripping that tiny waist. Those fucking luscious thighs. My mouth on perfect pink nipples. The taste of her, the heat that radiated from her core, the softness of her skin.
“Dominic?”
Her voice snaps me back into the present.
Jaw clenched, I hiss, “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me it wasn’t you.”
She tightens her towel around herself, her expression one of pure confusion. “I have no idea—”
“Last year, Halloween, at Romero’s house.”
Her face pales.
“Tell me it wasn’t you. Please.”
She swallows thickly, her throat bobbing, and takes a step back.
It’s the only confirmation I need, and damn, if it doesn’t make my heart stutter.
Without a word, I storm out of the bathroom and down the stairs. I don’t stop until I’m standing in the middle of the backyard, hands laced on top of my head, breath heaving in and out of my lungs.