Chapter 28
people like me don’t change
DOMINIC
January
“Yes!” Mia screeches, jumping to her feet as the words finish him flash across the screen. She dances near the couch, swaying her hips, hands in the air. “I won, I won, I won,” she singsongs.
I roll my eyes and toss the controller onto the couch beside me. “Jesus, you’re like a damn cat on crack.”
Doesn’t matter how many times we play Mortal Kombat; she always kicks my ass.
Grinning, she plops down on the couch. With one leg under her butt, she flicks her braid off her shoulder, grinning wickedly. Damn. She ended me with one of the most brutal fatalities I’ve ever seen, and she didn’t even break a sweat.
“Don’t hate the player, Dom,” she says, reaching for her glass of grapefruit juice on the coffee table. “Hate that you picked Scorpion again.”
Arm draped across the back of the couch, I lean back and watch her sip her drink. She’s carefree and playful, even after two classes and a shift at the diner. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed. She’s happy, yet beneath the cheerfulness, signs of exhaustion still lurk.
The shadows under her eyes are permanent now, and her shoulders slump when she isn’t distracted by video games or sex. Her whole body practically deflates when she thinks I’m not looking.
“You should quit Luigi’s.”
Her smile fades quickly, like a trap snapping closed. “Don’t start this again.”
My instinct is to appease her, but I stick to my guns. “I’m serious. This isn’t healthy.”
She rolls her lips together and picks up her controller. “Have a little faith in me. I know what I’m doing.”
I pluck the controller out of her hand. “Don’t think I don’t notice how little you sleep. You always have something going on: school, the diner, your freelance projects. The designs for my damn shop—”
“I like doing that.” She bristles, folding her arms over her chest.
“I know you do.” My voice is as tight as my chest. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not draining you. You’re barely holding it together. What if all the work affects your grades?”
Her brow creases in concern, but the expression vanishes as she slips her mask of nonchalance back on.
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. And tell me,” she bites out, tilting her head to one side, “if I do as you say, who’s going to pay my bills? Are you going to pay for my trip to Milan?”
I move closer. “Yes. I would if you’d let me.”
“Oh my God! You’re not listening to me.” She stands and paces across the room then whips around, throwing her arms out. “I don’t want your help. Or Allan’s. I can take care of myself.”
“But you’re destroying yourself in the process!”
Her jaw clenches. “I’m done talking about this.”
She snatches her sketchbook off the coffee table then picks up her backpack and storms out onto the balcony.
I breathe a sigh of relief. At least she didn’t leave the apartment. Instead of following her, I pick up the pizza box from the coffee table, as well as our drinks, giving us both time to cool down. Only when the room is picked up and the TV is off do I step outside.
Mia sits in the corner chair she prefers, her hood pulled up to hide her face. She’s completely focused on her sketchbook, ignoring my presence. Her pencil moves fast and confident over the paper, the scratching audible even over the noise of street traffic.
Slowly, I step closer, and when I see what she’s working on, my heart pinches painfully. It’s another motorcycle design—another thing for me, even when she’s furious with me.
Tired, angry, or pissed off, she still wants to help me, and I let her. I take and take and take from her.
Fuck. How did I not notice that before?
I swallow my nerves and hide my trembling hands in my pockets. It’s not Mia I see anymore.
I see myself.
Engines roar and music blares. The crowd is excited. The murmurs and the laughter mingle together in my mind, my head heavier than usual.
I shouldn’t have smoked before coming here. Shit, this stuff is stronger than what I’m used to.
“Dom, please don’t,” Remi says. Her voice is tinny, like it’s coming through a speaker. She curls her fingers around my wrist, halting me in my tracks on my way to my car. “You don’t need to prove anything to them. You’re already running on empty, and”—she looks me over, frowning—“are you high?”
I pull my arm from her grip. “I’m fine.”
“Please, baby, don’t do it.”
I ignore the plea in her voice and eye Miles, who’s sitting in the driver’s seat of my car, revving the engine. He throws me a smirk. “Backing out, Watson?”
“Never,” I state loudly.
With a shake of his head, he climbs out and saunters over to me. “You sure you wanna do this? You barely slept, and that joint is probably—”
“Give me a fucking break.” I throw my hands in the air. “I’m fine.”
Remi is at my side again. “Dom—”
I continue ignoring her. “You coming or not, man? What’s it gonna be?”
Miles rolls his eyes and rounds the car.
“Hell yeah!” I throw my fist in the air as he climbs into the passenger seat. Then, I plant a kiss on Remi’s cheek. “Cheer for me.”
“Always.” She smiles sadly.
Not five minutes into the ride, a fucking apple tree comes out of nowhere, or maybe I drift into it. The crunch of metal is deafening. My shoulder jerks and explodes with a kind of pain I’ve never experienced. Then, only blackness follows.
I wake up to a beeping sound and my dad’s pale face floating above me.
“Wh-what happened?” I lick my parched lips, desperate for water.
“You were in an accident,” Dad explains. “Doc says you tore your rotator cuff. They had to operate.”
I blink, my mind working hard to decode his words. “And football?”
Dad blows out a breath then shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, son.”
My chest implodes, the pain as visceral as the throbbing in my shoulder, but it’s tempered when I remember Miles was in the car with me.
“And Miles? How is he?” I rasp.
“He’s okay.” Dad hesitates. “He says the two of you switched places at the last minute, and he was the one driving.”
My mind spins. “But…I was…”
Dad nods. “I know. He told me what really happened.” He swallows, examining one of the beeping machines beside my bed. “He knows what happened to your shoulder, and he doesn’t want you to be kicked out of college on top of it. He wants to take the blame. For you.”
Silence stretches, long and heavy, but not as heavy as the guilt pinning me to this mattress.
I lost football, and if I say I was the one driving, I’d lose my college degree too. Frowning, I ball my hands into fists on either side of my body.
“Miles was driving,” I choke out. “We switched places.”
Dad studies me in silence then nods. “I’ll go talk to Miles.”
“He loves cars,” I mumble hoarsely.
“I know what I need to do,” Dad says as he heads to the door. “Sleep, Dom. You need rest.”
I close my eyes, cursing myself. I ruined my entire future with one simple decision, and now, I’m letting my friend take the blame for me.
I am the fucking worst.
“Dom?” Mia tugs on the hem of my tee.
I blink away the memories poisoning everything around me.
Mia is still here with me, still giving, still pushing herself past her limit.
A familiar bitterness crawls up my throat.
My recklessness ruined my life.
My selfishness ruined Miles’ future.
And now, I’m standing here, lying to myself, pretending I’m not going to ruin her too.
“Dom?” Her expression softens. “You still mad at me?”
“No,” I say, kneeling in front of her and placing my hands on her knees. “Just…thinking.”
“About what?”
“The night of my accident, Miles was in the car with me. Just like Remi, he wasn’t thrilled.
He knew I was high and running on only a few hours of sleep…
but he got into my car anyway.” I grit my teeth, willing myself to continue.
“He took the blame for the car crash. He said he was the one driving. He got kicked out of college and has been working at my dad’s shop ever since. ”
“Oh God…”
“He told me time and time again that he didn’t just do it for me but for himself.
Because he wasn’t happy. He didn’t care about college.
He loves working at the shop. And you bet I’m working my ass off to get the custom shop off the ground for him.
I’d do anything for him, for Matt.” I lick my lips.
“But I let my selfishness win when I let my friend take the fall for me, and I can’t take that back. I’m afraid I’ll do the same to you.”
“Never. I promise.” She places her warm palm on my cheek. “I love you, Dom.”
My throat closes. I search her face and find nothing but sincerity there. My chest expands, and I feel light and full of happiness. It’s like I’m floating. Then, I press my forehead to hers, and on an inhale, I say, “I love you too, Little Mayhem.”
It’s the truth, but a tiny voice in the back of my head reminds me I don’t deserve her. I will eventually ruin her, no matter how hard I try not to. People like me don’t change.