36. Elyse
CHAPTER 36
Elyse
HANDLE IT LIKE ADULTS
PRESENT
I wake up alone.
My body jackknifes, sitting up so fast the room spins.
Maybe I dreamt it. Maybe it was just a really vivid dream.
I pat my hand over the left side of the bed. It’s still warm. Sheets twisted.
Fuck!
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. It wasn’t a dream.
As panic grips me, the smell of chorizo wafts through the air. I can faintly hear the crackling of it frying downstairs. My head is pounding and my mouth feels like I swallowed a bucket of sand.
I don’t know if I can face him. He must think I’m insane. I’ve been all over the place—cold and bitchy one moment, friendly the next, and then practically threw myself at him.
I let him see me naked !
Mortification burns my face, and I turn, tossing my head into the pillows, muffling my groan.
I want to die.
Forcing myself, I shuffle out of bed and glance at myself in the mirror. My mascara is smudged, my hair looks like a small animal nested in it, and at some point in the middle of the night, I put on Dominic’s T-Shirt. Perfect. I look like the most stereotypical image of a one-night-stand.
Just as I’m about to spin around, my eyes snag on something shiny hanging around my neck.
It’s the necklace Dominic gave me on my eighteenth birthday.
The one I left behind on the day I broke up with him.
My fingers toy with the initials dangling from it, and for a moment I consider taking it off, but instead, for some reason, I can’t bring myself to do it.
I have two choices, I can stay in my room and hide, or grow a pair, go down there, and face him.
With some deep breathing and lots of dry swallowing, I make it a few steps before seriously considering getting back in bed and hiding until the end of time.
Dominic starts to whistle. He knows I’m awake, I’m not sure how. Maybe it’s my back and forth steps as I have a mini meltdown. Or maybe he can sense I’m awake because I’m utterly predictable.
If I go down and face the music, at the very least I need to look presentable. I strip out of Dominic's shirt, and definitely don’t inhale it a few times before tossing it on the bed. Rifling through my drawers, I pull out a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, something comfortable but not sloppy. I’m trying to not look like the train wreck I feel like. Once dressed, I finger comb my hair into a messy bun, swipe a makeup wipe under my eyes to clean up what’s left of the mascara.
I give myself one last look int he mirror. “Acceptable,” I mutter to the disheveled version of myself.
Dominic’s whistling continues, cheerfully grating on my nerves as I make my way down, each step feeling like I’m walking to my doom. My heart pounds in my chest as I inch down the staircase, pausing halfway to listen. The clink of a spatula against a pan. The scrape of a chair on the hardwood floor. The unmistakable low hum of Dominic singing.
Singing.
Singing in Spanish. It’s “Mujeres Divinas”by Vicente Fernández. His dad used to sing it all the time.
Suddenly, my reaction—more like overreaction—feels silly. We’re both adults, and we can handle it like adults. It was nothing. No big deal.
I square my shoulders and take the last steps down, rounding the corner into the kitchen like I don’t have a care in the world.
Dominic’s back is to me as he crumbles the chorizo, still singing quietly to himself, his shoulders swaying slightly. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a fitted greenT-shirt. His muscled back is clearly defined through the cotton, and my fingers itch to touch the skin underneath, to drag my nails down it.
Life is incredibly unfair because even casually dressed he can look like that while I still feel like a raccoon caught in a dumpster fire.
He turns as I step into the room, spatula in hand, and flashes me a grin so dazzling I nearly turn around and run straight back upstairs.
“Morning, queirda mía.” His voice is way too chipper for someone who watched me masturbate just a few hours ago.
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to play it cool. “I thought we talked about not calling me that.”
“Why not?” He shrugs, scooping chorizo con huevo on a plate. “You didn’t seem to mind it last night.”
I freeze, my face burning hotter than the stove. “Oh my God, shut up. ”
His grin only grows. “Relax. I’m only teasing. We don’t have to talk about it. Yet.”
“Or never,” I mumble, slinking over to the coffee maker, desperate for caffeine to dull the embarrassment clawing at my insides.
He sets the plate on the island and leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his annoyingly broad chest. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
I whip around to glare at him. “I’m not embarrassed. I was drunk and it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” I shrug to add how much I really don’t care about the whole thing. Easy breezy.
“You know it’s a crime to lie to a member of law enforcement, might have to cuff you for that,” he says and then hits me with a wink.
“Does that line work on all the girls?” I pour the coffee aggressively, willing myself to not make eye contact.
Why the hell would I even ask that? Imagining him flirting with someone make my stomach turn.
He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that makes my heart betray me by skipping a beat. “No, just you.”
“It really doesn’t,” I sing, irritated.
A beat later I feel the heat of him behind me, his hot breath on my neck. “Careful querida mía, I think you like the idea of me cuffing you more than you’re willing to admit.”
I freeze with the coffee mug halfway to my lips. Flames creep up my neck as I force down a swallow, my mind immediately imagining Dominic using his cuffs on me.
I should’ve stayed in bed.
Turning to face him, keeping my mug on my lips, his wry smile says it all. He knows exactly where my brain went. Before I can formulate something witty to say to save face, he drops a plate in front of me and nudges my shoulders until I’m forced to sit on a barstool .
“I figured you could use a hearty meal to soak up all the alcohol. How are you feeling?”
In an instant he’s gone from flirty to caring. I hate the way my heart squeezes. I’m not used to this—to someone trying to take care of me.
“Fine,” I say quietly.
His brows raise like he doesn’t believe me.
“Small headache. It’ll go away soon.”
“And what about everything else that happened?”
Since I’d been pounding back excessive amounts of alcohol, the memory of Stuart and everything that happened is a hazy blur. Which is maybe for the best, because the little I do remember, makes my skin itch. Violated. Vulnerable. Weak.
“I’m okay. I think.”
Dominic swallows, his eyes distant for a moment as if he’s recalling the events. “He’s in custody. And I suspect he’ll be there for a while. His prints matched a Peeping Tom case in Coyote Creek Junction.”
“Good,” I say, unsure about how I should feel.
Stuart isn’t who vandalized my car, so even though he’s behind bars now, nothing about my current situation is resolved.
Dominic’s eyes flash down to my uneaten plate. “Eat up. You’ll feel better.”
I pick up my fork as he’s about to walk away but he stops, and instead reaches for me, cradling my face in his hands while brushing his thumbs over my cheekbones. It happens so fast, by the time I’m in his hold, I’m too stunned to pull away. The fork drops from my hand and lands on the plate in a loud clatter.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
He used to do this all the time—out of nowhere he’d grab my face and tell me something sweet, and every time it would melt even the hardest parts of me. Apparently, I’m still not immune to it because I’m a puddle on the floor.
His eyes hold mine captive, refusing to let go. So dark and warm, the safest abyss. The warmth of his skin radiates, so hot I imagine there’s heat waves coming off him. And his smell…he smells like my pillows this morning—cedarwood, clean, masculine. The urge to brush my nose against his neck is overwhelming I’m not sure I can bear it.
I lick my lips and watch him track the move.
He leans closer and my breath hitches. I think he’s going to kiss me and I think I’m going to let him.
“Fuck, Ellie,” he whispers, his breath fanning across my lips. “If something had happened to you last night, I’m not sure what I would’ve done.” My heart is pounding so loudly there’s no way he doesn’t hear it—feel it.
Just when I think he’s going to close the distance, instead his lips brush against my forehead, where he plants the softest kiss before walking away.
“Necklace looks good on you,” he calls out.
I walk around my living room, my phone clutched in my hand as I FaceTime Scottie. She’s sitting cross-legged on her couch with a steaming cup of tea in her hands.
“Alright,” she says, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. “Spill. What happened last night? And don’t you dare hold out on me. I’m living vicariously through you.”
I sigh, knowing she’s going to absolutely freak out.
I give her a replay of everything. The drinking. Seeing Stuart. Dominic having him arrested. And finally, my drunken attempt at seducing Dominic, which turned into mutual masturbation.
She stares at me silent for the first time in her entire life.
“Are you there? Did the screen freeze?”
Her throat clears, eyes wide, before swallowing loudly.
“I’m here. Just processing.”
I breathe out an exhale. “I know, it’s a lot to unpack.”
“I’m coming back. I can’t stay here knowing someone is after you. It’s getting scary, Elle.”
I stop pacing, my heart tugging at the sound of her concern. I love her for it. But I can’t let her put her life on hold for me.
“No. You can’t. You’ve got shows almost every night—you’re finally living your dream!”
She frowns. “There will be other opportunities.”
“You’ve worked too hard to let all of it go to waste now. I swear, if things get worse, I’ll tell you. But Dominic’s on it, and my family is looking out for me too.”
She glares at the screen like she wants to fight me on it. “I hate this.”
“I know you do.”
“I hate that I’m not there. I hate that this freak is still out there. And I really hate that I missing out on watching Dominic wear you down.”
I let out a half-laugh, half-groan.
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Promise me you’ll keep your location on. And text me when you get home. From anywhere.”
“I promise,” I say softly. “I’ll be safe.”
She hesitates, then nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay. For now. But don’t make me regret it.”
“Never.”
There’s a beat of silence, the kind that says everything without needing to be said .
“Okay,” she murmurs. “I’ll let you go.”
“Love you.”
“Love you more.”
The screen goes dark, and I sit there for a second, staring at my reflection in the black screen.
Then I toss the phone on the couch and I immediately dive into stress cleaning. Dominic is working night shift and left a few hours ago. It’ll be my first time staying alone at night since this whole thing started, and despite the patrol car parked out front, I don’t feel nearly as safe as I do when Dominic is home.
After breakfast, I had a couple to meet with. We did cake tastings and met with the florist to pick out their centerpieces.
I assumed Dominic would tag along, but instead a deputy, whose name I didn’t catch, patrolled the winery. I was oddly disappointed.
I felt like maybe he was avoiding me, and after what happened last night, it was kind of messing with my head.
By the time I got home, he was already on his way out the door, leaving me unsure of what to do with myself.
I feel antsy—and when I’m antsy, I clean.
I start with the dishes, scrubbing them with more force than necessary. Then it’s the counters, the floors, the bathroom—every surface I can reach. The physical activity helps me burn off some of the restless energy buzzing under my skin, but it doesn’t quiet my thoughts.
No matter how hard I try to push Dominic out of my mind, he won’t budge. I’m questioning myself, regretting what happened. I was drunk but I wasn’t that drunk. If anything I was using it as an excuse—permission to do exactly what I wanted. And maybe after what happened with Stuart I needed something good. I needed something not tainted. I needed Dominic. Now, I don’t know what to think.
By the time I’ve cleaned everything twice over, I’m physically exhausted but my mind is wide awake. It’s two in the morning, and I don’t see myself falling asleep anytime soon. Not with my thoughts racing the way they are. Not with my life in this weird limbo of constant surveillance. I just want this to be over.
I can’t be here right now. I need to go somewhere I can think.