39. Elyse
CHAPTER 39
Elyse
CAN WE PRETEND
PRESENT
“ H ey,” Dominic says quietly as he passes through the front door.
It takes me less than a second to realize something is wrong. I stayed up, waiting for him, and he doesn’t seem at all surprised to see me wide awake at six in the morning.
Standing, I approach him cautiously. I’ve never seen him so sullen looking, and I’m not sure what the right response is. “Everything okay?”
He looks at me as if he’s just now noticed I was speaking. His eyes sweep over me, lingering on my breasts for a moment. I’m not wearing anything exciting; a black tank top and lounge pants. No bra, which is probably why his gaze snagged there.
A few heartbeats of silence pass before he lets out a sigh. “Shitty night.”
My lips twist, teeth tugging on my bottom lip. “Am I allowed to ask why? I don’t really know the rules, what you’re allowed to tell me.”
His eyes lose some of the hardness they held when he walked through the door as they settle with mine. “You’re allowed to ask me anything you want, about anything. Sometimes I can’t answer and sometimes I won’t because you don’t need your head filled with evil shit. But ask anyway, I won’t keep anything from you I don’t have to.”
I nod, words escaping me. I can feel his turmoil like it’s my own. It’s like a twisted coil, uncomfortably tight.
“Can you do me a favor, querida mía?” His voice is strained, raspy, almost.
“What is it?”
He threads a hand through his hair, causing some pieces to stick up on end. Messy. Ruffled. So much more attractive than it should be given the cloud that’s hanging over him.
“Can we pretend, just for right now, that we’re not still figuring this out?” He points between us. “Can we skip to the part where I’m allowed to hold you after a bad shift? Please.”
Something cracks open inside me, a warmth that spreads through the uncomfortable pressure that’s been pressing against me since he got home. Dominic isn’t the type to ask for comfort, which means whatever happened is worse than I could imagine.
I nod before I even fully process his words. “Yes.”
He closes the distance between us in two steps, his large hands finding my waist with a gentleness that doesn’t match the rawness in his voice. He tugs me toward him, his arms wrapping around me like they’ve done it a hundred times before, though this feels different. He’s holding me like I’m the anchor he’s been searching for, like if he lets go, he might fall apart.
I sink into him, resting my cheek against his chest, listening to the rapid rhythm of his heart. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing—his, heavy and strained, and mine, steadying.
His chin drops to the top of my head, and I feel him exhale, his body sagging just slightly. “This okay?” he murmurs, his lips brushing my hair.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “This is okay.”
His grip tightens, just a little. “Good,” he whispers. “Because I needed this more than I knew.”
We stand like that for what feels like forever, his body slowly losing the tension it carried through the door, his weight shifting as if he’s letting me bear some of it. I don’t mind. I’d hold more if he let me.
After a long stretch of silence, I say softly, “You want to talk about it?”
His fingers press into my lower back in a way that feels like a no. “Not yet,” he says finally. “Just…not right now.”
“Okay,” I reply easily. I don’t push. I don’t need to. Whatever it is, he’ll tell me when he’s ready.
“I’m going to shower. Wash work off me.” He untangles himself from me and is up the stairs before I can process what’s just occurred. But before my mind can grasp it, my body is in protest, missing the feeling of being wrapped up in him.
My defenses are weak, armor cracked, walls crumbling. He’s breaking through everything I built so much faster than I thought possible.
Once the water in the shower starts, I’m able to snap out of whatever daze Dominic left me in. I’m used to his humorous, mischievous side, but I’m completely unprepared for the serious realities of his job.
The sound of water gets louder as the creak of the door squeaks.
“Hey, Ellie,” he calls out. “Can you grab me a towel, please?”
“Coming,” I yell, already jogging up the stairs. I grab a fresh towel out of the dryer and knock on the bathroom door.
Steam poursout as heopens it, the heat curling around him like a soft mist. He’s removed his shirt and is only in tactical pants and a gold chain.
“Here,” I say, holding the towel out toward him. Anything else I might’ve said gets clogged in my throat.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sight of Dominic shirtless. It’s worse now that I know what he feels like. All it took was one night in his arms and I’ve already memorized the hard planes of his chest, the muscled curve of his pecs, the pattern of his abs as they molded to my back. Smooth skin in some places, scruffy hair in others. I could spend hours dancing my fingers across his chest and stomach, exploring.
He’s beautiful.
My gaze moves over him, and I can’t help but take in the way his chest rises and falls, each breath emphasizing the dip of his collarbones. The muscles of his abdomen are a perfect arrangement of hard lines and ridges, cascading in an unreasonably symmetrical formation down to where his pants sitlow on his hips.
It’s ridiculous, really—how a human body can look like that.
“Ellie girl.” Dominic’s voice pulls me from my stupor, the faintest trace of amusement lacing through it.
My eyes snap up to his, heat rushing to my cheeks as I realize I’ve been staring far too long .
“Uh, towel,” I stammer, thrusting it toward him again, as if he’s not already reaching for it.
The corner of his mouth quirks up just enough to hint at a smirk. “Thank you.”
He grabs it and I turn on my heels, heart pounding in my chest, and blurt, “You’re welcome,” under my breath, but it comes out a little strangled.
As I flee back into the hall, his voice stops me.
“Wait.”
I pause, glancing over my shoulder, avoiding looking directly at him. “Yeah?”
“Don’t go.” His voice is quieter now, softer, almost hesitant. “Just…stay for a minute.”
I falter, only because there’s a vulnerable undercurrent to his request. It tugs at something deep in my chest.
“Okay.” I walk in the steamy bathroom and lean against the sink, arms crossed, trying to act casual even though my pulse feels anything but.
It’s only when he steps to turn off the shower that I see it—just barely at first—a mark on his left shoulder.
My brow furrows as I lean closer, my casual pretense forgotten. “What’s that?”
He glances past me, staring at his reflection in the mirror, his expression is blank, but his jaw is tight.
“What’s what?”
“That scar.” I point, my finger shaky, almost like I’m afraid of the answer. There’s no mistaking it now—a circular scar, about the size of a dime, marred and pale against the tanned and tattooed skin of his shoulder.
Dominic doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sighs and leans a hand against the counter, his head dropping forward slightly. “It’s nothing.”
“Dominic,” I push, stepping around him until I’m close enough to see the faint edge of a matching mark on the back of his shoulder—a through-and-through. My heart tumbles in my chest. “That’s not nothing.”
His eyes finally meet mine, something raw flashing in them. “It was a few months ago. When I was still working for the LAPD.”
“A few months ago?” I echo with a crack. “You—you got shot?”
He straightens, looking away. “It was a robbery gone bad. I wasn’t even supposed to be there, I just happened to be a block away and responded. The call was fora convenience store hold-up. I went in, and…it escalated.” He gestures vaguely to his shoulder, as though it’s explanation enough. “Dispatch said it was a robbery at knifepoint, but one of the robbers was armed. I didn’t even see it until—” He stops, exhaling hard through his nose. “It missed the artery by less than an inch. The doctors said I was lucky.”
Lucky. My stomach knots, bile burning up my throat as I stare at the scar—proof of how close he came to dying.
“You almost died,” I whisper, barely audible, as if saying it quietly will make it less true.
Dominic shrugs, trying for nonchalance, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Comes with the job.”
“You almost died,” I repeat, louder, blinking rapidly, but it does nothing to stop the sting of tears brimming in my eyes. “You almost died—” My words catch again as I break, and I press a hand to my chest, trying to breathe through the ache building there.
The more I said it, the more real it became. What if he had died? What if I never got this chance with him? What if I never saw him again? I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I can’t?—
“Ellie. Hey, hey, hey,” Dominic soothes, his brows pulling together as he takes in my reaction. He steps closer, his large hands gathering my face. He rests his forehead to mine. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” It’s a whisper that blows over the dampness running down my cheeks.
“But you almost weren’t,” I choke out. “That’s not okay to me. You—” I stop, forcing myself to meet his dark penetrating eyes. “You’re not allowed to die.”
It’s the same thing he told me just a few days ago—and now saying it back, I finally understand just how heavy those words really are.
His thumbs brush over my skin in a quiet, grounding motion. So tender and careful, I think my heart might burst.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?” I let out a trembling breath, my tears spilling heavily as I look up at him.
His head moves against mine, nodding, eyes closing as he exhales. “I promise.”
My mind whirls back to him showing up at my parents’ anniversary party when he first moved back. How rude I was, how cold and awful I’ve been to him.
It was my defense mechanism.
I knew I didn’t deserve his kindness, let alone more.
If I could take it all back, I would. There’s so much I wish I could take back.
“Your job scares me,” I admit. “I know Red Mountain isn’t LA, but bad things can happen anywhere.”
His hand moves to gently settle on my neck as his thumb glides along my jaw. “Now you know how I feel. Why I freaked out. There are bad people everywhere, and now one is after you.”
“We don’t know that. Nothing else has happened.”
“Yet. I won’t rest until I know you’re safe.”
“Okay,” I relent, too consumed by him in this moment to do much else but agree with everything he says.
He pulls back, inching his face from mine, but continuing to cradle my jaw .
“I saw you,” he says softly. “Right before it all went black. Your face was the last thing I saw—your eyes, your smile. People say your life flashes before your eyes, but there was no montage for me. Just you.”
I’m trapped in his gaze, his dark eyes locked on mine. I swallow roughly as my heart threatens to jump out of my throat.
“Then what happened?”
“When I finally saw the sun again, I asked for you.” He lets out a quiet, sad laugh. “I wasted so many years trying to get over you, trying to accept that our story was over. I figured you would’ve reached out if you wanted to see me again, and when you never did, I decided I wasn’t going to make more of a fool of myself than I already had.”
“Dominic—”
“No, let me get this out,” he breathes. “Almost dying was the best thing that ever happened to me. I survived, but it killed my pride. It killed my fear of rejection. And all that was left was determination.” He grabs my hand and places it over his chest, right over his thundering heart. “Feel that? Feel how steady it is?” It hammers against my palm at an even rhythm. “My heart still beats because I couldn’t leave this life with so much unfinished. I couldn’t let go, knowing the other half of my soul was still missing.”
Panic crawls up my spine. If he knew what an awful person I am, he’d change his mind. He would never look at me the same. “I need to tell you something,” I start, but he shakes his head, stopping me.
“Querida mía, what are you so afraid of? Push me away all you want, make me work for it, give me your worst—I’m not going anywhere. I came here for you, and I won’t let you slip through my fingers again.”
My heart is a racing, chaotic storm. I don’t know what to say because nothing feels sufficient, nothing feels big enough in comparison to everything he’s just told me.
It’s overwhelming.
There’s no way to grasp the surging emotions coursing through me. I need an anchor. I need to feel him.
Reaching for Dominic, my hands move up his arms with a slow drag, traveling over new and familiar tattoos. The continuation of roses that started on his forearms has now spread up and over his biceps, a multitude of pieces all connected, creating one image. Years of stories on his body, each one I’m desperate to know.
“Feels good,” he breathes as the skin beneath my palms prickles with goosebumps.
On their own accord, my hands move to his stomach, tracing the ripples. He shivers, his head falling back, eyes closing with a groan.
“Is this okay?”
He works down a swallow. Huskily, he says, “It’s more than okay.”
I snake up his abdomen, looping my arms around his neck, resting them on his gold chain.
He leans in, slowly, hesitantly, giving me every chance to pull away, but I can’t. I don’t want to. His breath mingles with mine, warm and intoxicating, and my resolve finally shatters.
I close the distance.
Our lips meet, and the world falls away.
It’s instinctual, it’s familiar yet entirely new. It’s ten years of longing and heartbreak crashing together in one perfect, all-encompassing instant.
His tongue curls against mine as his hand sinks into my hair, cupping my head. He opens his mouth wider and an embarrassingly desperate whine escapes me. He groans in response and deepens the kiss, stealing the air from me.His free hand moves to my waist, pulling me closer, and I melt into him, my arms tightening around him. The heat between us is combusting, a mounting pressure that’s been building for so long there’s nothing left for it to do but explode.
He kisses me like he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment, and I kiss him back with just as much fervor.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, foreheads pressed together as we try to steady ourselves. His eyes search mine, edged in concern, as if he’s worried he’ll find signs of regret.
“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, low and thick. “You’re the other half of my soul, Ellie. Don’t make me live without you again.”
I brush my fingers over his jaw, marveling at the way he looks at me, like my mere existence is as vital as the air he breathes.
“Okay,” I whisper against his lips.
And when he kisses me again, it’s anything but hesitant. Rougher. Messier. Frantic.