15. Dominic
DOMINIC
“ E ste, I know you’re in there. Will you let me in?” I ask at the bathroom door where she has barricaded herself.
“I don’t want to!” Este cries from the other side of the door. She’s probably pressed up against it, given how clear and loud her voice is. I press my forehead to my side of the door, needing to be closer to her.
“We need to talk.” I place my hand on the door as if it were on her skin and sigh dejectedly. “I sent the ladies home. Don’t worry, they finished their dinners first. Mallory filled me in about Cole, and I’m so sorry. So very sorry, Este, that you had to lose your husband that way.”
I hear her sniffling from the other side of the door, and it hits me right in the chest. God, it physically hurts me that she’s crying, and she won’t let me in the goddamn door.
Won’t let me hold her. Comfort her. Nothing. I bang my head against the wall and groan.
I’m the reason she’s hysterical in there, which is the worst fucking part. What I’m not sure exactly of is why. Mallory explained Cole had been in Delta Force and died on a mission, and Este had promised herself she’d never date another military type. But why?
Things are great with us, aren’t they? Aren’t we happy?
Fuck.
I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, and I can’t let that go. Let her go.
“Este, open the damn door,” I insist.
And finally, it swings open. When I lay eyes on Este, she’s red, blotchy, with wet cheeks and a deep-set frown on her beautiful face that practically knocks the wind out of me.
But I need to buck up and be a man— her man.
I hold out my hand, and, thank Christ, she takes it; I lead her over to the bed.
We both sit on the edge, Este sighing constantly and shoving her hair out of her wet face.
I can’t help but lean over and catch a hot tear on my fingertip and then wipe beneath her sea blue eyes, using my fingers as a mop.
“My love, please talk to me so I don’t have to sit here and ramble.”
When she says nothing, I groan. I’ll ramble.
“Okay. So, I spent four years in the Army, saw some combat, but by the time I got in, they had already scaled back the war in the desert. I did well, got recruited for the 75th Ranger Regiment, and spent four years there as a Combat Medic. I did good work, but after a close call, I just wanted to get the hell home. So, I moved back, tried to get used to civilian life, opened my first practice in Houston for a couple of years, then moved to the suburbs and established my most recent practice, and that brings me to today.” I pause to look at Este, who nods.
“There’s not much to know about my time in the military except that it showed me I want a traditional, civilian life. Not that it was an easy adjustment being back, but I got in therapy right away, processed everything I could the right way, and I’m still in therapy working things out every week.”
Este sighs, her body shaking beside me as I wrap my arm around her.
“Do you have PTSD?” Este’s voice quakes.
“No. Not anymore. I reprocessed my trauma with EMDR therapy and no longer meet the diagnostic criteria for PTSD. I’ve been diagnosed with generalized anxiety, but I’m determined to conquer that, too.”
I speak as frankly as possible. After all, this is the woman I want to spend my life with. I’m already certain of that, regardless of how new the relationship is. She’s been the one since the moment we met.
“So, you don’t have any, um, anger or mood problems?” Este wonders, her voice low. Bingo . That’s the heart of this: fear. I can hear it in her shaky voice.
“No, Este. The answer is no. You’re safe with me, okay?
Listen, I get anxious occasionally, and sometimes I’ll panic.
Usually, when I hear unexpected noises, like a car backfiring.
It’s a symptom of PTSD, but I don’t have all the symptoms necessary to be diagnosed with it anymore because I’ve taken care of myself with a lot of expert help.
That’s why I haven’t dated since I bought this house. I’ve been busy focusing on myself.”
Este nods. Some of the blotches on her face seem to have lightened. She sits beside me, nodding continuously, until I look over and see her eyes are closed tight as her upper lip trembles. I want to still it with my lips, but I don’t.
“I’m a good guy, Este. Hell, I know that’s easy for me to say, and you may not believe me, but I want to be your safe place.
The person you can tell anything to. Who always listens and does the right thing for you, for us.
I’ll support your dreams and hopes, and try to be a good male example for Reed. I’ll be her safe place, too, honey.”
She’s crying again, and I pull her closer, hating that she’s so distressed, hating that I’m the reason.
My heart thuds in my chest as she finally looks up at me, fear still evident in her eyes, and she whispers, “That’s all I could ever ask of you. Not to take out your anger, frustration, or trauma on me and my daughter.”
Jesus. She’s been through some shit, that’s apparent.
I cup her cheek with my hand, watch her lip continue trembling, and I slowly rub my thumb over her cheekbone.
“That’s the bare minimum, Este. Safety is the most fundamental of human needs, and yours will always be my top priority. Trust me on this one.”
“I need you to put down the toilet seat,” Este demands so suddenly that I’m completely taken aback and have to stifle a laugh, but I see she isn’t joking. Her eyes narrow. “Girls fall in, you know. Toilet water is gross. It’s unsanitary.”
“My mama taught me right, baby. I put it down after every use and close the lid. I do the dishes right after dinner, change the sheets every week, and religiously change the smoke detector batteries and the air filters twice a year.”
“Can you bench press my weight?” Este asks, a little smile on her face. “That’s one of Mallory’s requirements for a man.”
“Three times what you weigh, easy.”
Her little smile grows into a grin.
“Will you take my car for oil changes? I hate it. I forget about it until the oil light comes on and there’s almost no oil left in the engine?—”
I shut her up with a kiss. It takes her a moment to return it, but when she does, she hoists her leg over me until she’s sitting in my lap. All I can do is hold her tight and kiss her ferociously, hoping all the words in this kiss translate correctly.
“Is that a yes?” Este mutters against my lips.
“Fuck yes.”
“Fuck me .”
Then, she’s unzipping my shorts, shoving my boxer briefs down, and pushing me back on the bed as I stare up at her in wonder. This woman knows what she wants, and thank the fucking universe, somehow, that’s me.
Every touch, every kiss, is a promise as we make love; I reassure her with every gentle thrust, every time our tongues meet.
Afterward, we lie there wrapped up together.
“I’m so sorry I freaked out,” Este whispers against my mouth. “It was out of the blue, and all my traumatic memories about my late husband swirled around in my head. I couldn’t separate the two of you, but I’m going to try, I swear.”
She tucks her face beneath my chin and rests against my throat, which she peppers with kisses while I rub her back soothingly.
“It’s okay. I understand why you reacted that way. Just hope you can hear me when I say I’m not like your late husband. Not like him at all, okay?” I’m hoping that much is already clear.
Maybe she just needs a little time to see for herself how different Cole and I are; to realize I have my shit together. Nobody leaves the military without seeing some heinous things, participating in violence they’d rather not, and, in general, witnessing unspeakable horror.
It’s taken years to square myself away and get into the right place to find a relationship like the one I want with Este.
I’m keen on the fact that some service members come home and never really return from war, but that guy isn’t me.
Part of why I spend a lot of time serving veterans who struggle is that I recognize how privileged I am, not having to go through the hardships they are facing.
When I came home, I had access to money, quality healthcare, and connections that helped me get back on my feet, but not everyone is that fortunate.
When I look at Este smiling up at me from my chest, I know exactly how lucky a man I am.