Chapter 18 Dominique
Dominique
All I could see was the future. Cosette on the cusp of puberty.
As a teen. As a young, vulnerable, impressionable woman setting off to college with dreams of making a life for herself.
I saw entitled boys tracking her every move with impure thoughts and raging hormones.
Taunting, touching, taking something she would never get back.
I saw red and closed my eyes, doing what I could to chase away the vile images. The horrors. The last mouthful of my drink caught in my throat, and I nearly vomited. I wanted to race into Cosette’s room and scoop her into my arms, crush her to my chest, and never let her go.
The world and people in it were cruel. Ugly.
Evils lurked around every corner, and what if I didn’t see them coming?
What if I couldn’t keep her safe? What if she needed me and I wasn’t there to protect her?
How would I ever be able to send her off to school someday and trust she wouldn’t be harmed?
Men like Jesse and Ford were everywhere.
Kobe’s confession resonated in the quiet room.
The profundity of it hit like an anvil. A normal person might have run or shown disgust, but I knew all too well the sick nature of human beings.
I saw their destruction on my table at the lab far too often.
With me, Kobe’s blunt statement had the opposite effect.
I viewed his comment as a father and burned with helpless rage.
My attraction to the detective swelled, filling me to the point of discomfort. I didn’t know what to do with the emotions coursing through me, and it took a long time before I was stable enough to open my eyes and talk.
“Can we change the subject?” I was too close to the edge to risk continuing on this path. “Please.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t be.” He didn’t understand, and I wasn’t able to explain. Death and I were intimate companions, and conversations of this nature were troubling.
“You think I’m a monster.”
“Absolutely not.”
Kobe set his tumbler aside and shuffled closer. “Dom.”
Our knees bumped. He removed the empty glass from my hand and placed it on the coffee table. We stared at one another for a long time, neither of us speaking.
I didn’t want him to leave, but uninvited tension seeped into the room and pushed us apart.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No. Don’t go.” Kobe hadn’t moved, but I feared he might run. “I like a man who speaks his mind. I find it preferable to… false fronts. Some people go out of their way to win you over, but—”
“It’s fake.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not like that, Dominique. I tend to be unfiltered to a fault.”
“Good.”
He shook his head with a sad smile. “Not always. It’s unbefitting for a cop.”
“Let’s change the subject.”
Glancing around, Kobe zeroed in on the Christmas tree. A wistful look bloomed in his honey-warm eyes. Beside the couch, on an end table within reach, sat a photograph of Cosette. Kobe picked it up and cradled it in his hands.
“Tell me about your life, Dominique.”
I tensed, and he must have sensed the rigidity in my muscles, adding, “Not everything. Tell me about your daughter. Cosette’s a safe topic, isn’t she?”
“I suppose.” Still, I hesitated.
“I want to know everything there is to know about you. I realize some things are off limits for now. I have shit I don’t talk about either.
” Again, he peered longingly at the Christmas tree.
“Here’s a little Kobe Fun Fact. I didn’t grow up in a house with a positive family dynamic.
My mother was… not a nice woman. I never knew my real father.
I’m the product of a one-night stand, I believe.
Unwanted and unloved. My stepfather barely acknowledges my existence.
My mother can’t look at me without disdain.
I have a half sister, Maya, who can do no wrong.
The world revolves around her. I was nothing more than a reminder of a past my mother wanted to forget. She hates me.”
“No—”
“Yes. Truly. She said as much on a regular basis. It gets inside your head after a while. I’m not being dramatic.
The woman utterly despises my very existence.
Growing up, she treated me like I was less than human.
I had to jump through impossible hoops to earn things that are considered natural human rights.
Like food. Clothing. No one saw what was happening.
I fought to get help… for a while. I gave up once I reached high school, then I worked to get myself emancipated instead and left. ”
The entire time Kobe spoke, he stared at the framed photograph of Cosette.
“Seeing these pictures proudly displayed. The Christmas tree. Watching her cuddle into you when you answered the door. It tells me you’re a good father.
A caring father. You’ve already won points in my book. You’re a man I want to know.”
Kobe glanced up from under his lashes, a raw vulnerability in his honey-brown eyes. “Will you share more with me, Dominique?”
Could I?
I took the framed photograph from his hand, smiling softly at the memory as I untangled the past and reframed the present to something digestible and shareable.
The photo showed Cosette in nothing but a swimmer and a floppy summer hat, splashing in a green turtle pool in the backyard.
Vibrant grass. Bright sun sparkling off the water.
A cloudless blue sky above. If I closed my eyes, I could almost smell the pollen in the air.
Her sunscreen. Our neighbor’s freshly cut lawn.
Birds sang in the trees, twittering their songs without a care in the world.
“This was at our old house in Gatineau, taken this past summer before we moved. God it was hot. Mid-thirties for weeks.”
“I remember.”
“Cosette loves the water. I would set up the kiddie pool before I left for work in the morning, so it was warm by the time I got home. She spent hours in it. Up and down the little slide. Blowing bubbles until the water went up her nose. Singing songs she learned at the nanny’s.
I wanted to sign her up for swimming lessons, but my work schedule makes it difficult to do things like that.
She would love the big pool. Sometimes, she made me get in there with her.
That was a feat. I barely fit. The water would slosh over the edge and make her laugh. ”
Kobe chuckled. “Her smile is amazing.”
A knife stabbed at my heart. “It’s her mother’s smile. She’s her spitting image. Angelique’s hair was a shade darker, but otherwise…”
Kobe said nothing, respectfully allowing the moment to pass, for which I was grateful.
We stared for another minute at the picture before he put it back where it belonged and wandered the room, selecting another.
When he sat, it was close enough that our thighs touched.
He leaned against my side, his weight solid and comforting.
Terrifying.
Welcoming.
“Tell me about this one. It looks recent.”
“It is.” Of all the pictures he could have chosen. I had a duplicate in my office down the hall.
I unconsciously touched my chest as memories surged.
The photo showed Cosette blowing dandelion fluff into the air. Squinty eyes. Puckered lips. The exaggeration of the act was comical, making it look like the effort to set the seeds afloat was difficult.
“She loves picking flowers in the summer. She makes bouquets, and I display them on the kitchen table in a cup of water.” Or we bring them to her mother’s grave, I didn’t say.
“Sometimes, I weave them in her hair. It makes her feel like a princess. Mostly, she finds weeds. She especially loves dandelions. She gets sad when they go to seed, wanting them to stay yellow, so I taught her to blow the seeds and make a wish.”
I paused, a pinch in my chest making it hard to breathe. “It was something her mother always did. Even all grown up. I told her it was silly and childish, but she did it anyway. Cosette doesn’t understand the wishing part yet, but she loves making the fluff fly.”
“I used to make wishes on dandelions.”
“Every child does. I don’t know why Angelique had such an affinity for it, but she did. I think knowing her daughter shares the same pleasure would make her smile.”
“I have no doubt.”
“She was an artist. Angelique. Not professional, by any means, but skilled in her own right. She liked to draw. Sketches mostly.”
Hesitantly, I undid a few buttons on my shirt and drew the fabric aside, displaying my tattoo.
It was a dandelion gone to seed, a few pods drifting on an invisible current as though someone had huffed and puffed and blown them away.
It took up most of my pec on the left-hand side over my heart.
Underneath was Angelique’s dainty signature.
“This was one of her favorites.”
Kobe admired the ink, reaching out and tracing the tips of his fingers along its surface. My arms pebbled with goose bumps, the fine hairs standing on end. It had been a long time since someone touched me so intimately.
“Cosette’s appreciation for dandelions was not my doing. I didn’t encourage it. The fascination is her own, so this felt appropriate. A way to commemorate my two girls.”
“It’s beautiful. I wonder what she wished for when she drew it.”
I closed my eyes, needing a minute. How did he know to ask such a thing?
With a lump in my throat, feigning ignorance, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. The seeds are in flight, sent off to the heavens. This is a wish in the making.” He followed the line of the seeds with his finger, tracing the path as they curled over my collarbone and danced along the edge of my shoulder.
I wish I knew, I thought. I wish I knew.
Heart thrumming, I folded my hand around his to stop the movement, clutching tightly. My body’s reaction to Kobe’s touch was both welcoming and uncomfortable. I yearned for more but didn’t know if I’d survive crossing this bridge.
Kobe sat silently. Waiting.