Chapter 16
?
It’s, actually, a lake episode.
August
I’m convinced. We know each other. Somehow.
Some way.
I just can’t figure the how or the way out.
Dominic does have family in town. That makes having crossed paths in our childhood more of a possibility, but does doing all he’s done on what must have been the briefest of meetings make any sense at all?
I already checked my yearbooks. Not a single person in them remotely reminds me of him.
We’d have to have met when he was visiting his family or something along those lines.
But that’s so brief an interaction. So, so, so brief a moment.
Too brief to warrant the love he’s displaying.
Probably.
I don’t know.
I’d go to extreme lengths over far less, but that’s me. And I’m nuts.
He seems…more adjusted. Mostly sane. His crazy is a different flavor—I think.
He carries an essence of reliability about him.
At the very least, he seems like the type to make a shopping list before going to the store, and then get only what he’s put on that list. Which is what I do, too, but I’m not rich, so I can’t afford whimsy.
At a foundational level, he seems to know me better than he should, but as far as details are concerned, we feel like strangers.
I don’t think whatever he talked to The Council about had anything to do with my likes or dislikes, given that—while delicious—his picnic wasn’t at all obviously catered to me beyond the cheese board, which is something he learned I liked last week.
He made a dragon fruit pie, for crying out loud.
There’s no way my grandmother would pop that fresh, fun, cool option on a menu if prompted.
She’d have told him my favorite dessert is chocolate pie.
Dense, velvety, homemade chocolate pie. Her recipe, even.
So. He knows who I am, but he does not know me.
Furthermore, after our game I’m almost positive that he’s the one who bought all my books mere weeks ago.
Which means…
What does it mean? Apart from the fact he at least has casket-levels of disposable income…it means…probably that he didn’t know I was published before something my brother told him.
If we knew each other in any capacity beyond a mere moment, would he not have assumed that I’d have published something by now?
I’ve been story driven my entire life and loud about it, too.
There’s no logical way he wouldn’t have checked, at least once, to see if I’d published under my real name like I have.
Floating atop the crystal clear lake water, I sigh and peer at the bright blue sky. Well past mid-afternoon, the sun has mellowed in its descent toward the horizon, leaving warmth without glaring light. A few minutes ago, Dominic offered to start packing up and left me alone here with my thoughts.
My thoughts aren’t being very helpful, though.
There’s too many holes in them. Too many puzzle pieces I’m missing.
But of course there are.
This isn’t a book.
The answer isn’t oh so obvious based on exactly the information the author deigns to provide. In real life, information comes on all sides, most of it unrelated. Instead of a red herring or two to throw the reader off, most everything is a red herring.
I don’t have Dominic’s last name, or first name for that matter. I don’t have his career information. I don’t even have his phone number. But still, even if I did, am I really looking for a simple answer or profile to give me the truth about this story?
No.
That’s far too dull.
I want more games of wit and curiosity.
I want to figure it out without that many cheat codes.
I want to decode why he makes me feel safe and like I’ve known him for years when there’s no way that’s possible.
The only people I’ve known for years have either birthed me, been in the same room as him, or are my boss.
And, let’s face it, Ali surely doesn’t fit.
Apart from the fact she’s a girl, Dominic hasn’t said anything that references anime the whole time I’ve known him.
Even though we’re presently in an almost-but-not-quite beach episode.
I have now had the pleasure of chatting with Ali while she’s watching anime, and I can confirm that we’re both properly obsessed with it, which means it is completely unrealistic to think that I wouldn’t have heard Dominic mutter something in Japanese by now if he and Ali are actually the same person.
It’s impossible to watch as much anime as we do and not start mumbling the phrases in day-to-day life.
For crying out loud, I don’t even affirm in English anymore.
I understand or got it or okay is always, unanimously, wakatta, and I just hope my tone relays my meaning, because I don’t explain myself afterward.
Crossing my arms, I roll my eyes, because why am I even debunking the obvious? I can’t be grasping for that many straws.
Except, of course, I am.
I am because I don’t interact with that many guys consistently, yet if I don’t know him while I’m convinced he knows me, the only answer I have left is that he’s a stalker.
“Could Dominic be a stalker?” I whisper toward the sky.
“Nah,” I mutter after three moments. “A stalker—I’d hope—would know more about me by this point in the plot.
” Also, if he’s a stalker, my friends and family surely wouldn’t be this on board.
Wynnter—for one—would actually kill him, not help him, regardless of how pretty he is.
Wynnter is, usually, so no nonsense.
Or at least I thought he was.
But maybe I don’t know my brother as well as I think I do, either.
He and Dominic literally set something on fire for this scheme.
I saw the remains of that mattress on the curb for several days.
And Wynnter definitely acted his part well where it concerned manipulating me into inviting Dominic to stay in my guest room.
Despite now having a replacement bed, he’s been very quiet about saving his poor sister from putting up a strange man in her home—despite how adamantly against it he appeared at first.
Could Dominic be a friend of Wynnter’s?
Would that make any plausible sense?
He could have fallen in love by proxy, through stories or mentions…even though the idea that Wynnter spends any time at all chitchatting with his buds about his baby sister would be a wild foundation for this theory.
At this point, considering my very non-existent history with men, it’s the only thing that seems remotely probable.
Yet it’s still weird for that to be the case if Dominic has only just recently learned I’m published.
I imagine that the words all she does is write come up rather frequently whenever I’m mentioned to anyone.
Ugh.
My head hurts.
Maybe I’ve been out in the sun too long.
Rolling over in the water, I scoot my way back to shore, enjoying the cool ebb and flow as much as possible until the final moment when I absolutely have to stand.
With the shallows of the lake at my heels, I adjust my damp glasses and squint toward the parking lot.
An ocean of cars catch twinkles of sunlight atop their hoods.
No Dominic in view. But that makes enough sense. We had to park pretty far back by the time we got here.
I squish some water from my hair and wait by where our picnic blanket was. It seems he took everything back with him already. Including my tote bag. With my towel and sandals. Hopefully, he figures that out and brings it back when he comes to get me.
While I’m contemplating heading toward the car myself and just hoping the tarmac isn’t too hot for my feet, a hand lands on my shoulder.
“Hey,” not Dominic’s voice says. “You here alone?”
I turn to discover that the stranger talking to me isn’t here alone. He is, in fact, with two other men, meaning I’ve been half-circled by three barely clothed strangers.
Knowing exactly what to do when presented with unwelcome male attention, I point at the water, ignore the very sketchy question, and say, “I wouldn’t go in there right now. I just peed.”
Predictably, their faces twist, and the central man in the semicircle lets go of my shoulder. “Uh,” he stammers, awkwardly taking a half-step back.
The guy on the left recovers, ponders, and proves himself to be a little more of a criminal than his now uncomfortable companions when he gives me a once over and it’s so obvious that he’s thinking: Eh, she’s still cute, and the mentally ill ones are easier to manipulate anyway.
My stomach knots.
“That’s okay,” Creepy murmurs, closing in on the space his buddies had begun to vacate. “We don’t have to swim anymore.”
“Dude,” central guy protests.
“Come on,” Creepy says, undeterred. “You ever see a jacked-up truck before? I’ll show you mine.”
My stomach riots.
Breath tight, I close my hand into a fist, but someone else slugs the guy clean across the shoreline and into the shallows before I figure out what I’m going to do with it.
My vision clears on my savior just in time for pain to grip Dominic’s expression. He unlocks his hand, shakes it, and almost cusses, “Fu—dge.”
“Whoa, man.” Central guy lifts his palms as he and his remaining friend back away. “We don’t mean nothing.”
“Uh-huh,” Dominic seethes. “So I either didn’t just see your friend’s hand inches from her butt, or you’re keenly aware of your use of a double negative. Which is it?”
Less considerate of the children around, central guy cusses. “We’re leaving. Both y’all are nuts.”
After they drag their friend up and make themselves scarce, Dominic stretches his fingers and frees a heavy breath.
My eyes widen. “You’re bleeding.”
He looks down at his raw knuckles and the droplets beading there. “I guess I am.” Ignoring his injury, he settles the palm of his bleeding hand against my cheek. “Are you okay? They…” His eyes close, and his jaw locks. “I got here fast enough? They didn’t get a chance to touch you, did they?”
My lips part, and I soak in his torment until his face hardens further and his eyes reopen. “August. I asked you a question.”
I swallow, an oddly difficult thing to do. “Iie. Daijoubu.”
He searches me. “What?”
I blink. “I’m fine.”
He finds air, loses a centimeter of tension. “Good.”
Beach episode.
This is a proper beach episode now.
With a whole entire touch-her-and-die moment. A classic. A staple.
Dominic flinches when our gazes collide. “That’s not really the expression you’re supposed to make after having nearly been sexually assaulted, August.”
I’m sure my eyes are sparkling. “Can we do that again?”
“No.”
“I’ll walk defenselessly up and down the bank until someone else harasses me, then you can practice other touch-her-and-die methods, like using your words.
Maybe try to work entrails into the threats?
” I turn my expression severe. “Touch her again, and I’ll tie your entrails in a bow around your neck.
” Losing my hard tone, I glitter. “Just as an example?”
Dominic’s expression withers.
“I know! I’ll take my t-shirt off. That’s sure to attract more scum—” I grip the hem of my oversize shirt, but Dominic gets me around the waist before I can drag the wet thing off over my head.
Next thing I know, I’m tossed over his shoulder, staring down the back of his shirt at the ground.
Wordlessly, he abouts-face and marches toward the parking lot.
Delighted butterflies swarm in my belly. “What are you doing?”
“You’re barefoot.”
“Yes, because you took my shoes and towel away.”
“I…wasn’t thinking clearly while I was cleaning up. Sorry.”
I scrabble for purchase and get my hand against his silicone swim cap. “That’s because this thing is squishing your brains out. We’re done swimming now anyway. Take it off.”
“No, and it’s really not the thing playing any role in my subpar mental capabilities at the moment, lotus.”
“Are you blaming me for your head empty, no thoughts? When I’m a saintly beacon of innocence—according to both my behaviors and my character sheet?”
He sighs. “Seeing you float around in the sunshine while I packed up distracted me a great deal. That’s not your fault, but it is the truth.”
I hum. “Shocking that you’d have the gall to manhandle me like this while I’m dripping wet when just my floating around in an oversize t-shirt yards away from you has the ability to remove all the sense from your skull.”
He whispers, “Right now I just…want to get you away from other people…especially while you look like this.”
“Jealousy isn’t the greatest trait in real life. It alludes to insecurity, a lack of trust…”
He blows out a breath, then adjusts how he’s holding me to swing me princess-style in front of him, where I can take in the full glory of his beet-red cheeks. “It’s not really a jealousy thing. I don’t know if I’ve ever been more scared than just now.”
“You’re joking,” I say.
He keeps his attention dead ahead as the rows of cars pass, leading us to his. “No. I’m not.”
“But that was a common female experience. That’s why it’s in so many books and shows. The idea that when that sort of thing happens, someone is going to save us is everything. It’s a fantasy women drink in.”
His throat bobs, and agony touches his eyes when he glances at me.
My shoulders droop. “You’re actually serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. There were three men around you, August. One almost put his hands on you. And look how easy it is to pick you up. If I hadn’t come back at the exact right time…I don’t know where you might be right now. The very idea of that is horrifying.”
I look toward his hand looped beneath my thighs and know there’s blood beading from his knuckles. “Was that the first time you’ve ever hit someone?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I rest my head against his shoulder. “The idea of losing me is really that scary to you, huh?”
“Yes.”
His heartbeat grows more pronounced the farther from the crowded shore we get. It thunders against my ear beneath an array of uneven breaths. This isn’t a moment of love. This isn’t an instant of attraction.
This is something so much more.
Just who exactly are you, Dominic? And what in the world are we to one another…