19. June #3
It’s a harsh thing to say, that my mother’s death left me abandoned, but that’s what it felt like.
I was discarded, thrown to the wolves, and meant to fend for myself.
I was a child, and I had no one to rely on.
I stole change from my dad’s coat pockets and walked barefoot down the street to buy whatever clearance food I could from the local mart.
He bought groceries on occasion, but it was usually beer and chips, nothing a growing kid could survive on.
I dug through trash bins behind the shops to scrounge for anything of substance.
One of the shop owners near my house took pity on me, and when they set expired goods out to the trash, they would leave them on the step instead of putting them in the bins.
It wasn't much but that act of kindness helped me through a time when I wasn't sure if I'd make it through or not.
The kids at school made fun of me for getting the free lunch but that was my only chance for a hot meal and there was no way I was passing it up.
It honestly wasn’t until years later that I realized how fucked up I had it.
Because when you’re a kid and that’s all you know, you don’t consider much else.
The memories of my mother faded into something from so long ago I started to doubt she had ever really existed.
The only thing holding her in this dimension were a few of the Polaroids I kept tucked under my mattress.
One drunken night, my dad had set fire to her clothes in the front yard.
He was carrying on about living with her ghost and that the only way to get rid of her was to burn her belongings.
He ripped every picture off the wall, grabbed anything that remotely held any resemblance to her time with us, and lit it ablaze.
I ran to the drawer in the front room when he wasn't looking and snatched those few photos, hugging them tight to my chest as I ran out of the house and hid in the bushes next door.
I watched with bated breath as the police came and arrested him.
They searched the house, which I can only assume was for me, and I didn't see him for three days.
I was six years old, and that memory is only one of the few that is painted vividly in my head.
The rest of them are a muddled mess that makes me wonder whether I had any decent memories from my childhood at all. Or maybe my mind fucked up and repressed the good instead of the bad ones.
But even as bad as I thought I had it, I can’t imagine being indoctrinated into a criminal organization before I could learn how to read.
Dom might have a great-ish life now, but he’s lost so much in the process. His childhood, his innocence, his sense of self.
I’m fortunate enough that he’s capable of the love that he does give me. Despite his upbringing, Dom has moments of being soft and kind and good.
I see it when he does something for others without expecting it in return.
When he took Magnus and Coen under his wing—sure he had a greater plan for them, but he could have killed either one of them.
When he cut his call short because he saw I was in the middle of a panic attack during take-off.
When he burst into the bathroom during our first major interaction to save me from that disgusting drunk who tried to force himself on me.
He didn't have to do any of that. He could have looked the other way or carried on with his life without intervening.
“Did you ever try to find them?” I ask him. “Your parents?”
Dom’s jaw tenses. “I did, actually.” He averts his gaze like he’s recalling a memory.
“Were you able to meet them?”
He shakes his head slowly. “They had been long dead by the time I found out who they were.”
I cup his hand with mine. “I’m so sorry, Dom.” I am all too familiar with the pain of loss.
Frances approaches from the back of the plane, distracting us from the weight of this conversation. “Mr. Adler, would you like me to prepare something for you and Miss June?”
Dominic checks his expensive watch. “No, I think we’re fine for now.” He tilts his head toward me. “Unless you’d like something.”
“No, I’m good.” The idea of eating anything while stuck in this flying death trap is completely unappealing. I haven’t had much of an appetite lately in general, but being up here, it’s definitely nonexistent.
“Some water would be nice, though,” Dom tells Frances.
Frances does that tipping of his head and slow blink thing that he seems to always do before he dismisses himself and turns on his heel, trailing back in the direction he came.
“I…” I try to find the words to say but know nothing will be right, so I say the first thing that pops out. “I didn’t mean to bring up such a sensitive topic.”
Dom clenches my hand and forces a toothless smile. “That was a lifetime ago. No need to fret.”
“Thank you though, for sharing it with me.” It might not be his whole past, but already I feel the space between us shrinking as I learn more about this mysterious, older man I love.
Maybe my soul already knew that we shared a similar trauma, that our darknesses were alike, and that eventually I would uncover one of the reasons why we’re drawn to one another.
“I don’t mean to be this way,” Dominic mutters. “I know it’s hard to be with a man like me.”
My heart breaks at watching this vulnerable side of him show through.
“Trust isn’t something that’s given freely, especially when this line of work is filled with traitors and scheming bastards.” Dom takes another drink of his bourbon.
"You have Coen and Magnus…" I study the hard lines on his aged face. "You have me."
Dom’s serious gaze bores into mine. “For now.”
I sigh and grip his hand tighter. “For—” I start to speak but he cuts me off.
“Things have been unforeseen lately, June. This isn’t how I wanted our life to be.
But there are matters that need my attention, and until I handle them, I beg you to know that none of this means my feelings for you, or their feelings for you, have changed.
We aren’t pushing you away for any reason other than to keep you safe. I assure you that.”
It’s not that I don’t believe him, but I just don’t understand why it has to be this way.
What could possibly be so dire that they couldn’t tell me?
I already know about their dangerous world, the issues they’ve been having lately, what more could be going on?
And how does it have anything to do with my safety?
Unless there’s a direct threat to my life that they aren’t disclosing.
But who the fuck would want me dead? I could easily be used as a pawn to control any of my men, but that’s a risk we all knew when I became involved with them.
“I need a little more time, June.” Dominic runs his hand along my cheek.
“Okay,” I whisper, because what else am I going to say? They’ve backed me into a corner that I cannot escape from. The only way out is to see this thing through.
Dom exhales and smiles softly. “Thank you.”
And because I’d do anything to shift the dynamic of this conversation, I ask him, “What’s your favorite color?”
“What?” He tilts his head.
I nudge him playfully. “Your favorite color, sir?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Green, perhaps.”
“Green is a great color,” I tell him. “Favorite food?”
“These are difficult questions, perhaps we should go back to discussing my business instead.”
I chuckle. “Come on, it can’t be that hard.”
“Well, if we’re talking type of cuisine, I would have to go…French.”
“Like French fries?”
This garners another grin from him. “You are so uncultured it hurts my soul.”
“What?” I shove him. “I can’t help it, I don’t have a private jet to fly me to get some French fries whenever I want them.”
"Those are not French food, sweetheart. I'm talking croissants, ratatouille, beef bourguignon. Simple ingredients turned into something beautiful and flavorful. It’s art, really.”
“I had no idea you were such a connoisseur.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
“I’ve gathered. Why do you think I’m hounding you with silly questions?”
“Fair enough.” Dom pulls my legs into his lap. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Pizza.”
Dom shakes his head. “I worry about you.”
“What’s wrong with pizza?”
“Nothing, we just really need to broaden your horizons. We’ll add Italy to the list of places we’ll take you.”
“You’re going to have to drug me before I get on a flight that goes over an ocean.”
Dom’s phone buzzes in his pocket but he ignores it. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“You can’t control acts of nature, or freak accidents. What if an engine fell off or something?”
“That’s actually not as big of a deal as you would think. Plus, Sarge is trained to deal with situations like that.”
“Sarge?”
“My pilot, yes.”
He says it like he’s a shirt hanging in his closet, so fucking nonchalant that he has a freaking pilot. Will I ever get used to any of this?
“Okay, next question.”
Dom takes a deep breath in and braces himself. “I’m ready.”
“Would you rather have…feet for hands, or hands for feet?”
He blinks a few times, almost like he’s considering if I’ve lost my mind. “Hands for feet.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t shoot a gun with my foot. At least, I’ve never tried.”
I let out a laugh. “You would find a way to turn this violent.”
“It’s what I do.”
Dom’s phone vibrates again, this time on my leg.
“Do you need to check that?” I ask him.
“Yes.” But he doesn’t reach for it yet. “Does it matter if I don’t want to?”
“Yes.” I pull myself off of him. “Go, and hurry back before I think of other weird shit to ask you.”
He stands from the seat and immediately my heart tugs at his absence.
“Adler,” he greets the person on the other line.
I down the rest of my bourbon in an attempt to warm myself in another way. I turn toward the window and hug my knees to my chest while looking at the earth so far below. A few clouds flutter past, and I think of what it might be like to reach my hand out and feel them slip between my fingers.