Chapter 16 Dominic
Dominic
"You all right?" Klein's eyebrows cinch with concern.
"Yeah," I groan, palming the back of my neck. "Sharp, hot pain. Must've slept wrong on my neck last night."
I smack his hand away. "Dude! What are you doing?"
His hand settles back on the steering wheel. "Checking your reflexes."
"By blinding me?"
"Seeing how quickly you blink."
"Speaking as your literary agent, I think it's imperative I remind you how much you should want me to have my vision. So I can, you know, read your books."
Klein scoffs. "Have you heard me read out loud? I've been told my voice is melodious."
"Only my entire childhood," I mutter. Klein had severe dyslexia, to the point he went to a special school.
He struggled to read, but he loved stories.
As kids, we'd take turns reading to each other.
Sometimes I'd secretly feel frustrated, unable to get into the story because of all the starts and stops when Klein was reading.
It was good for him though, and I knew that.
Practice using the methodologies he was learning in school was fundamental to his development.
Also, my dad promised me my own bag of ranch-flavored sunflower seeds if I'd let Klein read to me as much as he wanted.
To many people that might not sound like a big deal, but to me, it was HUGE.
"You really screwed up with Cecily today," Klein says, bopping his head to the beat of a song. "Dearly Departed" by Shakey Graves.
The memory of Cecily, lip curled and abhorrence burning in her eyes, washes over me.
The way she leaned closer, though she didn't need to.
The sadness that ringed her brown irises, simmering below the surface.
Cecily received terrible news today, and somehow I know she is waiting to give herself over to it.
I definitely shouldn't have implied that Paisley and Paloma should know more about Cecily, but that's exactly what I did.
She'd said I loathe you.
I'd said The feeling is mutual, Menace.
It's the truth, but only kind of. From my side, anyway.
I loathe her only because she loathes me.
Which sounds childish, but it incenses me that she hates me the way she does.
Firstly, because I don't deserve it. Secondly, because.
.. Well, I don't have a second reason yet, but I know I don't like it.
"Does she usually hate people?"
"There was a guy she went on a date with who stole a salt shaker. Or was it a pepper mill? I don't remember. Point is, she really hated him. But she definitely hates you extra."
I sigh, rubbing a circle over my temple. "She's the one who ran out on our date when my back turned."
Klein gawks. "What? Why am I just now learning about this?"
I shrug. "I felt really stupid. And since it didn't seem like you already knew, I assumed Paisley hadn't told you, which meant Cecily probably didn't tell Paisley. Therefore, I didn't tell you."
"Dumb," Klein declares. "File it under 'Shit I should have told my cousin'."
I roll my eyes, and the movement immediately makes me think of Cecily. She performs the motion with gusto. Pizzazz. Like she means it.
"Her family is a disaster," I say, raking my hand down my face.
"Her grandma is the only one I like so far, and even she is not totally sane.
She's great, don't get me wrong, but she's a handful.
" Am I going to hell for speaking ill of someone we know is dying soon?
I'm not really speaking ill of Savage Grandma. Everything I've said is true.
"Lucky for you, you've signed yourself up for nonstop fun and a backstage pass to the Hampton family circus." Klein speaks jovially, and I bet he wishes he could accompany me as my silent sidekick, taking notes for a future novel.
"Oh, and get this—" I snap my mouth shut.
I'd been about to say Cecily's family is secretly filthy rich, but my brain stopped me.
Saved me, really. Cecily must have a reason for not divulging this piece of information.
The woman drives that death trap of a vehicle when she could be riding around in something that at least has four doors.
Four windows. Better air conditioning. Less road noise.
Fewer chances of being hit by road debris.
Have I mentioned I despise her car?
"What were you going to say?" Klein asks, taking the second to last turn to reach my parents' house.
"Never mind." I shake my head.
He lets it go, pressing the forward button on his phone to skip the next song. "Why are you refusing to get an annulment until after the road trip?"
"Cecily needs someone on that trip with her. After meeting her family today, that much is obvious."
"Fair, and also very self-sacrificing of you. But you don't need to be married to accomplish that goal."
"Refusing the annulment until after the road trip was really just to piss Cecily off. She rises to the occasion pretty easily, and since she was being unpleasant, I matched her."
"How mature of you," Klein says sarcastically.
"I know, I know. There's something about her that makes me act in ways I normally wouldn't. She gets under my skin."
Klein glances at me, the red light we're stopped at reflecting in his sunglasses. "Cecily gets under your skin?"
"Not like that." Or, you know, exactly like that.
Klein chuckles, just once. A smug sound. "A hundred bucks," he says. "A hundred bucks says you fall in love with Cecily on this road trip."
"And Cecily? You don't want to bet she will fall in love with me?"
Klein snorts, open hand waiting between us. "No way. Cecily wishes she'd never met you."
True. But that doesn't explain the way the pulse in her neck strums faster when she's sparring with me. It's not the adrenaline from arguing, because I'd bet my last dollar Cecily is a calm fighter. Cecily gets under my skin, but I get under hers, too. It's a truth I feel in the marrow of my bones.
"I'll take your bet, Klein, and I look forward to the moment you press two crisp Benjamins in my palm."
"One," he corrects. The light turns green, and he makes the final left turn into my parents' neighborhood.
"Two. You still owe me money from the Paisley bet."
"What bet?" He winks at me, pulling up to my parents' latest home. The playfulness disappears from his face. "You ready?" he asks.
He knows I love my parents. He also knows what it feels like to be conflicted, and resentful, and altogether mutilated by their life choices.
Klein gets to send his complicated feelings toward a ghost shaped like his father. But not me. The people who raised me, who sent me out into the world with baggage, are still present. They want to see me. They expect to see me. And despite it all, I love them.
One isn't better than the other. In fact, they are equally disturbing.
As is Cecily's family. All the money in the world, and though they're as different as night and day from mine, they have one common denominator: dysfunction.
The house smells like my parents, but also like fresh cleaner.
Pine-Sol, the original scent. I've been here once before, on my last visit.
They signed a one-year lease, but that doesn't mean much to my parents.
Or my dad, at least. If my mother didn't have my dad, she might be more stable. Long-term home, and job.
"Dominic," my mom says, smiling at me. Her hair is almost entirely gray.
Early, I think, and probably due to stress.
She wraps me in a hug, and mostly I feel love for her.
But there's that old flash of resentment, and the guilt that attaches itself to the resentment like a barnacle.
My mom was always very good at loving me, but not so great at creating security.
The same is true for my dad.
I kiss my mom's temple and step back. She greets Klein with the same warmth.
"Domino!" My dad's booming voice reaches us before he does, using a nickname he has called me my entire life.
"Your dad's been very excited to see you." My mom pats my cheek. "Go easy on him."
Klein and I meet eyes briefly. Go easy on him really means He has a business venture and he's looking for investors.
My dad walks into the living room holding a glass of water.
I got my height from him, but that's about it.
I closely resemble my mom, from my light brown hair to my bright blue eyes.
Ciarán Bellinger stands one inch shorter than me, with a mop of cinnamon hair perpetually in need of a trim from my mother (his one and only barber), and covered in freckles.
His Irish name is pronounced Keer-awn, but because in English it's pronounced nothing like it's spelled and nobody gets it right, he introduces himself as Ron.
If he ever makes it to Ireland, he'll be in heaven hearing his name said correctly.
"Hey, Dad." Affection swells in my heart at the sight of him, but like my mom, other emotions press in. It used to be that I couldn't name the various feelings, but now I can. I hope the next step is a decrease in all the less-than-pleasant emotions. Baby steps, I guess. A process.
My dad's gaze bounces back-and-forth between me and Klein. "How was Vegas?"
I let Klein answer, since the celebration was for him. "Full of mostly-clean fun. Nothing anyone regrets." He glances at me, eyes mischievous. "Your son came away with an unexpected party favor."
Dad's eyes widen, but Mom steps in. "There's medicine for that. Pills." Her eyes drop briefly to my groin before looking up again. "Something topical, maybe?"
Klein laughs way too hard while I shake my head so vehemently it sends another hot pain through my neck. Rubbing at the angry muscle, I say, "Nothing was transmitted, sexually or otherwise."
My mother's eyebrows pull together in confusion. "Well then, what happened?" She sits back on the arm of a threadbare upholstered chair.
I pause a beat, deciding how to say it, then decide to forgo fanfare and put it out there. "I had far too much to drink and got married."
My dad's head tips back with a jolly laugh, something one of my authors would call a guffaw.
My mom, to her credit, is appropriately horrified. She presses a palm to her neck, taking a deep breath.
"We're going to get it annulled, but not for about a month. I have to spend a few weeks helping her out."
Good thing Cecily isn't here. Something tells me she would not agree with my use of the words helping her out. She'd say my attendance on her family road trip is a unique brand of torture.
"Help her out how?" my mom asks.
I explain it all to her, and Klein interrupts to tell them of my choice to accept a gummy from Cecily's grandma. "Thanks," I say to him. If there was any part of the whole story I was going to leave out, it would've been that.
"You were being polite," my dad says, winking at me. I cannot count the number of times I suspected he was high when I was a teenager. I never asked, because how do you pose that question to your parent?
"Moving on," I say sternly in Klein's direction. He takes my cue and shuts his trap.
"Does this lass have a name?" my dad asks.
"Cecily Harmon," I lie smoothly. I hate it, the way I have to lie.
If we'd had this talk yesterday, I wouldn't have known to protect Cecily's real name.
But now, after seeing Ophelia's home and learning Cecily's dad's company owns a portfolio stuffed with ultra-luxury boutique hotels, there is no way I can be honest about her name.
My dad might be gullible, and fiscally irresponsible, but he's not stupid.
He can make use of the internet the same as anybody else.
If he finds out Cecily's family is wealthy, he'll be first in line with a list of investment opportunities.
Klein doesn't appear to notice the fib. No elbow nudge, no confused micro-expressions. He's been around my whole life. He's seen it all. He knows. We might give one another a healthy amount of ribbing, but we're more like brothers than cousins. There's nothing I wouldn't do for the guy.
"She works with Paisley," Klein offers, lending Cecily credibility.
My dad grins, showing a mouth full of crooked teeth. "Gotta tell ya, Domino, you don't seem like the Vegas marriage type. Bit of a serial monogomer, aren't you?"
Klein shows zero reaction, but he's a wordy guy, and I happen to know he's cringing on the inside at my dad's invented word. Monogomer.
My dad's right. I've had two relationships, and both lasted approximately two years. They both ended because neither felt right.
"What could be more monogamous than marriage?" I ask glibly, spreading my arms wide.
Mom makes a disbelieving sound with her lips. "Pshh. I wouldn't call this a marriage. It's an oopsie."
It's foolish, but I bristle. Nothing related to Cecily could ever be termed an oopsie. Even if this marriage is, in fact, an accident, I'm opposed to calling it an oopsie.
"An accident, yeah," I say smoothly. Arguing, but not really. My specialty when it comes to my parents.
"Maybe we should meet her," my dad suggests. Alarm bells scream inside my chest.
Not a chance in hell is Cecily meeting my family. I don't care that I met hers.
"Why make it messier than it already is?" I ask, clapping once to signal the end of the conversation.
"Right." Dad nods quickly. "Yeah, sure. No problem. How about we go get something to eat?" He pats my shoulder. "I have a new business venture I want to bring you in on." He cuts the air between us with a flattened palm. "Ground floor."
"Let's grab dinner. Pitch me." Anything to not have to talk more about Cecily. She might despise me, but I want to keep her tucked away from my family.
Mom's relieved smile is all I need to see to know I've made the right choice.
In the end, I pay for dinner. I knew I would. I'd do it no matter what, because I make more money than them, and they're my parents. I even listen to my dad's Rent-a-Raptor business idea.
Thanks to a quick internet search, I'm able to avoid it by informing him it's illegal to rent protected species. And, because he planned on having bald eagles be his big ticket item, I have also managed to save him from himself.
For now.