Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
Dominic
Four days. Four days since my entire world imploded.
I take another swig from the bottle, letting the whiskey burn down my throat. It's not helping. Nothing is helping. I haven't slept more than two hours at a stretch since she left.
Since they both left.
The house feels hollow now. Too big, too empty, too silent. The sketches Skye left behind still hang in my office—I couldn't bring myself to take them down. Except for one. The one she left on her bed with that single word that gutted me.
Cherry.
Her safe word. The final boundary. The ultimate stop. The reminder that what we had wasn't real, couldn't last, was doomed from the start.
I should have known better. I'm the adult here—the one with the experience, the one who should have maintained control. Instead, I let myself fall for a college girl half my age. My daughter's best friend.
Harper still isn't speaking to me. At least she's safe at Logan's, according to his check-in calls. He won't tell me much more than that—just that she needs time. Time to what? Forgive me? Forget that her father fell in love with her best friend?
Love.
The word sits heavy in my mind, impossible to ignore any longer. That's what this is. That's what hurts so goddamn much. Somewhere between that first night and now, I fell in love with Skye Caldwell. And now she's gone.
She even wired back all the money I sent her. Every penny except what she'd already spent. Like she was erasing any trace of our connection, severing the final thread between us.
My phone pings, illuminating the darkness of my bedroom. I grab it from the nightstand, hoping against hope it's Harper or Skye.
It's not. It's a notification from Good Girls Gone Live.
Cherry Red is going live.
My thumb hovers over the notification. I shouldn't. This is exactly the kind of unhealthy bullshit I need to avoid if I'm ever going to move on. But the whiskey has weakened my resolve, and before I can talk myself out of it, I click the flashing icon.
She appears on my screen, and my breath catches.
She's sitting on a bed I don't recognize—probably back in Pennsylvania.
The short red wig frames her face, and her makeup is heavy, transforming her into someone who looks older, harder, nothing like the soft-eyed girl who sketched in my office and slept in my arms.
The black lace barely covers her, and despite everything, my body responds. I hate myself for it, but I can't look away.
"Hey boys," she says, her voice different—practiced, performative. Nothing like the breathless way she'd say my name when I touched her. "Miss me?"
The comments start flooding in immediately. Guys welcoming her back, asking where she's been, telling her what they want to do to her. Each comment makes my jaw clench tighter.
"I've been... away," she says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "But I'm back now."
She needs money because she returned what I gave her. She's doing this—exposing herself to these strangers—because of me. Because of us.
"Let's see if we can hit some goals tonight," she continues, adjusting the camera slightly. "First goal is for the bra to come off."
I watch as the tip counter at the bottom of the screen starts climbing rapidly. These men can't wait to see what I've touched, what I've tasted, what I've worshipped with my hands and mouth. What I stupidly thought was mine.
She looks directly into the camera, and for a second, I swear she can see me watching. Her eyes seem to darken, and there's something there—a flash of the real Skye beneath the Cherry Red persona. Pain. Anger. Loss.
I close the app abruptly, tossing my phone across the bed like it's burned me. What the fuck am I doing? This is pathetic. I'm pathetic, sitting here drinking alone, watching her perform for other men, spiraling into self-pity.
This isn't who I am. I don't fall apart over women. I don't lose control.
Except I did. With her, I did.
I cap the whiskey bottle and set it on the nightstand.
Enough. If I've lost my daughter and the woman I love, it won't be because I was too weak to fight for them.
I need to fix this—all of it. I need to talk to Harper, make her understand that what happened with Skye wasn't just some middle-aged crisis or perverse desire.
And Skye... I need to tell her the truth. That I didn't mean what I said. That she wasn't a mistake—she was the most real thing that's happened to me in years.
I reach for my phone again, opening my contacts. I start with the Harper first, shooting off a text to Logan.
Me: I need to see her, IDC if she wants to see me or not I have something I need to tell her. I'll be by in the morning make sure she's there.
I stare at the message for a moment after sending it to Logan. The conversation is as tense as our relationship has been since this all went down. He's walking a fine line between Harper and me.
My phone vibrates with his response.
Logan: Okay but she's going to kill me.
Me: I can live with that.
Logan: No need to be bitchy.
Logan: I'll make sure she's here.
Me: Thanks.
At least that's one problem temporarily solved. I have no idea what I'm going to say to her, but I know I need to say something. This silence between us is unbearable. She deserves an explanation, an apology—everything I can give her.
But there's someone else I need to reach out to first.
I pull up Skye's contact. My thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before I type out the message.
Me: I don't like people seeing what's mine.
The moment I send it, I regret the possessiveness, the presumption. She's not mine anymore—if she ever truly was. And watching her on that cam site was a mistake. I'm no better than the other men throwing money at her.
But the thought of her performing for them, showing what she'd only shown to me in private... it cuts deeper than I want to admit.
She doesn't respond, and I didn't expect her to. The message shows as delivered, though, which means she hasn't blocked me. That's something, at least. A tiny window I might be able to pry open.
I set my alarm for 6 AM and put my phone on the charger. Tomorrow will be a long day. I need to be clear-headed for Harper, and that means getting some sleep.
I lie down and close my eyes, but sleep remains elusive.
My mind races with all the things I need to do tomorrow.
How to approach Harper. What to say to make her understand this wasn't just some sick fantasy about her best friend.
How to explain that what Skye and I had was real, despite how it might look from the outside.
And Skye... what do I even say to her? That I'm sorry for how I reacted? That I miss her? That watching her perform for others tore me apart?
That I love her?
The thought hangs there, unavoidable now that I've admitted it to myself. I love her. And I've never been more terrified of anything in my life.
I didn't sleep much last night. By the time my alarm goes off, I've been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour, rehearsing what to say to Harper. Nothing sounds right. There's no perfect way to tell your daughter you've fallen in love with her best friend.
I shower and dress carefully—dark jeans, a simple blue button-down. Nothing that looks like I'm trying too hard, but still showing respect for the conversation we're about to have. The bakery opens at seven, and I'm their first customer, picking up an assortment of Harper's favorites.
I knock on Logan's door just before eight. I don't wait long before he's opening up for me.
"She's drinking coffee in the dining room," he says, his expression cautious.
I'm still not sure why she came here of all places. I know she has friends her own age, so why is she staying with my best friend? I push the thought away because now is not the time to question her choices.
When I walk into the room, she looks up and glares at me. Her eyes are rimmed with red, and she's clearly been crying.
"I come with gifts," I say, holding up a box of pastries from her favorite bakery.
She doesn't soften, but I set them down in front of her anyway and take a seat beside her. Logan makes himself scarce, giving us privacy.
"Harper, I'm sorry I lied to you and snuck around behind your back," I begin, my heart hammering in my chest. "I'm sorry it was with your best friend, but I love her, Harp. I didn't mean to and I definitely did not want to fall in love with your friend, but I did."
"You love her?" she asks, skepticism clear in her voice.
I nod, not trusting my voice for a moment. "I do."
"Does she love you?" she asks, and the question cuts to the heart of my fear.
"I don't know," I say, because I don't. "But I hope she does."
She stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "So what now? My best friend will be my new step mom?"
"No," I say quickly. "She will still just be your friend, and I will never forgive myself if I get in the way of that. She loves you. You're her favorite person in the world. So please, even if you can't forgive me, forgive her. She needs you."
"I don't know," she says, looking away.
"Let me ask you this," I say, leaning forward. "Do you know about her auction?"
She looks at me funny. "Yeah. What do you know about it?"
"Logan and Ethan bid on her with my profile, and I won.
" Her eyes widen with shock, and she looks like she's about to interrupt with a thousand questions.
"Let me finish. I flew out there to meet her.
I wanted to let her know in person that I was not going through with it, and I did.
I was really attracted to her, but she's so young, and I didn't want to pay for her... you know. So that was it, all done."
Harper looks like things are coming together for her, pieces falling into place.
"But then I picked you two up from the airport, and imagine my surprise meeting her.
We acted like we never met. I really didn't want to explain to you how we met, and then we talked and said we were going to put it behind us and just start fresh.
But things happened, and we got closer. I tried to stay at work more, stay away from her, but it didn't work. "
I take a deep breath. "She makes me happy. She takes care of me, makes me laugh. I want to go to her, but I need you to be okay with it."
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. "I don't know if I can forgive either of you, but I don't want to be the one standing in your way."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
She opens the box and takes out a croissant, taking a bite. "So what now?" she asks, her voice softer.
"I'm going to Pennsylvania to get her," I say with conviction.
"She's not going to come back here," she says, and I know she's right.
"Then I'll stay there," I say, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.
"In Pennsylvania?" she asks incredulously. "For how long?"
"For as long as it takes. I'll move there if I have to. I know she doesn't want to leave her mom behind."
She stares at me for a long moment, truly seeing me perhaps for the first time in this conversation.
"Fuck, you do love her," she says, the realization dawning.
"I do," I say simply.