Chapter 14 #3
I continue clearing my throat. Then drink half the glass until the tickling recedes.
How do I explain that house? It holds so many dark memories.
The lonely nights waiting for the ex to come home from so-called late nights working at the office.
Battling Dominic over everything. Schooling, studies, tutors, all the doctors’ visits, and testing to figure out what was going on with him.
Trying to rein in my daughter and her rebellious nature.
If I weren’t exhausted and losing my wits with one of them, then the other would start up. Being a single parent in my marriage was lonely, frustrating, and overwhelming. I became a dry well with nothing to give anyone.
The burn in my throat fades, but the ache in my chest does not. I lower the glass and set it on the counter, avoiding his gaze.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, it’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it.”
He stays standing, unsure whether to sit again or give me space. I glance up at him, the soft glow of the kitchen lights catching in his hair. He looks so young at that moment. Not na?ve but untouched by the weight of decades that I carry in my bones.
“Barrettmoor isn’t like this place.” I push a piece of pita around my plate, needing something to distract me. “It’s cold. Dark. Formal. Looks good in photographs and architecture magazines, but living in it . . .”
I trail off, unable to finish, eating the pita that’s mushy against my tongue. He waits. Not pressing or prodding. Just slides back onto the stool beside me.
“I spent years walking on eggshells in that house. Years trying to hold everything together. Dom was . . . difficult as you know.”
He nods. It’s enough not to have to travel that troublesome road again.
“My daughter, Violette, was . . . a rambunctious teenager. Wanted to grow up fast, drugs, and looking for the male attention she didn’t get from her father from other men. I’m sure you heard her reputation.”
If he did, he doesn’t say either way. Keeps his expression neutral but leans closer without touching.
“Always tension, fighting. Some of the roughest years for all of us. If my ex had been home . . .” I exhale a tired laugh. “Let’s just say he liked the appearance of a family and what they do for his company, but not the actual work it took to keep one.”
“Some men of industry are selfish assholes.”
Despite his blank face, his inflection is full of bitterness. A hint at an undercurrent in his world or my ex, I don’t know.
“I learned that lesson the hard way. I used to think that if I just worked harder and made everything perfect, everyone would get better. Or maybe we could be a better family. Counseling, rehab, therapy, you name it, and I did it, saying it was for the greater good. Convinced that if I kept pushing the kids and myself in the right direction, things would shift and change. It never did. Made everything worse. I burned myself down to the wick trying to make everyone happy.”
I shake my head, the sting returning to my throat, but this time, it’s emotional. Tears careen down my face. Hot and fast.
“I ruined my family. Ruined it in that house.”
I will not make a complete spectacle of myself by crying. Just a silent stream of pain flowing from my eyes down my makeup-less face. Hollister puts his arms around my shoulders and draws me in, holding me as I let it out.
His face rests in my hair. Light kisses to my head while his fingers tangle with mine.
It’s more comfort than I’ve ever received about this situation.
It only makes me cry harder. Not ugly cry, but enough to see the raw pain that still resides deep within my soul.
A river of guilt and regret that will never cease to flow into an ocean of self-loathing as a parent.
His thumb strokes the top of my hand.
“You didn’t ruin your family. They are strong, like you, because of everything.”
The words are whispered like a prayer, like he’s not even sure I’ll hear them. But I do. They settle somewhere deep in my chest, where my shame lives. The part of me that still wonders if I broke my children just by trying so hard to hold them together.
He pulls back only enough to look at me. His hand comes up, wiping one tear with the back of his knuckle. My lip trembles, and I swallow down another sob before it can rise. I pull away gently, needing air. Needing space to recover what little composure I have left.
I dab at my eyes with a napkin, blinking through the haze.
“Thank you.”
He watches me for a second, then shifts his weight.
“I probably shouldn’t say this, but . . .”
I glance over at him. He runs a hand through his hair.
“Dominic’s been back there. At Barrettmoor.”
That stops me cold.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” He looks up, cautious now. “He’s, uh . . . he’s been seeing someone. She’s a profiler, smart from what I hear.”
I straighten a little.
“He has?”
He nods, leaning his forearms on the counter.
“I only know because Diego mentioned it once, in passing, when I asked if Dom was riding with us. Something about him taking her to his estate. Said she’s good for him. Levels him out.”
I stare at the polished granite countertop, trying to take it in.
My mind reels.
Dominic.
Back at Barrettmoor.
Bringing someone with him. Someone to break through the grudges and bitterness he holds onto like a lifeline. It’s shocking. Something he’d never divulge to me.
“How long ago was this?” I ask, my voice trills and thins to my own ears.
“A few weeks? Maybe a month. I didn’t ask for details. It didn’t feel like it was my place.”
I don’t know what I feel, shocked, curious, maybe even a little envious. Not of the woman. But of the possibility. Of the idea that Dom could revisit that place and not be broken by it. That maybe he’s healing in ways I haven’t let myself consider.
“That surprises me.”
It’s all I can think to say. He watches me, careful and quiet.
“I thought it might. That’s why I hesitated mentioning it.”
“No.”
My hand claps over his, needing to assure him that his confession is good news.
“I’m glad you told me. I just, uh, I didn’t expect it. The place is practically closed up except for a small staff for maintenance.”
“Knowing Dom, he’s probably kept it that way. You know he despises the trapping of wealth.” Hollister chuckles, but it’s hollow and empty. “He’s trying, I think. But aren’t we all trying to live the life we want, Babs?”
I nod slowly, emotions tightening in my throat again. Not from guilt this time. From the hope in his voice. The healing that is taking place in all of us.
Even for me.
“Yes, I suppose we are.”