22. Dom
Dom
I carry Amara outside to the pool area, cradling her carefully against my chest. Her body feels fragile in my arms, lighter than I remember. The bruises on her face have faded from angry purple to a sickly yellow, but they still make my blood boil every time I look at them.
“You don’t have to carry me,” she protests weakly. “I can walk.”
“You can barely stand without getting dizzy,” I remind her, my voice gentler than I use with anyone else. “Let me do this.”
I ease her into the cushioned lounge chair, sliding a pillow behind her back. She grimaces as she settles in, and I immediately adjust the pillow.
“Better?” I ask, hovering over her.
She nods, squinting against the sunlight. I adjust the umbrella, casting her in a comfortable shade.
The ocean breeze lifts her hair, and for a moment, she closes her eyes, seeming to savor the fresh air.
“You need this,” I tell her. “Being cooped up inside isn’t good for healing.”
When she opens her eyes again, she’s studying me with that curious, cautious look she’s had since waking up in the hospital. Like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve.
“Why do you grimace?” I ask, noticing the tiny flinch she tries to hide.
“My ribs hurt when I breathe too deeply,” she admits. “The doctors said they’re bruised, not broken, but I’m not sure.”
I clench my jaw. I’m going to kill whoever put her in this state.
“So you’re not my dad,” she says, staring at me. The sun catches the blue in her eyes—her real mother, Aurora’s eyes.
“You’re my stepdad.”
“That’s right, Amara,” I tell her, settling into the chair beside her, watching how the breeze lifts strands of her dark hair.
“Do I have a dad? Or is he dead?” she asks suddenly.
I shake my head. “He’s alive, and he came to the hospital to visit you.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You were unconscious.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Can I talk to him?”
“I’ll contact him for you. Because I’m sure your mother hasn’t since you arrived home.”
“What happened between you and my mom? How long have you been together? Since I was little?”
“No! Not long at all.”
“And I still live here?” she asks, no doubt shocked by the realization her mom doesn’t live here but Milly and she are. “Did she not want Milly and me to live with her?”
“We can talk about that when you’re well again.” I don’t want to thrust too much knowledge on her at the moment.
“Who is Caleb?” she asks suddenly.
My entire body tenses. Hearing his name on her lips feels like a knife between my ribs, but I keep my face neutral. I try to look unaffected but inside rage bubbles up like hot oil. Of all the things for her to remember, it had to be him.
“Who is Caleb?” she repeats when I don’t answer.
I watch her studying my face, her eyes tracing my features like she’s trying to piece together a memory. She’s always been observant, my piccola. Too observant for her own good.
“He was my best friend,” I say finally, my voice flat. I deliberately use past tense. After what happened at the club, after seeing him there, after learning what he’s been doing with Amara—friendship is the last thing on my mind.
Amara shifts uncomfortably in her chair, wincing slightly. The movement pulls her thin t-shirt across her chest, and I force my eyes away. Then stand abruptly, needing distance.
“It’s getting hot,” I mutter, pulling my shirt over my head.
I feel her eyes on me as I toss the shirt onto a nearby chair. When I turn back, she’s staring at my chest, my arms, with a mixture of confusion and something else—something that makes my blood run hotter.
“You look at me like that often,” I tell her, unable to stop myself.
She blushes, her cheeks turning a delicate pink. “I do?”
“Yes.” I sit back down, leaning toward her. “You were asking about Caleb. Why?”
I watch Amara’s face as she processes what I’ve told her about Caleb. Something flickers in her eyes—recognition, perhaps? Fear? I can’t tell, and it drives me crazy not knowing what’s going on in that beautiful head of hers.
“He visited me,” she blurts.
My body goes rigid. “Where? Here? In my home?”
She nods her head. “Milly asked him to visit so I wouldn’t wake up alone. She had something to do.”
My jaw clenches so hard I hear my teeth grind. Milly. Of course. That girl doesn't know what she’s done, inviting a snake into Amara’s room when she was vulnerable. When I get my hands on—
“What did he say to you?” I keep my voice controlled, though inside I’m seething.
“Nothing much.” She looks down at her hands. “But he called me bunny. Do you know why?”
The nickname hits me like a bullet. Bunny. Sweet Bunny. Her name on that fucking website.
He knows. He’s known all along.
I try to brush it off, shrugging my shoulders. “No idea.”
But Amara isn’t satisfied. She presses further, those blue eyes of hers drilling into me. “Are you sure? You looked like you recognized it.”
“Why do you ask? Do you remember him?” I press, feeling like I’m stepping onto thin ice.
“No, but I did hear his name in the hospital when I first woke up.”
My eyes narrow. “He betrayed me.”
I observe her reaction. She shivers slightly, and I wonder if she can hear the promise of violence in my voice. Good. She should know I’m dangerous. Maybe then she’ll stay away from him.
“How did he betray you?” she whispers.
I lean closer, my face inches from hers. I’m so close to her I can smell her minty breath. I can see every freckle scattered across her nose. And the bruises that mean I will kill again.
I want to tell her everything—how Caleb’s brother is a detective and how he’s been using her and almost got her killed. But I can’t. Not yet.
“That’s not something you need to worry about right now.”
“But it was your voice. It was you arguing with him in the hospital.”
I clench my jaw. “Yes, I was arguing with Caleb.”
“Was it about me?” she breathes.
“Yes, it was about you.”
The gentle lapping of the pool water and distant calls of seabirds create a peaceful soundtrack to the thundering sound my blood is making in my ears.
“Oh.”
I turn and watch Amara’s eyelids grow heavy. We’ve sat in comfortable silence for an hour now. I waited for her to ask more about Caleb, but first she needs to know more about herself.
Her breathing slows, becomes deeper, and soon her head lolls to the side as she falls asleep on the lounge bed. Her face is peaceful, free from the confused frown she’s worn since waking in the hospital.
I stand quietly, moving toward her with careful, light steps and slide one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders. When I lift her against my chest, her head nestles naturally into the crook of my neck.
“Dom,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my skin sends shivers down my spine.
“Shh,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
I carry her through the house to her bedroom, nudging the door open with my foot. The room is cool and dim with the curtains drawn. I lay her gently on the bed, careful not to jostle her injured ribs.
She stirs as her head touches the pillow, eyes fluttering open to look at me.
“Rest,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’ll recover quicker if you rest more.”
She blinks sleepily up at me. “You can’t have wanted to kill me,” she murmurs, “if you want my memory to come back.”
I freeze, my hand still cupping her cheek. “Why would I want to kill you, piccola?” I ask, my voice rougher than intended. “You’re the only good thing in my life.”
“I am?”
“You are.”
She smiles and her eyes close again, satisfied with my answer or simply too tired to question me further.
Within moments, her breathing evens out again. I stay there, watching her sleep, fighting the urge to climb in beside her, and hold her safe against me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I quickly answer it with a hushed, “Yes,” as I leave the room, pulling the door closed behind me.
“I’m moving back into the house,” Helena announces without introduction. As always, her voice grates on my nerves like sandpaper.
“No, you’re not,” I reply flatly, walking down the hallway to put distance between me and Amara’s room.
“She’s my daughter, Dominic. I need to look after her.”
“Stepmother...”
“I brought her up.”
I laugh. It’s a harsh sound with no humor. “Now you want to play mother? After you’ve spent years treating her and her sisters like they were an inconvenience?”
“She needs me,” Helena insists. “She doesn’t even remember you.”
“She doesn’t remember you either, and here she has all the care she needs,” I tell her. “My answer is final.”