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“Tell me you regret it, Sloane.”
I search his face, confused about what exactly he wants me to say I regret. The night we spent together? The past few weeks where I’ve allowed myself to think of him as my home?
“What?”
“You’re asking me why I made the choices I made. Why I didn’t break you and Eric up, so we could be together as if you wanted things to go differently, so tell me. Tell me you regret falling in love with him.” He’s stalking towards me, and with every step he takes forward, I take one back. “Tell me you regret marrying him. Tell me you regret letting him kiss your pretty mouth and claim every inch of your body. Tell me you regret building a life with him and wearing his ring every day. Tell. Me. You. Regret. It.”
I put my hands on his chest to stop him from coming any closer. “No. I don’t regret it.”
And it’s the truth, while I’m actively grieving the future Dom and I lost, I can’t bring myself to regret what I got to have with Eric. It’s just hard for me to think of all of our happy moments together without considering what it must have felt like for Dom.
“I know you don’t, angel. He was your Prince Charming, your knight in shining armor, and all I am is the jealous asshole who fucked his best friend’s widow after years of fantasizing about her. The piece of shit liar who used you to make the dreams of a college freshman come true.”
Our faces are so close I can practically taste the vodka on his breath. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can’t even begin to think about what to do with all the fury building inside of me. Incited by the ugly, nasty words spoken by the man I love who seems determined to hurt me.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Like hell, I don’t.” He barks out a gruff laugh, eyes flaring as he wipes a tear from my cheek with his index finger. “I’m surprised you’re so upset, weren’t you just trying to end this last night?”
I lift my chin. “That was before….” Before I knew I was the woman who put that haunted look on your face. Before I knew I was the woman you loved enough to carry the pain of losing her with you every day.
I don’t say any of those words, but Dom sees them. He sees them etched in my features, stamped across my face like I’ve put them on display just for him. I suppose in a way I have. I know how easily he can read me, even when he’s experiencing the first alcohol-induced buzz of his life, and I wouldn’t have started that sentence, or thought those thoughts, if I didn’t want him to know about them.
The dark eyes I’ve spent weeks falling in love with laugh at me.
“I don’t know what you came here for, angel. This was never supposed to be more than a casual arrangement, and you got what you needed out of it. Your skin should be well and truly sated until you find your next husband.” He’s speaking through clenched teeth, forcing each word out of his mouth. “And don’t worry about anyone finding out about this. I might be a selfish bastard, but I never break a promise.”
He hovers over me for a second. His handsome face twisted into a mixture of self-loathing and anger that would break my heart if I wasn’t so pissed off at the things he’s just said to me. Then he pushes off of the wall and moves back to the couch, shoulders sagging like letting the most hurtful things he’s ever said to me fly out of his mouth have brought him great relief.
In that moment, I hate him. Only a little, not more than I love him, and not enough to lessen the sting as his words settle against my skin. The comment about finding my next husband cuts especially deep, and I think maybe that was the point. I’ve sparred with him enough times to know he’s always precise and intentional with his blows.
Tears swim in my eyes, and I just let them fall. I don’t even care if he knows he’s hurt me. Some part of me wants him to know because it’s still stupidly hoping the sight of them will cause my Dom to resurface and send this monster back to whatever cage it’s been living in.
It feels dumb, trying to reach my Dom when the man in front of me is so eerily familiar to the person I used to dread spending more than a minute around by myself, but I can’t stop because I love him, and I don’t want to believe this is how we end.
Him, drunk and lashing out like an animal with a wound they won’t let anyone see, let alone fix. Me, reaching for him even when he keeps pushing me away. I know this is just pain. This is just him acting out the same way he did when I thanked him after Club Noir.
That was about his father, and I don’t know how exactly, but this is about that old bastard too.
Sometimes I forget about the parallels between my childhood and his. Both of us grew up with one parent whose unconditional love wasn’t enough to shield us from the damage of their narcissistic partners. And as a result, we grew around the shadows they gave us, walking around like open wounds looking for any excuse to turn a spark into a flame. It’s no wonder he took one look at me that night and felt relieved. We’ve always matched each other’s energy. Sometimes in the worst ways, but sometimes—especially over these last few weeks—in the very best ones.
I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to let his father or my mother take another thing from us. And the only way to prevent that from happening is to make him accept that we’re nothing like them.
“You’re so full of shit.” I force the words past the lump in my throat. “All of this talk about not being good enough for me because you’re like your dad or you’re not like Eric. It’s all bullshit, Dominic. You gave up the chance at something great because you saw that your best friend was happy. Selfish men don’t do that.”
I move over to him, sitting on the coffee table and taking his hands in my mine. Dom’s head snaps up, his brows furrowed together in surprise. For a second, I think I see his expression soften in reaction to my tears, but it’s gone in an instant so I continue.
“I can’t say I understand why you didn’t say anything all those years ago, but I’m thankful you didn’t because it gave me a chance to love Eric before his life got cut short. It gave you a chance to love him too, even in the moments you were bitter and jealous and hating both of us for having each other. I don’t know why things worked out the way they did for us, but I’m not sorry. Because in some way I know I couldn’t have been yours if I wasn’t his first.”
Letting go of his hands, I reach up and cradle his face between my palms, forcing him to look at me for this next part. “And I am yours, Dom. I’m so fucking yours, and you don’t even know it because all of the stuff that’s happened over the last few days has stopped me from being able to tell you the one thing I’ve known for a while now: I love you. I love you so much, and you can try to scare me away, but I’m not going anywhere unless you look me in the eyes and tell me this is over.”
The first time I say ‘I love you’ his eyes fall shut, and his face morphs into a pained expression. The second time he shudders as if he’s literally revolted at the idea of me loving him and shakes his head until I release my grip on his face. And when I’m done talking my heart has left my chest and made a new home in my throat.
I feel like I’m going to throw up as I wait for his response. Seconds seem to stretch into hours as I wait for the familiar warmth of that midnight gaze to caress my face, and all the while, I hold my breath.
But when he finally opens his eyes and looks at me, I know I’m not about to get the reaction I was hoping for.
“This is over.”
