As I flee back into the hall, his voice stops me.
“Wait.”
I pause, glancing over my shoulder, avoiding looking directly at him. “Yeah?”
“Don’t go.” His voice is quieter now, softer, almost hesitant. “Just…stay for a minute.”
I falter, only because there’s a vulnerable undercurrent to his request. It tugs at something deep in my chest.
“Okay.” I walk in the steamy bathroom and lean against the sink, arms crossed, trying to act casual even though my pulse feels anything but.
It’s only when he steps to turn off the shower that I see it—just barely at first—a mark on his left shoulder.
My brow furrows as I lean closer, my casual pretense forgotten. “What’s that?”
He glances past me, staring at his reflection in the mirror, his expression is blank, but his jaw is tight.
“What’s what?”
“That scar.” I point, my finger shaky, almost like I’m afraid of the answer. There’s no mistaking it now—a circular scar, about the size of a dime, marred and pale against the tanned and tattooed skin of his shoulder.
Dominic doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sighs and leans a hand against the counter, his head dropping forward slightly. “It’s nothing.”
“Dominic,” I push, stepping around him until I’m close enough to see the faint edge of a matching mark on the backof his shoulder—a through-and-through. My heart tumbles in my chest. “That’s not nothing.”
His eyes finally meet mine, something raw flashing in them. “It was a few months ago. When I was still working for the LAPD.”
“A few months ago?” I echo with a crack. “You—you got shot?”
He straightens, looking away. “It was a robbery gone bad. I wasn’t even supposed to be there, I just happened to be a block away and responded. The call was fora convenience store hold-up. I went in, and…it escalated.” He gestures vaguely to his shoulder, as though it’s explanation enough. “Dispatch said it was a robbery at knifepoint, but one of the robbers was armed. I didn’t even see it until—” He stops, exhaling hard through his nose. “It missed the artery by less than an inch. The doctors said I was lucky.”
Lucky. My stomach knots, bile burning up my throat as I stare at the scar—proof of how close he came to dying.
“You almost died,” I whisper, barely audible, as if saying it quietly will make it less true.
Dominic shrugs, trying for nonchalance, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Comes with the job.”
“You almost died,” I repeat, louder, blinking rapidly, but it does nothing to stop the sting of tears brimming in my eyes. “You almost died—” My words catch again as I break, and I press a hand to my chest, trying to breathe through the ache building there.
The more I said it, the more real it became. What if he had died? What if I never got this chance with him? What if I never saw him again? I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I can’t?—
“Ellie. Hey, hey, hey,” Dominic soothes, his brows pulling together as he takes in my reaction. He steps closer, his large hands gathering my face. He rests his forehead to mine. “I’mokay. I’m okay.” It’s a whisper that blows over the dampness running down my cheeks.
“But you almost weren’t,” I choke out. “That’s not okay to me. You—” I stop, forcing myself to meet his dark penetrating eyes. “You’re not allowed to die.”
It’s the same thing he told me just a few days ago—and now saying it back, I finally understand just how heavy those words really are.
His thumbs brush over my skin in a quiet, grounding motion. So tender and careful, I think my heart might burst.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?” I let out a trembling breath, my tears spilling heavily as I look up at him.
His head moves against mine, nodding, eyes closing as he exhales. “I promise.”
My mind whirls back to him showing up at my parents’ anniversary party when he first moved back. How rude I was, how cold and awful I’ve been to him.
It was my defense mechanism.
