“I’m okay now,” he adds. “Let’s get back to sleep.”
I squeeze him gently before slipping back to my side of the bed. My soul is bleeding. This is all my fault. If he hadn’t met me,if I didn’t exist, he would be ok. He wouldn’t be broken and in pain.
He lies down and pulls me into him, his arms circling me tight, like he’s trying to keep me from vanishing.
“Don’t pull away from me in your sleep,” he whispers into my hair.
“Okay,” I breathe.
But neither of us falls back asleep. Not for the rest of the night.
We weren’t supposed to leave the motel for another few days, but… he cut it short. My chest hurts thinking about his nightmare. I did that. I did that to him. I know it, but I’m too afraid to ask the questions plaguing my mind — not afraid of what he’d do, but of the answers he might give me.
We enter the cabin he bought and I turn slowly, taking everything in. It’s… nice. Really nice, actually.
Open concept ground floor, wide and uncluttered. A sunken couch anchors the living room, and a massive TV hangs on the wall across from it. Kitchen’s to the left. Bathroom somewhere to the right. A sleek little office setup straight in the back, where all his brooding and illegal activities will probably take place.
The upstairs bedrooms are offset, hovering over the back of the house instead of directly overhead. A balcony-style hallway overlooks the main space. You could watch everything from up there. Hear everything.
It’s clean. Modern.
And empty.
No art. No shelves. No color. Aside from the couch and the screen, the place feels as vacant as the emptiness of space.
I turn to Dominic. Just as I expected, he’s already watching me, studying my reaction with narrowed eyes, one brow arched in silent question.
“It’s beautiful,” I say honestly. “But it’s empty. Are your things coming from Driftwood?”
“Just the kitchen and office stuff.” He glances around carelessly. “There’s a bed upstairs. A couch down here. TV. What more do we need?”
I blink at him. “You have a shit ton of history books. I’m guessing those are coming from Driftwood, too. Who bought stuff for your house there?”
“Mama,” he says simply.
Ah. Of course.
“So… is Mama furnishing this one too?” I ask, one hand settling on my hip.
His eyes narrow. “If she finds outyou’rehere, she’ll come down and kick both our asses.”
I grin, triumphant. “Then you definitely need my interior designing expertise.”
He snorts, full of condescension. “You have none of that.”
“Excuse you,” I fire back. “I can open an IKEA catalog and recreate one of their already-made setups with two clicks and a vision.”
He smiles that small smile that's uniquely his. “Okay, adorable. It’s a deal. Order what you want.”
I light up, clapping my hands with glee. He just handed me the keys to a kingdom made of Swedish furniture and unnecessary throw pillows. Online shopping, here I come!
I’m caught off guard when his arm loops around my neck, dragging me close.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s eat.”
I stumble beside him into the kitchen, grinning up at his stupid handsome face.
“Do we even have food?”
