I didn't answer. My eyes involuntarily flicked toward the pool house window—the one where I knew my father was sitting in a dim room, probably with his head in his hands.
Dominic caught the movement. A slow smirk spread across his face, one that didn't reach his eyes.
“Ah,” he murmured, sitting up just enough to lean his elbows on his knees. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your father finishing off a bottle of scotch before noon, would it?”
The air left my lungs in a sharp whistle. I stared at him, the realization sinking deep into my gut. He’d seen. He’d been watching.
“You did this on purpose,” I whispered. My eyes swept over the crowd, the blasting speakers, the performative chaos. “Last night wasn't enough for you? You had to come back today to finish the job?”
Dominic’s expression didn't soften. If anything, it sharpened into something predatory. “I didn't force the bottle into his hand. I just provided a little… ambiance. If he can’t handle a bit of noise, maybe he should find a job that actually belongs to someone with his resume.”
The fury that surged through me was molten, incinerating the exhaustion of my shift.
“He’s a human being,” I snapped, stepping into his space until I was looking down at him. “But I guess that’s a concept you can’t grasp from up here on your throne. You’re so bored with your own perfect life that you have to spend your time bullying someone who already feels like he lost everything.”
I leaned in, my voice shaking. “Is this what you do when you aren’t behind a wheel? You pick on people who can’t fight back? It must be exhausting, being that much of a coward.”
The tiny muscle in his jaw ticked. It was the only warning I got.
He stood up in one smooth, explosive motion, the sheer scale of him forcing me to stumble back a half-step.
“You want to talk about fighting back?” he said, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that seemed to thrum right through my skin. “Your father took his shot. He missed. Now he’s just a no name that’s terrorizing my father’s lawn. And you?”
His eyes dragged down my body, lingering on the stained SHIFT shirt with a sneer that made my skin crawl. “You’re just the person picking up the pieces and smelling like a fry-cook’s mid-life crisis.”
“At least I’m doing something,” I shot back, my heart hammering against my ribs. “At least I’m not a placeholder with a fast car and a soul made of ice. You’re nothing but a name with too much inheritance, Dominic. Take away the car and the money, and there’s nothing left but an empty shell.”
His eyes flashed—a flare of something I couldn’t name that made the breath catch in my throat.
“You know what?” He stepped closer, his nose almost touching mine, his body completely swallowing me. “You’re right. It is a littletooloud out here.”
I opened my mouth to launch a comeback, but the world suddenly tilted.
“And you,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a split second, “could really use a rinse.”
His hand clamped around my waist—fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt with a sudden, rigid intensity—and he hoisted me off the ground like I weighed nothing. For a split second, I felt his grip hitch, a strange tremor in his strength as if his fingers were momentarily forgetting how to hold on.
“Dominic—put me—!”
Then came the freefall.
The sun and sky swapped places for a heartbeat before the blue swallowed me. The water hit like a punch, cold and shocking, slamming the remaining air from my lungs. I scrambled for the surface, but my sodden clothes and now heavy shoes dragged at my limbs like lead weights, anchoring me in the deep.
Below the surface, the world turned into a silent, turquoise blur. The muffled vibration of the music felt a thousand miles away.
Then, a hand found me.
It wasn't a grab this time. It was a steadying, heavy weight that slid around my stomach. I looked through the sting of chlorine, seeing him as a figure in the bubbles, his face inches from mine. He wasn't moving. He was just... holding me.
I felt his fingers twitch subtly against my side again—a sharp, involuntary spasm—before they pressed firmly into my bare skin where my shirt had hiked up. His palm was searingly hot against the chill of the pool, an electric contact that seemed to vibrate through the water. We stayed there, suspended in that quiet, weightless pocket, his grip tight and desperate in a way his face never was. It lasted a second. It felt like an hour.
Then he shoved me upward.
We broke the surface at the same time, gasping. My hair was a wet, tangled curtain over my face, and reality rushed back in with the roar of the bass and the heat of the sun.
Dominic was right there, drifting in the water. He looked like he hadn't even broken a sweat, but his composure looked painfully forced, and his arms were held strangely stiff at his sides.
“Next time,” he stated, his breath a warm, ragged contrast against my wet ear, “knock before you try to start a fire, Shortcut.”
