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And I pretend I didn’t just catch my stepbrother ogling me.
“Where’s Dad?”
I swallow, then smile up at Dominick. “Showering. He barely beat you getting home.”
Dominick nods and leans back against the counter. That’s when I notice just how tired he looks. He just came off a double yesterday and then had to go in again today.
“Hey,” I walk over to him. “You doing okay?” I bump my shoulder into his. “You sure this new schedule isn’t too much?”
Even with his eyes closed and his head tipped back, I see his jaw tense. “I can do it. I have to. There are only four spots in the advanced cardio-thoracic residency program at Boston General. I am going to get one of them.”
“I know you will.” I’m not just blowing smoke up his backside either. I can’t imagine anyone else who works or studies harder than Dominick. He just started his residency but already he’s thinking about advancing. He’s good enough too, from what Dad says, even though he’s the youngest of his fellow residents. My first impression of him as a pretty playboy was completely wrong. He never goes out or parties. Every night he’s home, studying or sleeping. He never gives himself a break.
I lift his arm and nestle in for a hug. I squeeze him tight around his middle. “There’s no way you won’t get it. You work your ass off and you’re a genius. Plus, you genuinely care about the people you come across every day. I know you could barely sleep the other night, you were worrying so much about Mr. Nunez after his surgery last week.”
Holding him as tight as I am, I feel the huge expulsion of air as he breathes out what feels like a mountain of stress.
“Damn. You always make me feel better. How do you do that?”
Does he have any idea how happy his words make me? That I’m able to affect his mood and make things even an iota better for this amazing man, God, that’s everything. I turn my face up toward him and grin so hard I’m pretty sure my face will break.
He smiles down at me. It’s breathtaking. Heartbreaking, because he still looks so tired. Always so weary. I wish I could really make it better for him in more than just a surface way.
“I love seeing my two kiddos getting along so well.”
I jerk away from Dominick at hearing Dad’s voice. I look up and see him standing in the doorway of the kitchen. I don’t even know why. It’s not like we were doing anything wrong. It’s just— I— I mean—
“The marsala’s ready,” I blurt, turning away from both of them.
“Smells delicious,” Dad says.
“Thanks,” I say, my cheeks heating stupidly as I reach up and grab plates from the cabinet. When I turn back to get the rice and marsala to dish out, music plays from Dad’s ipod that he’s set in the dock by the window—the blues, like he always puts on when it’s his turn to choose the music. Dominick’s busy setting silverware by the plates.
I can’t help pausing and just watching the two of them. A woman’s deep, soulful voice rings out from the speakers, providing the perfect soundtrack to the moment. God, I can’t believe that at nineteen, I’ve finally found the family I never had.
Dad sees me watching him and smiles. He comes over to me and lifts my right hand up, his other hand moving to my waist just like he did at the wedding. Then he pivots and before I know it, we’re dancing around the kitchen. I let out a little yip of surprise and then laugh as he spins me out and then back into his chest.
The song changes to a faster tune and when Dad spins me again, he lets go. I almost cry out but needn’t have worried. Dominick is right there to catch me. He expertly picks up where his father left off. More familiar with the form now, my right hand immediately lifts and Dominick’s is there to meet mine.
We dance and spin a few times and then right as the jazzy number reaches a frantic chorus, Dominick dips me to the floor.
Naturally, this elicits another squeal out of me.
Dominick rolls me back up to standing and pulls me so close that when we’re chest to chest, I can feel just how hard he’s breathing.
And then, as suddenly as he first grabbed me, he releases me. “Let’s eat before the delicious food you made gets cold.”
I step back, nodding and hoping I don’t look as flustered as I feel.
“You sit,” Dad says, putting his hands on my shoulders and giving a quick massage as he directs me toward my chair. “I know you’ve had a long day too, and you cooked. Let us take care of you for once.”
