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“Yeah,” I continued, suppressing a laugh. “I made a joke that if we won, I’d start table dancing. So, when we did win, they played one of the songs from the movie soundtrack and I began dancing on our booth. Juan had already been making jokes about how sloppy and how drunk I was. I hadn’t felt that intoxicated, but I guess I was wrong. I went too far with the dancing and got dizzy– probably from the alcohol.”
He leaned forward again, and I felt him nod against my back. He dipped the washcloth into the hot bath water, and then squeezed it out against my shoulders before rubbing it across my skin.
I continued, “Anyway, I jumped up too fast and hit my head on the light above our booth. I guess I knocked myself out and fell off the table in front of the entire fucking bar.” I took a breath as I realized my throat was about to begin constricting with the memory. “When I woke up, I was on the ground and bleeding. Everyone was staring at me. The bartender had to clear out the entire space. I pretty much ruined everyone’s night.” My eyes grew heavy. “I made such a fucking fool out of myself.”
A tear spilled down my cheek. “It was just… humiliating.” Dom squeezed my shoulder. A silent understanding, and a request for me to continue. “My ex used to tell me all the time that I go too far. I’m too loud. I get too excited. I make too much noise and demand too much attention, and that it blows up in my face. My parents tell me that I’m never going to find a good man because I make these impulsive decisions. Because I’m too wild and reckless. That I need to try harder at being ‘wife material.’”
Without warning, a sob broke from me. Something I must’ve been holding in for a while.
The water sloshed as I brought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I realized that Dom was no longer running the towel across my back, but his hands. Drawing soothing circles. Something about the gesture broke my seal, and I spilled open in front of him. My head fell to the top of my knees as my tears began to freefall.
“Mace,” Dom whispered, his own voice sounding broken. “I’m so sorry, baby.” I felt him push me forward again, and the water rocked against my legs as he slipped into the tub behind me. His entire front pressed against my back, his long arms wrapping around me and curling me against his chest. I couldn’t help myself from nuzzling against him. His skin was warm where it pressed against mine. His arms were strong where they held me. He wrapped me in a cocoon of warmth and comfort.
“I feel like no matter where I go, or what I do, I can’t be myself. I'm either too loud. Too wild and reckless. Too stubborn. Or I’m not smart enough. Not sophisticated enough. Not accomplished enough,” I whispered. “I’m either too much for someone, or not enough for them. I’m always being judged. I never feel safe in my own skin. In any environment I find myself in.”
“There is nothing wrong with you,” he said immediately. He dropped his chin into the crease of my neck and my shoulder. “Please don’t think that. You deserve to feel authentic and independent and safe in your surroundings. I’m sorry that the world doesn’t allow you to do that, but I don’t ever want you to feel like it’s because there is something wrong withyou.” He brushed my hair behind my shoulder. “There is nothing wrong with being stubborn. It means you know how to stand your ground. Stand up for yourself and have confidence in your decisions and your opinions. Being impulsive and reckless isn’t always a bad thing, either. It means you’re open to taking risks and living life on your own terms before you live it on anyone else’s. I think that’s one of the most beautiful things about you, Macie. So, please, don’t change anything about yourself.”
I couldn’t form any sort of response to what he’d just said. Couldn’t comprehend it, or even begin to unpack what it meant. What it meant about the way he truly thought about me. Instead, I just settled into him, hoping that would say what I couldn’t.
After a moment, I responded, “I’m afraid to tell Penelope. I feel like she is supposed to be the one person in the world to truly understand me. Most of the time, she is, but I know with this, she’s going to have the same opinion as everyone else. She won’t say it, but I’ll be able to see it in her eyes. If she had been there she would’ve been embarrassed by me too. She would think I was too much.”
“That’s okay,” he whispered. “You and Penelope were destined to be friends because you’re not exactly alike. She’s cautious and guarded– for good reason. But she needed someone in her life to bring out the spark in her. To help her glitter. To make her excited about living in a time that she wasn’t. To help her take risks. Live more freely.”
“She has Carter,” I whispered.
I felt Dom shake his head. “Sometimes, yes. But his first instinct is always going to be to protect her. To be her safe place. Her comfort zone. That isn’t what she needs from you. She needs you to push her out of her comfort zone sometimes. You don’t need to be her safe place, and she doesn’t need to be yours. She’s here to teach you to think deeply, to be cautious where it’s needed. To give you some of the things she has, because you give her sparkles, too. That is the reason fate paired you two, not to be each other’s safe places.”
I nodded. What he said made sense. Except… “If she isn’t my safe place, then I don’t think I have one.” My throat felt tight again. “I’m not sure I ever have.”
Dom silently braced his arms on the edge of the tub and stood up as water splashed around us. He stepped out onto the mat on the floor. Water dripped off the hem of his soaked underwear and cascaded down his long legs. He didn’t respond as he walked over to the sink and grabbed an empty spray bottle from underneath it before filling it with water from the faucet.
He made his way back over to the tub and climbed in, taking his previous position. He set the spray bottle on the ledge and began slowly combing his fingers through my hair, pulling it behind my head. “You’re safe with me, Mace. Your thoughts, actions, feelings. They’re all safe with me.” A dry curl fell against my cheek, and he smiled as he pulled it behind my ear. “When you feel like the world thinks you’re being too much, or you’re not being enough, you call me, okay? And I’ll remind you that you are perfect exactly the way you are.”
I felt my bottom lip tremble, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop the tears that threatened to fall. I tilted my head back so my eyes could meet his, returning his smile with my own. I wasn’t sure what else I could say. Wasn’t sure words existed for the way I felt.
He wanted to be my safe place. And I knew it couldn’t be in the same way that Carter was to Penelope. I knew that. But right now, whatever he was offering me, it was enough.
Chapter 9
Domtwistedthecapoff the spray bottle and poured water across my forehead, careful to miss the cut there. I closed my eyes as I felt him reach for my shampoo on the shelf next to me. “Jeez, Mace, is this the only shampoo you have?”
“Oh please,” I scoffed, “like you’re not one of those all-in-one budget brand shampoo, bodywash, and toothpaste users.”
“I’m not,” he chuckled. “And this shampoo is definitely not good for your curls. Did your mom ever teach you which products are best for your hair type?”
“No,” I grumbled. “My mom doesn’t have curly hair. I’ve kind of taught myself…but most of the time it’s a fucking nightmare to deal with so I just throw it out or let it be it’s wild self.” My hair was often frizzy and frayed around my face, but I’d convinced myself it made me charming. “I don’t really attempt to style it unless I’m going out.”
“Well one of the reasons it’s a nightmare is because of the way you’re taking care of it.”
I felt defensive at that, for some reason. “Fuck off.”
He laughed again, as if he knew my lashing held no weight. I heard the cap to the shampoo pop, and then his hands were back in my hair, massaging my scalp. I withheld a pleasurable groan as he massaged my scalp, working around my cut. My head had been throbbing all night, but for the first time, it began to disappear. Almost as if his skin against my own was magic.
“When you’re drying it, don’t rub the towel across your scalp, that’ll make it frizzy. Just squeeze the water out of it.” He rinsed the shampoo from my hair and I heard conditioner plop into his palm. He began running his fingers through my ends, separating the strands and looping some of the curls through his fingers. “And don’t run a brush through it when it’s almost dry. Brush it softly while it’s still wet.” I savored the warmth of his hands on my head, of his breath near my neck. I found myself leaning into his touch as he massaged the back of my neck. “Then, finger comb your hair with a leave-in to define the curls. This brand sucks, but I can figure out what my mom uses and get you some.”
“How do you know all that?” I asked.
It was almost as if I could feel him smile at that. “My cousin, Allie, ha– has curly hair.” He cleared his throat. “She used to live with us when we were kids. We’d sit on the living room floor together in the mornings and watch cartoons over breakfast while my aunt did Allie’s hair.” I felt him shrug. “I used to watch my aunt. When I grow mine out, I’ve got the same kind of curls they do, and I went through a phase where I wanted my hair long too,” he chuckled. “I did not pull it off as well as I thought I would. But I do know what I’m doing.”
