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It feels like us.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I say before taking the last bite of my burrito.
“That’s a long list,” she says, but her voice is light and teasing so I don’t take it personally. She dramatically taps her chin while she hums.
“Hmm, something you don’t know. About me? Or about anything?”
“About you obviously.”
She shrugs. “You know all there is to know about me,” she says and then takes a bite of her taco.
I fold my hands together and lean forward on the table. “I doubt that’s true. I’ve been an especially shitty friend lately, so I’m sure there’s something that’s happened in the last few months you probably didn’t tell me. Come on, lay it on me.”
Her mouth turns down as her eyes drop to the table for a second, but I already saw the sadness that glimmered in those blue depths. Her voice is soft, almost apologetic when she says, “Here’s the thing, Dom. I did tell you everything, even when you were spectacularly shitty, so if there’s something you don’t know then it’s probably because you weren’t listening to me. And I’m not really sure what to tell you now because I don’t know what you were paying attention to and what you weren’t.”
A sharp pain slices through me as her words make their mark. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice hoarse. I know she didn’t say it to be hurtful—the soft, apologetic tone made that clear—but her honesty hurts, even if I know I need to hear it. I’d rather she be painfully honest with me than keep her guard up like she’s been doing lately.
“I believe you.” Her eyes warn me that the next words out of her mouth are also going to hurt—the apology in them still crystal clear, but the resolute strength there too. “But I don’t know if ‘I’m sorry’ is good enough anymore.”
Silence sits heavy between us as I process her words. I know what I need to do. I just don’t know if anything will be enough to save us. And that guts me in a way nothing has since my mom died—that same hollow emptiness spreading inside me.
“Will you come somewhere with me?”
She nibbles her lip for a split second, then says, “Where?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she says, not hesitating this time. It’s something, and I’ll take anything I can get from her at this point.
“Then let’s go.” I stand up and reach out my hand for her. We’re still supposed to be on our date, but I also like the feel of her soft palm wrapped in mine.
When she takes my hand, a mix of calmness and relief fills me. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep this woman in my life, even if I know I don’t deserve her.
Seventeen
We end up at the beach, but not just any beach. Our beach. The first beach we drove to when we both moved to LA. The second we hit the sand, I slide out of my shoes—a cute pair of wedges—and carry them by two fingers in the heels. Dom walks beside me with a spare blanket he had in his trunk in one arm and his other hand holding mine.
He’s been doing that a lot tonight, and it’s kind of messing with my head—maybe because I’m still confused about those “moments” we kept having at the movie premiere.
We’ve never shied away from physical touch, but they were hugs mostly, maybe the occasional cuddle on the nights we’d fall asleep at each other’s place. But we never held hands for extended lengths of time.
I don’t know what to do with this version of Dom. And I hate him a little bit for making me fall a little more for him when I’m trying so hard to fall less.
The wind picks up and I shiver, moving closer to Dom’s warmth. He loosens his grip on my hand, and for a second, my heart falters thinking he’s going to pull away, but then he wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me tighter against him.
I’m so tired of fighting my feelings for him, so I don’t do the smart thing and pull away like I know I should. Instead, I lean into him, soaking up his body heat and feeling his firm muscles underneath his clothes that are a reminder of how strong he is, even in moments when he’s a gentle giant like right now.
“Maybe the beach in January was a bad idea…”
I can’t stop the giggle that escapes. We both grew up in Idaho and can handle some cold-ass winters—much colder than anything we get in Southern California—and he knows it.
We find a spot about halfway down the beach, and Dom spreads out the blanket before we settle down on it side by side, our shoulders and hips touching and his warmth offering me comfort.
The only sound for a long time is the crashing of the waves hitting the shore. Peace settles deep in my bones, my toes in the sand grounding me.
How many nights have we spent just like this in the past? And how many times did I wish for the courage to finally tell him how I felt? I thought maybe coming here under the pretense of being a couple might ruin my happy place, but instead, it settles me, makes me feel safe from the inevitable pain that will come when this all ends.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I whisper, afraid to break the silence but needing desperately to get out of my own head.
