“Hey, Dom. Sure, help yourself. It’ll put hair on your chest.”
I chuckle because it’s the same thing he always says and help myself to a glass. The fiery liquid burns a trail down into my gut and I down the entire thing, then pour another.
“What happened the other night?” Dad asks without preamble. “You can’t go around assaulting people. I don’t care how pissed you are.”
I shrug. “I just found out that Fiona’s dating Cris. I don’t appreciate it and I told her so.”
Dad raises an eyebrow. “And then you showed Cris with your fists? I always told you, Dom… I don’t want you to start things. You can always finish them, but don’t start them.”
I shake my head and set my glass down. “Cris started this long ago, Dad. And there’s going to come a point where I need to finish it. For real.”
My father levels his green gaze at me. “You ever going to tell us what the hell happened with you two? He spent almost as much time here growing up as you did. If there’s something I need to know, I’d appreciate knowing it.”
My gut tightens.
It’s not that I don’t want to tell them. It’s that I can’t. I can’t f**king talk about it. Every time I try, the words freeze in my chest and they won’t pass my tongue. They’re just too f**king ugly to say.
My father raises an eyebrow. “Well?”
I shake my head. “It’s between him and me. If Fiona doesn’t want to listen, that’s her problem.”
Dad rolls his eyes and downs his whiskey. “I thought you’d say that. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that he’s coming tonight. We didn’t know you were or we wouldn’t have invited him.”
I stare at him dumbly. I shouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t even call to tell them I was coming. But still. It’s my f**king home and I shouldn’t have to tiptoe around wondering when and if Cris f**king Evans will be here.
Shit.
“Great,” I mumble. “It’s been good seeing you.” I stand up and turn to walk out.
“Don’t start that shit,” my dad warns. “You should’ve called to tell us you were coming.”
I know he’s right, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I excuse myself to call Tally.
“Any news?” I ask him. He sighs into the phone.
“They’re not happy, but there’s not much to be done about it. They’ll delay filming and they’ll film as much as they can without you. They’re wanting you to come home on the weekends though, to film. You’re gonna have to make that work.”
“I’ll get my lawyers on it,” I answer. “I can’t see that would be a problem. I don’t have to be at Joe’s on the weekends.”
“What’s it like, anyway?” Tally asks curiously. “Community service?”
I think about the dingy gym and roll my eyes.
“It’s awesome,” I answer sarcastically. “You should come and help.”
“Nah, I think I’ll just see you when you get your ass back here. Hurry it up. I’ll tell the studio to expect you soon. I know Amy Ashby is pissed. This is going to throw off her schedule for her next film, too. You’re going to have to smooth things over.”
“She’s actually at my brother’s tonight,” I tell him grudgingly. “I could’ve seen her, but I’ll do it another time. I’m not in the mood.”
“You’re never in the mood,” Tally grumbles. “That’s why she’s pissed at you.”
That’s also true. If Amy had her way, we’d rehearse our sex scenes in my trailer, down to licking each other’s n**ples and getting each other off. But I don’t feel the need. And I just don’t f**king want to. She’s another one of those high-maintenance party girls who needs attention all the time. I just can’t deal with that.
I hang up and head back down the hall, glancing at the framed family pictures as I pass. Pics of me, Sin, Duncan, Kira, Fiona, Cris… and Emma.
I stop for a second, the air whooshing from my lungs as I stare at Emma’s sparkling blue eyes staring back at me from one particularly painful picture.
She’s tanned and healthy, and she’s wrapped her arm around my neck a second before my mom snapped the picture of us in our graduation caps. It was the last picture we’d taken together.
It was the last picture she’d ever take.
A knot forms in my throat as I stare at the necklace she’s wearing, a gift I had given her. A happy-graduation/I-love-you/can’t-wait-to-go-to-college-with-you gift. A teardrop-shaped aquamarine that perfectly matches the color of her eyes is encased in a white shell that she’d plucked from Lake Michigan. I’d had it made especially for her, and she’d worn it until the day she died.
I reach into my pocket and wrap my fingers around it, feeling the cool stone.
Her parents gave it to me afterward, and I’ve carried it in my pocket every day since… because it reminds me.
Of everything.
I gulp and yank my hand away from it, like it’s a hot coal that will burn me. My problem is that I’m stuck in limbo… I don’t want to remember and I don’t want to forget. If I remember, it hurts like hell. But if I forget, it might happen again.
And that’s one thing I know for sure.
I’ll never let myself get f**ked over like that again.
Chapter Eight
Dominic
As I head down the main hall to find my mom, I’m startled when Cris steps out of the kitchen doorway. I stop in my tracks for a moment, staring at him.
“Care to come outside? I’d like to talk to you,” he says gruffly, his voice hesitant and filled with a thousand things I can’t name.
His eye is swollen, which gives me some satisfaction.
“I have nothing to say to you,” I answer finally. “So, no thanks.”
I start to brush past him, but he grabs my arm in an effort to get me to stay. I look at him sharply, straight in the eye, a get-your-f**king-hand-off-me look, and he loosens his grip. I guess he learned his lesson the other night.
Fiona pops ups behind him, her face cautious and sullen.
Most of the people I know in Hollywood, I think.
But I don’t say it. Instead, I turn my back and start up the stairs again. I don’t f**king answer to her or anyone else.
“Do you need anything?” Jacey’s voice is hesitant behind me. “An ice pack or anything? That bruise on your cheek looks like it still hurts.”
I pause, not looking at her. Instead I remember her bare leg, stretching toward the sky while her tiny uniform shorts slide over it. The mere memory of the way she’d undressed right out in the open sets my pulse to racing.
Yeah, there’s a bunch of things I need, but only one thing that will take my mind off the reason that I need them.