In Love With Him

Chapter 39

Dominic POV

She smelled like vanilla and lavender shampoo. That soft, sleepy murmur about how I smelled good… Jesus. I could still feel her breath on my neck.

I stood in her doorway for a few moments after I tucked her in. Watching her.

The moonlight filtered through her curtains and painted her face in soft silver. Her features were relaxed, her lashes casting little shadows on her cheeks. She looked peaceful for the first time in days. Weeks, maybe. And all I could think about was how close I came to losing her.

That thought alone made my chest tighten.

I didn’t even mean to kiss her forehead. It just… happened. It felt instinctual. Like muscle memory I wasn’t aware I had. I wasn’t even sure she noticed it, but the second I leaned in, it felt like my heart forgot how to beat. I pulled back so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet leaving the room.

Now I was downstairs, pacing the kitchen in the dim light, gripping a bottle of water I wasn’t drinking.

What the hell am I doing?

This wasn’t just a crush anymore. This wasn’t just a protective instinct or some “brother” role like everyone was trying to assign me. It was something deeper. Something messier. Realer.

And that scared the hell out of me.

She was still recovering—physically and emotionally. The timing was horrible. She’d just gone through a surgery, was in pain, exhausted, and probably not thinking clearly thanks to the meds. And me? I was acting like some hero in a teenage rom-com. Carrying her up the stairs like a knight in shining armor and kissing her like—

Like I meant it.

Because I did.

That little voice in my head—the one I usually shut out with sarcasm and bad decisions—kept whispering the truth I didn’t want to say out loud.

I was falling for her.

It wasn’t just her pretty face, or how good she smelled, or the way she bit her lip when she was embarrassed. It was everything. The way she never asked for help but always gave it. The way she took care of her dad, and Max, and everyone around her. The way she carried her grief like armor and never once let it crack in front of anyone. Not until me.

And tonight, she let me in. Just a little more.

Enough to trust me with a secret she hadn’t told anyone. Enough to let me see her at her most vulnerable. Enough to ask me to stay.

I sat down at the kitchen table, burying my face in my hands for a second.

I was already in too deep.

But the thing was, I didn’t want out.

No one ever looked at me the way she did when she was half-asleep and nestled against my chest. Like I was her safety. Her anchor.

Her person.

That terrified me—and thrilled me at the same time.

I finally stood and started heading to my room for the night even though I thought about laying in Kennedys bed again. I didn’t want to risk waking her up, or worse—getting caught by Paul again and having him lose his mind.

As I laid down and pulled the blanket over me, I closed my eyes and tried to push down everything I was feeling. Every flutter in my chest. Every memory of her soft voice whispering through the haze.

But it was useless.

She was in my head now.

And I had a feeling she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

Kennedy stayed home for a week, and I’m not even gonna lie—it was probably the best week of my life.

Just the two of us. The house was quiet, the world slowed down. She barely left my side the first few days. I didn’t realize how much I needed something like this—someone like her—until it happened.

We did the simplest things, but they felt like everything.

I made her liquid meals—creamy soups, smoothies, applesauce, the works. She tried to be appreciative, but I could tell she hated not doing things for herself. She’d huff and grumble every time I stopped her from trying to make me a sandwich or get her own damn water bottle. It became a game almost.

One time, she legit tried to sneak into the kitchen when I was in the bathroom. I caught her halfway to the fridge with this guilty little smile on her face like a kid who got caught stealing cookies. I rolled my eyes and scooped her up like a sack of potatoes, carrying her right back to the couch. She huffed the whole way but didn’t really complain.

We listened to music too, which surprised the hell out of me. She liked all the same bands. All of them. I figured she was more pop and coffee shop acoustic...but she vibed with alternative, punk, even old grunge rock. When she started singing along to Korn, I swear I felt something in my chest crack open.

We spent most of our days curled up in her bed, watching Euphoria on my laptop. Well, she watched. I tried to work on my assignments. Tried being the key word. It was hard to focus when she was curled up next to me, the glow from the screen lighting up her soft features, her head tucked just close enough to make me forget what I was even typing.

She made me laugh too. Genuinely laugh. The kind that sneaks up on you and sticks around. She was sarcastic as hell but so casually funny it blew my mind. Smart too. Like… genius level smart. She didn’t even flaunt it—just let it slip out in random facts or sharp one-liners that had me blinking in disbelief.

The more time I spent with her, the worse it got. The falling part. I was falling hard and fast and not even trying to stop it.

And then there was that moment.

We were on the couch, watching another episode of Euphoria. I was trying to finish the last paragraph of some assignment I had been avoiding all day, and Kennedy was stretched out, her head resting in my lap. It was innocent. Mostly. Her head barely resting on my leg.

She looked peaceful, like she felt safe. I sent the assignment and put my phone down, glancing down at her. Without really thinking about it, I slid my fingers through her hair, gently rubbing her scalp.

Her hair was unreal—like silk or something. I’d never felt anything like it. Every strand slipped through my fingers like it was alive.

And then she moved. Shifted deeper into my lap.

I froze.

She leaned into my touch, into me, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like I was comfort. Home.

And suddenly, all I could think about was where her head was now resting.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

I clenched my jaw and stared at the TV screen, trying to think of literally anything else. Dead cats. Algebra. That one time I broke my wrist playing football in seventh grade.

Nothing helped.

I shifted slightly, trying not to react. Praying she didn’t notice. This was not the time for my body to betray me.

Then the door opened.

Paul’s voice came through first. “Hey, I got outta work early and—” He stopped. Silence.

I didn’t even have to look to know what his face looked like.

Fuck.

Kennedy looked up casually, tilting her head slightly then back down, and said, “Hey Daddy. You’re home early.”

She didn’t even move. Completely unbothered. Meanwhile, I was sweating bullets, trying not to die on the spot. His eyes locked onto mine and I felt like I was under a goddamn spotlight.

Paul’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he said tightly. “Finished a few cases early. Got the rest of today and tomorrow off… to take care of you.”

Then he turned his glare directly on me. “So Dominic can have a break. Hang out with friends or... something.”

My stomach dropped.

Kennedy sat up slowly, wincing, and looked between us. “Really?” she asked, sounding just a little confused.

Paul smiled—a tight, forced smile. “Really.”

Kennedy turned to me and gave a playful, teasing half smile, her voice light. “You’re free.”

If only she knew how not free I felt in that moment.

I forced a smile back, but it was strained. I could feel Paul’s stare drilling into the side of my head like lasers.

Great. Just great.

She had no idea how close she was to pushing every button I had. And now her dad was probably imagining the worst. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. But when you’re in love with your stepsister and her head’s resting dangerously close to your junk—there’s no winning that PR war.