In Love With Him

Chapter 43

Dominic POV

I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection like he was supposed to have all the answers.

White tee. Black button-down shirt—unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled up to my elbows, the black and gray lines of my Celtic knot tattoo running down my right arm like a brand. Dark jeans. Clean sneakers. A spritz of cologne. That was it.

Minimal effort.

I ran a hand through my hair once, then didn’t bother touching it again. Didn’t care enough to perfect anything.

I should’ve felt excited. I used to live for parties like this—music loud enough to drown your thoughts, red Solo cups filled with forgetfulness, strangers in tight clothing looking for someone to press up against. This used to be my thing.

But now? My chest was tight, like there was something lodged behind my ribs. A small pang of guilt wedged itself there and wouldn’t leave, no matter how much I rolled my shoulders or adjusted my watch.

Still, I had to try. I had to see if this… this obsession with Kennedy was just a buildup of tension. Something physical. Something I could sweat out with the right distraction.

So I grabbed my keys, shoved my phone in my back pocket, and headed downstairs.

The living room was lit with the soft, flickering glow of the TV. My mom and Paul were sitting on the couch watching something—a cop show, I think. My mom looked up first.

Her face lit up like it always did. “Well, don’t you clean up nice,” she smiled. “Be safe, sweetheart.”

“Always,” I nodded, giving her a small grin.

Then Paul looked me over slowly, eyes narrowing in silent judgment. I could practically hear him thinking: Where is he going? Who is he seeing?

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t owe him that.

And then, I saw her.

She was sitting at the kitchen island, earbuds in, book cracked open in front of her. Her hair was tossed into a messy bun, a few dark strands falling down around her face. No makeup. Oversized shirt. Legs curled under her on the stool.

She wasn’t even trying. And still—she was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long, long time.

I stopped for a second, just looking at her.

She didn’t notice me. She was mouthing something—probably reading dialogue—completely absorbed.

I could’ve walked over, plucked an earbud out, and told her to come to the party with me. She’d laugh and say no, of course. But maybe we’d end up on the couch again, watching Euphoria, her legs across my lap, my fingers in her hair.

Maybe I’d carry her upstairs again.

Maybe I’d…

No.

I shook my head and took a breath. This was exactly why I needed to do this.

If I didn’t, I’d keep inching toward a line I couldn’t uncross. A line I already wanted to cross way too badly.

I needed to get out of here.

Before I let myself make the worst mistake of my life.

So I gave one last glance toward the island. Toward her.

Then I turned and walked out the door—each step heavier than the last.

The party was already in full swing when I pulled up and parked on the curb. Josh’s house looked like something out of a movie—four stories tall, glowing with obnoxious neon lights. Music pulsed so loud I felt it in my chest before I even got out of the car. The massive backyard boasted a pool with a waterfall, color-changing lights, and a fully stocked bar floating in the center on a custom island dock.

It reminded me of California. Of the chaos I used to thrive in. The kind of parties where no one knew your name, and that was the whole point.

I downed my first drink fast. Then another.

There were plenty of girls—tanned, blonde, wearing too much makeup and not enough fabric. Girls I used to chase just for the fun of it. Girls that would've been all over me this time last year.

And they were. Running fingers across my chest, leaning into me with exaggerated laughs and pouty lips. One even dragged her hand down my arm like she had the right to touch me.

But something was missing.

I didn’t feel anything.

Not heat. Not tension. Not even the old surge of ego that came from being wanted.

Another drink.

Another round of nothing.

I was ready to leave. To admit this whole thing was a bust. That nothing had changed and I was still drowning in her. Still wrecked over Kennedy.

And then I saw her.

Long black hair, slightly curled. Pale skin. A tattoo peeking out beneath the sleeve of her vintage band tee. Green eyes rimmed in dark eyeliner. Her lips were painted deep red, and her presence was sharp like smoke—unapologetic, untouchable.

She looked like Kennedy.

Not exactly. Not truly. But enough.

Enough to spark something low in my stomach. Enough to make me stand up straighter. My pulse kicked up as I walked over. I didn’t let myself think too hard.

“Hey,” I said, voice casual.

She looked me up and down like she was trying to decide if I was worth her time. After a moment, she gave a small smirk and said, “You’re cute. You here alone?”

“Yeah. You?”

She shrugged. “Not anymore.”

We didn’t talk much after that.

Up the stairs, hand in hand. Past drunk idiots and couples pressed against walls. We found an unoccupied guest room, door slightly ajar. The music was muffled here, the lighting low. I could still smell weed from the hallway.

Clothes came off. Kisses were exchanged. My body went through the motions.

But my mind? It was somewhere else.

I couldn’t feel anything at first. Not fully. I was too in my head, too detached. Her voice was too high, her laugh too fake.

So I closed my eyes.

I had to.

And I imagined her. Kennedy.

I imagined the soft curve of her waist, the little sounds she’d make if it was her. I imagined her breath on my neck, her eyes fluttering shut, her fingers curling into my shoulder.

My hands gripped tighter.

The girl moaned my name, but in my mind, it was Kennedy whispering it.

I kept my eyes closed the whole time.

When I finally finished, reality hit like a freight train.

I opened my eyes—and it wasn’t her.

It never was.

The girl flopped back onto the bed, breathless and satisfied. I stood there, frozen, the weight of what I’d just done crashing down on me like a tidal wave of regret.

This wasn’t what I wanted.

This wasn’t who I wanted.

I cleaned up, pulled off the condom, tossed it, and got dressed.

She asked if I wanted to stay. I didn’t answer.

I left without a word.

The bass from the music echoed in my chest as I walked down the stairs. My head was spinning, and my gut twisted with self-loathing. I’d thought this would fix me. That it would knock Kennedy out of my system.

But now?

Now I felt worse.

Like I’d betrayed something sacred. Like I’d crossed a different line that made everything more complicated.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I found the bar.

And I drank.

---

Kennedy – POV

Even though my dad was sitting right next to me on the couch, watching some movie that neither of us were really paying attention to, I felt… lonely.

Empty.

I wasn’t used to that feeling when someone was around. But I guess I wasn’t used to being taken care of either—not in the way I had been the last week. Not in the way Dominic did it.

My dad was trying, I could tell. He got me a blanket, propped a pillow behind me, even brought me a bowl of soup Helen had made earlier. He was doing all the right things.

But he still felt like a stranger.

Even when my mom was alive, Dad wasn’t really the “caretaker” type. He was the fun one. The one who spoiled me with gifts or gave me whatever I asked for. I was “Daddy’s little girl,” but only in the fairytale, princess way. Not the real-world, let-me-make-sure-you’re-okay way.

And after Mom died… he just broke.

He became a shell. Grief swallowed him whole and left me to pick up the pieces. I had no choice but to take care of him and Max. I became the parent. The planner. The strong one.

So sitting here now, watching him try so hard—it just felt… backward.

I glanced at my phone again. Still nothing from Dominic.

My message from thirty minutes ago stared back at me:

"Hey, just checking in. You okay?"

No response.

My chest tightened. The last time Dominic went out, he came home drunk. Pissed drunk. Barely able to stand. And that was the night he kissed me.

Just thinking about it made my cheeks flush. My heart fluttered before I could stop it.

The kiss had been intense—desperate, even. Like something had broken in him and all that emotion came pouring out in that one, unexpected moment. He never brought it up again. Neither did I.

But I thought about it more than I should.

“Everything alright?” my dad asked, his voice soft, pulling me out of my spiral.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah… just worried. That’s all.”

His jaw clenched slightly. “Dominic’s a big boy. He knows how to take care of himself.”

His tone was even, but I could hear the edge underneath.

There was a long pause before he finally spoke again.

“I owe you an apology,” he said quietly. “For a lot of things.”

I turned to look at him, surprised by the sudden weight in his voice.

“I wasn’t there for you. Not really. Not the way I should’ve been. After your mom died, I—” He paused, swallowing thickly. “I fell apart. I let you carry too much. You were a kid, Kennedy. And I forced you to grow up way faster than you should’ve.”

I stayed silent, my heart thudding in my chest.

“I ruined a lot of your firsts,” he continued. “Your first party, first date, even your Junior prom… you didn’t go to any of them. Because you felt obligated to stay home. To take care of Max. To take care of me.”

My throat tightened. I blinked fast, not wanting to cry.

“And now…” He exhaled heavily. “Now I’m watching you bond with Dominic like he’s known you your whole life. And I’m ashamed to admit this, but—I’m jealous. I’m jealous of how fast you trust him. How he takes care of you like… like I should’ve.”

He looked at me then. Really looked at me.

“I know Dominic means well. I know he’s just trying to be a good… big stepbrother or whatever you kids are calling it,” he added with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But it’s hard for me. I’m not used to having another man around you. And I’m scared. Scared that I’m losing my little girl to someone else.”

A tear slipped down his cheek.

I didn’t hesitate.

I shifted, slowly and carefully, and curled up in his lap like I used to when I was little. My body still ached a little, but I didn’t care. I rested my head on his chest and wrapped my arms around him.

“You’re not losing me, Daddy,” I whispered. “You’ll never lose me. I’ll always be your little girl.”

His arms wrapped around me like he needed to believe that more than anything else in the world.

And for a long moment, we just stayed like that.