In Love With Him

Chapter 45

Kennedy — POV

I sat in the waiting room, the faint scent of antiseptic filling my nose, the murmur of voices, and the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead all blurring together. But none of it registered. I wasn’t here.

Not really.

All I could think about was Dominic.

Last night.

God, he was so drunk. Drunker than the last time—and I didn’t even think that was possible.

My fingers had been running through his hair as he lay face-down on the bed, his body heavy and limp from alcohol. His scent was sharp and strong—booze and cologne with something darker underneath. But even through the stench of alcohol, it was still him. Still Dominic.

He told me to go to bed. Said it in that low, rough voice like he was hanging on by a thread.

I knew I should’ve listened.

I should’ve gotten up and left.

But I didn’t want to.

I didn’t want to leave him like that. I didn’t want to walk away.

So I told him the truth—I just wanted to make sure he was okay.

And that’s when I saw it.

The look in his eyes.

It was subtle, but I saw it. Like he was fighting something inside him—pain, desire… guilt maybe. I didn’t know. But it was raw. It was real. And it hit me in the chest so hard I couldn’t breathe.

For a split second, I hoped—God, I hoped—he’d kiss me again.

I’d been craving that kiss ever since that night in the kitchen. The way his lips molded to mine, the way his body tensed like he was trying so hard not to lose control… and the way it still made me feel breathless just thinking about it.

But he didn’t kiss me.

He closed his eyes.

And so instead, I just… watched him.

Then slowly, I moved my hand down the side of his face, letting my fingers gently trace the curve of his cheek… the sharp line of his jaw… and finally, the soft shape of his lips.

God, I wanted to taste them again. I wanted to feel them press into mine.

I wanted to run my fingers through his hair and pull him into me.

I wanted… him.

But I didn’t move.

He was drunk.

And even though I wanted to be selfish, I knew it wouldn’t be fair—not when he was like that.

So I just shifted a little closer, resting my forehead gently against his. And for a while, we just laid there in silence—our breaths syncing.

Then I heard it.

It was faint. Barely above a whisper. But I heard it.

"I love you."

The words were slurred, almost buried in the heavy air between us. But I swear to God, they were real.

My heart stopped.

I didn't move. I didn’t even breathe. I just laid there, forehead pressed to his, wondering if I imagined it.

But I didn’t.

He said it.

He said I love you.

“Miss Smith?”

My eyes snapped open, blinking quickly as I sat up straighter in my chair.

The nurse stood in the doorway, her clipboard in hand. “We’re ready for you.”

I nodded and stood as my dad followed beside me, and we walked toward the examination room in silence. I could feel his gaze drift to me, like he knew I wasn’t really present. But he didn’t say anything.

Inside the room, we answered the nurse’s questions—any recent bleeding? Fevers? Appetite?

I answered them all quickly, then waited.

A few minutes later, the doctor walked in, flipping through my chart. He was tall, probably in his late forties, with kind eyes and a soft, steady voice.

“Well, Miss Smith,” he smiled, “you look a hell of a lot better than you did last week.”

I gave a faint laugh. “I feel it.”

“Good,” he said. “Let’s take a look at that incision.”

I lifted my shirt slightly, holding my breath as he examined the surgical site. He gave a few impressed nods.

“You’re healing better than expected. No swelling, no signs of infection. The stitches are dissolving on schedule.”

I felt my dad exhale next to me in relief.

“You’ve been following the instructions?”

I nodded. “Yeah. No solid food. My, uh… stepbrother’s been helping me.”

The doctor smiled. “Well, tell him thanks from me. He probably made my job easier.”

I just smiled.

“Alright, so here’s where we’re at,” the doctor said, making a note on his clipboard. “You can start incorporating solid food now, but ease into it. Nothing too greasy or heavy just yet. Think steamed rice, grilled chicken, oatmeal… things like that. And I’d like to keep you off intense physical activity for another week.”

My dad nodded. “No gym class?”

“No gym. No lifting. Just take it easy,” the doctor confirmed. “But you can return to school, as long as you’re listening to your body.”

I exhaled slowly. Back to school. Back to reality.

But even as the doctor kept talking, the only thing I could think about was that moment last night. Dominic’s voice, the weight of those words…

"I love you."

What the hell was I supposed to do with that?

When we got back from the appointment, the first thing I heard was the familiar rapid button smashing of Max’s Nintendo Switch. He was curled up on the couch, completely immersed in whatever game he was playing, his tongue slightly poking out in concentration.

Helen’s soft humming drifted from the kitchen, mixing with the sizzling sound of something delicious cooking on the stove.

My dad furrowed his brow and asked, “Why is Max home from school?”

Before Helen could answer, I spoke up, already taking my shoes off by the door. “It’s a teacher workshop day. No school.”

He nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck like he felt a little guilty for not remembering.

Helen peeked around the corner of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “How’d the appointment go?”

Before I could speak, my dad launched into full-on doctor breakdown mode—talking about my incision healing well, the no-grease rule, how I could return to school but no gym class for a while. Helen gave a little fist-pump and said something like, “That’s my girl,” before disappearing back into the kitchen.

I, on the other hand, was barely listening. My eyes instinctively scanned the house.

No Dominic.

No trace of him.

Maybe he was still sleeping off his hangover from last night.

I bit the inside of my cheek, silently wondering if he even remembered what happened. If he remembered me being there. Laying beside him. Stroking his hair. Resting my forehead against his.

My stomach fluttered as the memory came back in full color.

The way his chest rose and fell beneath me.

The warmth of his breath brushing against my skin.

The way he whispered it—I love you.

It wasn’t loud or confident.

It was soft. Slurred. Barely there.

But I heard it.

I know I heard it.

And now, I didn’t know what to do with it.

Would he even remember saying it?

I mean, he was beyond drunk. Technically asleep when he said it. Couldn’t that just mean it was a dream? A fluke? An alcohol-induced hiccup that meant nothing?

Or… did it mean everything?

I sighed and dropped onto the couch beside Max, curling up with my knees to my chest as he focused on his game. I watched him for a few seconds, his small fingers flying across the controls, mumbling something about mushrooms and red shells.

I wanted to go check on Dominic.

I wanted to walk up to his room, knock on the door, see if he was okay, if he remembered anything.

But I didn’t.

I told myself he needed space. That it wasn’t the right time. That maybe he wouldn’t want to talk about it. That maybe I was being too much.

Too clingy.

Too attached.

So I stayed where I was.

I leaned my head on the back of the couch and watched Max battle Bowser for what had to be the twentieth time. He yelled something victorious when he beat the level, and I smiled weakly.

But my heart was upstairs.

Lying in a messy bed with two Tylenols, an empty bottle of water… and maybe a broken memory between us.

If he didn’t bring it up, I wouldn't.

Just like the kiss.

Because I don't want to mess everything up.