In Love With Him

Chapter 47

Dominic POV

Thanksgiving morning was chaos.

The smell of garlic, herbs, and roasted meats wafted through every corner of the house like some kind of aromatic warzone. Paul and my mom had taken over the kitchen—commanding the space like seasoned generals.

My mom was orchestrating stuffing and mashed potatoes while Paul, with rolled-up sleeves and a determined scowl, was tackling the turkey that looked like it had been bred in a lab and juiced on steroids. It barely fit in the damn oven.

There was also a honey-glazed ham, green bean casserole, yams with toasted marshmallows, pies stacked on top of each other like desserts in a magazine spread—it was a full-on feast for an army.

I tried to stay out of the way. This wasn’t my battlefield.

I glanced out the back doors. Kyle was outside tossing a football with Max, teaching him how to pivot and throw like a quarterback. I hated to admit it, but the kid was good.

My gaze shifted to the lounge chairs by the pool—and my lungs stalled.

Morgan and Kennedy were sunbathing in their bathing suits, soaking up the Florida sun. Morgan’s swimsuit was black and sleek, and she looked like a damn Marine poster girl—lean and muscular in all the textbook ways. Her body was impressive. Strong. Capable. But not my type.

Not like Kennedy.

Kennedy wore a deep green two-piece that made my brain short-circuit. She was sitting cross-legged, laughing softly at something Morgan said, and I was frozen. The swelling around her incision had gone down completely, leaving behind a faint, pink scar that hugged her like a secret. She looked healthy. Soft again. But strong.

Too strong for someone who had just almost died.

And God help me… I couldn’t stop the dirty thoughts from creeping in.

I tried to look away. I really did.

But my mind went there.

To what it would feel like to touch that scar with my lips. To trail my fingers across her bare waist. To pull her into my lap and make her feel everything I’ve been fighting to hide. The things I would do to make her moan my name, to make her body arch and tremble beneath mine. The taste of her. The heat of her. Her skin pressed against mine. Her breathless voice gasping into my ear—

Shit.

I turned fast, ready to disappear upstairs and chain myself to the bedpost until dinner, when I heard it:

“Yo, Dom!”

I froze halfway in the doorway.

Kyle.

I turned slowly. He was waving from the yard. Kennedy had turned too, eyes lighting up when she spotted me. That damn smile. That soft, perfect, gut-wrenching smile that always made my stomach clench.

Kyle grinned. “Come on, little brother. Let’s see what those MMA skills look like. Bet you can’t take a military man.”

I smirked, trying to shake off the heat crawling up my neck. “I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your girl.”

Morgan barked a laugh. “Trust me, he’s already done that plenty. He could use a good ass-kicking if you’re asking me.”

Kyle cracked his neck and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Come on. Let’s give the ladies a show.”

I sighed, stepping barefoot into the yard. “Fine. But don’t cry when I break your pride.”

Max whooped from the sidelines. “Yeah, kick his butt, Dominic!”

Kyle tossed the football aside and rubbed his hands together. “Watch and learn, Max. Your bigger big brother is about to give a masterclass.”

The air shifted instantly.

We squared up, both of us barefoot in the grass. Kyle came in quick, testing me with light jabs, but I was faster. I blocked and ducked, side-stepping until I got in one solid shove that knocked him off balance. He grunted and smirked.

He came back harder.

Kyle was controlled and technical—years of military training made him precise. His body was solid, every movement measured. But I had agility. Fluidity. I was used to sparring dirty in gyms, throwing off opponents with speed and unpredictable rhythm. For a while, we were neck and neck.

Until Kyle got cocky.

He made a wide swing and I twisted, slipping behind him and grabbing him in a lock. I almost had him—almost had him down—when he twisted at the last second, hooked my leg, and flipped me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

I hit the ground hard, slamming flat onto my back. The breath shot out of my lungs. My vision swam.

The grass was cool under my head, the sky a spinning blur above me.

Kyle loomed over me, laughing. “Still number one, little brother.”

My chest burned—not from the hit.

From the embarrassment.

I didn’t care that I lost.

I cared that Kennedy saw me lose.

I smacked his hand away when he tried to help me up and climbed to my feet on my own, brushing the grass from my arms.

Kyle clapped my shoulder. “You’ve gotten better. I’ll give you that.”

I didn’t say anything. I turned and stormed inside.

I heard him call after me with a laugh, “Still a sore loser, I see!”

I didn’t turn around.

I made it up to my room and slammed the door shut, heart pounding. I didn’t even bother locking it. I just sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy.

I wasn’t angry at Kyle.

I was angry at myself—for still caring what she thought.

For still craving her smile.

For still wanting her approval.

For still… wanting her.

---

Kennedy POV

I adjusted my sunglasses and took another sip of iced tea, the sun warm on my skin. It felt good—almost normal. I still couldn’t swim just yet, but just sitting by the pool in my bikini with Morgan made things feel less… heavy. She was easy to talk to. Chill. Definitely not what I expected from someone dating Kyle. Military types usually screamed stiff and uptight, but Morgan? She was funny, laid back, and surprisingly insightful.

We were laughing about something stupid Kyle did at their base when I heard Kyle yell.

"Yo, Dom!"

I glanced toward the yard and saw Dominic walking out onto the grass. My breath caught a little. He looked so good—shirtless, black athletic shorts slung low on his hips, his muscles flexing as he rolled his neck and stretched his arms.

Morgan elbowed me and smirked. “Dominic's kinda hot.”

I turned to her with wide eyes. “Morgan!”

She laughed. “What? I have eyes. It’s not like I’m gonna jump him. He’s just... aesthetically pleasing.”

I rolled my eyes, but a part of me silently agreed. Way more than I should.

Then Kyle called out to Dominic. Something about military skills versus MMA.

Oh no.

I pulled my legs up and sat up straighter, my stomach knotting.

They squared up on the grass, and it was on.

It started casual. Playful even. Kyle went in with sharp, practiced movements, all military precision and tight footwork. Dominic countered with fluidity, fast and unpredictable like he was dancing between hits. Every twist, every block, every shove was like a clash of two completely different worlds—disciplined soldier vs. street-trained fighter.

And for a while, it was evenly matched.

But then Kyle started to get a little rough.

Maybe he was showing off. Maybe he didn’t like being challenged by his younger brother. Maybe—like every guy in this house—his ego was bruised by how much attention Dominic got lately. Either way, Kyle started throwing harder. Moving faster. Trying to dominate.

Dominic didn’t back down. His jaw clenched, his chest rising with every breath. He caught Kyle once, hard enough to knock him back a step, and I could practically feel the electricity ripple in the air.

Then it happened.

Kyle slipped behind him, hooked his leg, and threw him hard over his shoulder.

The thud of Dominic’s back slamming into the grass echoed in my ears. I flinched.

He didn’t move at first. His chest rose in shallow breaths, eyes blinking up at the sky like he just got the wind knocked out of him. Max laughed from the sidelines, but I wasn’t laughing.

My heart twisted.

Kyle stood over him, grinning. “Still number one, little brother.”

Dominic smacked his hand away and pushed himself up, brushing the grass off. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look at anyone. He just turned and walked away, his body tense, his fists clenched.

Kyle shrugged and called after him. “Still a sore loser. I see.”

I didn’t laugh.

Morgan sighed beside me. “Boys.”

But I wasn’t watching Kyle.

I was watching Dominic.

The way his shoulders were squared so tight, the way his jaw was locked, the way he stormed back inside like he was trying not to explode.

He wasn’t mad about losing.

He was mad about something else.