In Love With Him

Chapter 36

Kennedy’s POV

A sharp bolt of pain ripped through my side and jerked me out of sleep.

I gasped, short and fast breaths trying to ease the burning in my stomach. My hand instinctively clutched the blanket as if that would somehow make it stop. My eyes fluttered open—and the first thing I noticed was that Dominic was gone. So was the warmth, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of sandalwood and something inherently him that had made sleep easier.

A soft whimper escaped my lips as I tried to sit up—instantly regretting it. The sharpest cry I’d ever made tore from my throat before I could swallow it.

Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs like someone charging into battle.

Dominic.

He burst into the room, eyes wide and frantic. “Kennedy?!”

He was at my side in seconds, kneeling, hands hovering like he didn’t know where to touch me without making it worse. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“It hurts,” I whispered, voice strained through clenched teeth. “It hurts so bad.”

He moved with gentle urgency, lifting the bottom hem of my shirt to check the incision. Even through the agony, I felt my cheeks flush with heat—not from pain, but from the softness in his touch. His hands were feather-light, skimming the skin around my stitches. He didn’t flinch at the bruising, the swelling, the rawness.

His brows furrowed in concern. “It doesn’t look infected. No heat, no swelling or pus. I think the pain meds from the hospital wore off. Let me get the oxycodone the doctor prescribed—”

“No,” I croaked, grabbing his wrist with the little strength I had. “I don’t want them.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Kennedy, come on. You’re in serious pain.”

“I don’t care.” My voice was quiet but firm.

Dominic exhaled slowly and sat back on his heels. “Why?” he asked gently. “Talk to me. Why don’t you want to take them?”

I stared at my trembling hands for a long moment, the pain in my stomach battling with the pain in my chest—the one I’d buried years ago.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” I began, my throat thick. “Not even Marty. Not Finn.”

His expression shifted—softer now, open and patient.

“My mom… towards the end, when the cancer got bad, they had her on a lot of painkillers. Heavy ones. It was the only way she could get through the day.” I swallowed, remembering the way her eyes stopped lighting up, how her smile became more like muscle memory than genuine emotion. “They changed her. Made her slow, made her… a zombie.”

Dominic didn’t say anything. He just listened.

“I was the one who gave her the meds,” I continued. “Every morning at 6:30. She trusted me. Said she didn’t want a nurse or hospice. Just me.” My voice cracked. “And one day… I overslept. I don’t even know why. I was just… exhausted. I woke up maybe thirty minutes late, forty tops. I rushed to give her the pills but…”

I stopped.

A tear slipped down my cheek.

“She died that morning,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Right after I gave them to her.”

My hands clenched in the blanket. “I always wondered if… if I’d given them to her earlier, on time, would she still be here? Did I do something wrong? Was it my fault?”

There. It was out. The thing I’d carried like a stone in my chest for years. The guilt. The regret. The what-ifs.

Dominic leaned forward, slowly and carefully. His fingers gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing away the tear trailing down my cheek.

“Hey,” he said softly. “None of that was your fault.”

I tried to look away, but he tilted my chin back toward him.

“You were a kid, Kennedy. A kid. You were doing your best. Cancer doesn’t care about schedules or alarms. It takes and takes no matter how hard you fight. What happened wasn’t because of you. You didn’t fail her.”

More tears welled in my eyes. His words cut through the fog like sunlight.

Dominic’s voice dropped even softer, “I know you’re scared to take something that could make you feel out of control again. But I’ll be right here. I’ll watch over you, I’ll make sure nothing happens. Okay?”

I stared at him. This guy—this complicated, infuriating, unexpectedly gentle guy—who had saved me more than once now. Who knew when to push and when to just… be there.

He held my gaze. “Please take the meds, princess. Just to get you through this. I got you.”

I hesitated for a long beat… then slowly, I nodded.

Dominic gave me the faintest smile—the kind that made my heart skip for reasons I wasn’t quite ready to admit—and stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, heading toward the hallway. “Water and your meds coming up.”

As he disappeared, I wiped my face and leaned back into the pillows, letting out a long breath.

Maybe this time, I didn’t have to carry the pain alone.

And maybe… just maybe… I could start letting someone in.

---

Dominic’s POV

As I made my way down the stairs, Kennedy’s words replayed over and over in my head.

She blamed herself for her mother’s death.

That thought made my chest tighten. Everything made sense now—why she was always up by 6:30am, how she moved through her day with structure and purpose like her life depended on it. That wasn’t just organization—it was survival. Her way of keeping control over the one thing she thought she failed at.

And she never told anyone. Not her dad. Not even Marty or Finn.

She carried that weight alone all this time.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat as I stepped into the kitchen.

My mom and Paul were finishing up dinner. The smell of garlic and roasted chicken filled the air, but I barely noticed it.

My mom turned as I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “How’s she feeling?”

“She’s in pain,” I said flatly. “Where are her meds?”

Without missing a beat, she reached for a white pharmacy bag on the counter and handed it to me.

Then Paul chimed in. “She won’t take those,” he said, his tone more tired than judgmental. “I’m lucky if I can get her to take Midol during her... you know, that time of the month.”

I twisted the cap off the water bottle and said without thinking, “I convinced her to take them.”

Paul’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

Then his whole expression shifted—his mouth tightened, his brow creased. Suspicion. “How?”

I froze for a second too long. Kennedy hadn’t even told him. And I wasn’t going to be the one to reveal something that private. If she never told her own father, then it wasn’t my place to explain.

“I’m just… convincing,” I said casually with a smirk, forcing a small shrug.

Paul’s face flashed—panic, discomfort, maybe even anger. His jaw clenched, and his lips pressed into a tight line.

Shit. Wrong answer. That was not how I should’ve phrased it.

But before Paul could unleash whatever storm was brewing behind those narrowed eyes, my mom stepped in, her voice calm but firm. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Dom.”

“Got it,” I said quickly and turned on my heel, taking the meds and the water before Paul could press further.

Back upstairs, I found Kennedy lying in bed, her eyes fluttering open at the sound of the door.

“Hey,” I said softly, walking over to her. “Time for the good stuff.”

She gave a small, tired smile and didn’t resist when I gently helped her sit up. Her body was fragile—every movement slow, careful, calculated to avoid pain. I slid an arm behind her back for support, grabbing a pillow to prop her up.

“Here,” I said, opening the bottle and popping one tiny pill into my palm. “Sip slow.”

I held the water bottle to her lips, tilting it just enough for her to take a few sips after she swallowed the painkiller.

Then she bit her lip.

That small gesture should’ve been innocent—but somehow, it wasn’t. It shot sparks down my spine. I cleared my throat, forcing myself to focus.

“What’s wrong?” I asked gently.

She hesitated, cheeks flushing. “I… I have to pee.”

“Oh,” I said quickly, then smiled to put her at ease. “That’s not a problem. Come on, I got you.”

I stood and reached for her hands. “Just let me know if anything hurts.”

She nodded shyly, and I helped her swing her legs over the side of the bed. I kept one hand on her back, the other gently supporting her arm as we slowly made our way to the bathroom. Each step was cautious, deliberate. I made sure she didn’t have to carry her weight alone.

When we got to the bathroom door, she paused, visibly uncomfortable.

I turned my back, giving her as much privacy as I could. “You want me to wait just outside?”

“Y-Yeah… please,” she said, almost in a whisper.

I nodded. “Call me if you need help getting back.”

I stepped outside, leaned against the wall, and exhaled. I could still feel her warmth on my skin where I held her.

Helping her through this wasn’t awkward—not even for a second. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t uncomfortable.

It felt right.

And that terrified me.

Because the more time I spent with Kennedy... the harder it was to pretend this was just about being some makeshift big brother.