Throughout our relationship, I was always peeling back more layers to her. And even though there were rare moments where I saw how vulnerable she was, I witnessed her caring side, her beautifully intelligent side, and of course her sassy side. If she was faking our relationship, just using me, I never would have seen so many parts of her. I would have barely broken the surface, if that.
But Dottie, even though it was slow, showed me who she was, a strong-willed but also reticent woman. Her heart was jaded, and I should have realized it would take time to soften her rough edges. No, I should have listened more, because it was there. I had gotten close to her, and from what I know about Dottie, that was rare. It was about time I finished what I started.
It’s why I’m standing outside her parents’ Malibu house, the ocean crashing into the shore in the distance, and the bright sun shining down on me. Even though this might be terrifying, it’s going to be a good day.
Stepping up to the door, I give it a few loud knocks and then wait.
I sent a text to Knox this morning telling him was I was going to make everything right and he said it was about damn time and to not fuck it up, because apparently he’s never seen me as happy as I am when Dottie is around.
I have to admit, he’s right.
The door opens and a woman in a white leisure suit answers. There are qualities about her that look just like Dottie, which causes me to assume this is her mom.
“Oh,” she says, looking startled. Hand to her chest, she asks, “Are you Jason?”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am. Am I right to assume you’re Mrs. Domico?”
“Why, yes.” She lends out her hand and I give it a shake. “Are you looking for Dottie?”
“I am.” I glance past her. “Is she here?”
She nods and parts the door open. “She’s out on the balcony with her coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“Uh, it will make me too jittery. I’m good.”
“Okay.” She steps to the side, her eyes giving me a full once-over. Not in a leery, old-woman way, just a are you good enough for my daughter way. Totally understand that one. “Please, come in. She’s right back there.” She gestures to the giant sliding glass doors that take up an entire wall.
Damn, this house is nice.
I give her a curt nod and make my way across the concrete floors, past the ostentatious fireplace—when you have money, you have money—and to the parted sliding glass door where I find Dottie sitting in a lounge chair, feet tucked into her body, blanket over her shoulders, a cup of coffee in hand. Her raven hair is stacked on top of her head and her feet are covered in white slippers.
In that moment, observing her, I realize I want nothing more than to push my need to hold a grudge to the side and bury my head into her sweet scent, to have her arms wrap around me and hold me close. I want every inch of her, every piece, even if it takes years to earn.
I take a step forward and say, “Good morning.”
Her head whips to the side in surprise, her eyes widening when she spots me. And that’s when I see her tear-streaked cheeks. She quickly wipes at her face and straightens up.
“J-Jason,” she stumbles. “What are you doing here?”
Once again, I feel tongue-tied and unsure of what to say. I scratch the side of my jaw and say, “I, uh . . . shit,” I mutter, looking at my feet.
She reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me to the edge of her lounge chair. When I glance at her, she says, “Now that you’re here, please don’t leave.” Tears fall down her cheek. “Please don’t leave, Jason.” Eyes bloodshot, absolute sorrow in her voice. I did this. I hate that I caused this pain.
“I’m not leaving,” I say, the words hoarse as they fall past my lips. “Not now”—I look up at her—“not ever.”
Her lip trembles, and I reach out and brush my thumb over it, which only makes more tears fall as her shaky hand comes up to mine. I move my hand to her cheek and she pushes into it, her eyes briefly closing.
“Jason,” she says on a choked sob. “Will you please listen to me?”
I nod. “Yes.”
Opening her eyes, she takes a deep breath but keeps her hand gripping mine tightly, as if silently willing me to not move. “I try to find a positive with all the regrets I make in my life.” She shifts and moves closer. “I try to put a spin on them to show that maybe they’re not regrets, more like steppingstones to get me to where I’m supposed to be. I never regret anything with that way of thinking, but I do have one, one that I will never let myself spin or turn into a steppingstone. I know what I did—or didn’t do—wasn’t a steppingstone, but more like a roadblock to happiness.” She slowly takes another steady breath. “I don’t regret telling the Carltons that you were my boyfriend, because it gave me the nudge I needed to give in to my feelings for you, but I’ll always regret not telling you, not being honest, not giving you the benefit of the doubt of being the great and understanding man that you are.” She lifts my palm and kisses it gently. “I’m sorry, Jason. I’m sorry for hurting you, for making you feel anything less than a perfect and beautiful man. I’m sorry for putting us through this pain, and I’m sorry I never told you how much I admire you, how much I care for you, and how much I love you.”
Those three little words . . . they whisk the breath from my lungs as my eyes tear up as well. I wondered, I questioned, were her feelings anything like mine? I just got my confirmation.
She loves me.
All this pain, this hurt deep in my chest, it eases and lets my heart beat again, beat wildly for the woman in front of me.
“Christ.” I clear my throat, feeling an overwhelming sense of joy that I try to voice, but it comes out garbled. “That . . . fuck, Dottie.” Without giving it a second thought, I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her delicate frame. When she returns the embrace, my heart nearly flies out of my chest. Lifting her chin, I force her to look me in the eyes. “I won’t lie and say you didn’t hurt me, because you did, but I also can’t stay away from you, not when I have this undying love for you that shows up at any hour of the day. I can’t suppress it, I can’t forget about it, and I can’t just drop it like it never happened. I won’t. I wanted to stay mad at you, I wanted to hurt you, I wanted to punish you, but in the end, it would only be punishing myself.” I tilt her chin up a little more and bring her lips inches from mine. “I love you, Dottie. I love you so fucking much, and I’d forever regret not telling you that.” A soft sob escapes her. She tries to pull away, to wipe her face, but I hold her still and close the space between us, pressing a soft kiss across her mouth. My lips spread in a smile while my eyes shed with joyful tears now. “I know this is a lot to ask of you, but please don’t stay here, please don’t start a new life here. Stay in Chicago with your friends . . . with me. Be my partner in crime, my best friend, my lover, my girlfriend.”
Her eyes wearily search mine. “Are you sure?”
What I need. What I suspect she needs too. “Positive.”
“But do you forgive me?”
Smiling, I say, “Might have to suck some of my idiots out of me—you know, with those magical lips of yours—but I think all will be forgiven.”