“Because at least Lincoln had the guts and class to meet him and decide for himself. You haven’t bothered to do anything but listen to what you don’t want to hear!”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Forgive me for not wanting to hear that he’s cocky—”
“Lincoln,” I say, letting him know I know where he heard that.
“Unable to take care of you—”
“Ford,” I sigh.
“And looks like, and I quote, ‘a man that just walked out of a federal prison,’” Graham concludes.
“Paulina. Maybe Raquel,” I sigh dramatically. “Did they also mention that he’s smart, has a day job, a night job, and a part-time job,” I say, counting the fighting as a part-time gig. “Did they mention that he makes me feel special? That he’s as overprotective in a lot of ways as you are,” I glare, “or that he’s never been in prison but might just end up there if he heard how you’re talking to me right now?”
Graham rolls his eyes, making a show of his annoyance. “Are you aware Dominic is Nolan’s nephew?”
I nod, taking a long, strangled breath. “Yes. I am aware of that.”
“And you’re still seeing him?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
He roughs his hands through his picture-perfect hair, mussing it all up. He looks around the kitchen like he’s trying to find a way to talk sense into me or something equally as dramatic. I would laugh if we weren’t discussing this particular topic.
“Cam,” he begins, “I’m a reasonable person. It may not seem like it right now, but I am. That being said, do you have any idea what this is going to do to Barrett?”
“I know he doesn’t like Nolan and I get it. But—”
“Doesn’t like Nolan?” he says incredulously. “That man tried to ruin Barrett’s career. He almost got Alison assaulted, do you remember that? Nolan almost destroyed Barrett’s . . . everything . . . and here you are—”
“Here I am what?” I power back. “Maybe falling in love with someone that had an asshole of a father that was brothers with another asshole? How is that Dominic’s fault, G?”
“How are you going to explain this to Barrett?”
“You were aware that Paulina screwed Barrett and, most likely Ford, and you still slept with her. Nobody was worried about that. I’m not sure why we all care who I’m fucking.”
His eyes narrow, his knuckles turning white. He’s ready to fire back at me, but I don’t give him the chance.
“You need to be a little less worried about what I’m doing and more about what you are. I talked to Mallory today. You do realize you’re on the verge of messing that all up, right? Or we’re not allowed to talk about that? Just who I’m sleeping with?”
The flinch is obvious, his hand dropping from the chair.
“Yes, Graham, I do know that he’s Nolan’s nephew. I also know how genetics work and that you don’t get to pick who you’re related to. If that were the case, I would opt out of sharing any DNA with you right now.”
He takes that hit, tugging at the collar of his white button-down shirt. His cufflinks twinkle in the light cast from the chandelier over his head. There are lines on his face I haven’t noticed before—deep, worrisome etches in his skin. If I wasn’t so mad at him, I’d ask him how he was feeling. But I don’t because I am still angry.
“I also know about the loan,” he states.
“Good for you.”
“Cam, please tell me you understand why this is concerning. Please tell me you haven’t lost all of your mind.”
“I get it. I’m not stupid. It’s a lot of money to be loaning someone that looks like he . . . what did you say? Walked out of prison? Something like that?”
Looking at the ceiling, he sighs.
“What is this, Graham? Is this about the money? About social status? Did it offend you somehow that Mom’s friends saw me with someone not in a Brooks Brother’s suit? Did that somehow take down our Landry brand?”
He shoots me a glare.
“Because if that’s the case, if that’s what we’ve been relegated to, I’m not sure I fit in here anymore.”
“Of course that’s not it,” he mutters. “I’m just . . . I’m trying to control what’s going on here.”
“Let me give you a piece of advice for a change. Go home. Find Mallory. Worry about that relationship and not mine. Trust me when I tell you that your efforts will be much more appreciated and are much more necessary in your own house.”
He shakes his head. “I take it you’re going to continue seeing him.”
It’s not the words so much that pierce me. It’s more the tone, the dismissive nature of them that zip right through me like a hot knife.
“Get out of my house.”
He doesn’t move.
“I’m not joking, Graham. Get out of my house now.”
“Swink . . .”
“No,” I say, shaking my head and feeling my hands start to tremble. “Leave. You aren’t welcome here.”
He holds my gaze before turning to go. He gets to the door and yanks it open. When he turns, I see fire in his eyes. “When you wise up, you know where to find me to get you out of whatever mess he gets you in.”
The door closes. I wait a few seconds to make sure he’s gone before bursting into tears.
Dominic
THE HOUSE IS QUIET. NATE is at the bar and Chrissy came by and took Ryder a little while ago. It’s just me, a beer that is the temperature of piss, and a muted television.
Everything hurts. My body. My head. My heart. It all aches like a motherfucker.
My legs stretch in front of me as I sit on the sofa, my eyes watching but not seeing the talking head on the news. There’s some story on about a family that had something tragic happen but are now all smiles, holding hands, all that shit. Shit I’ve never had.
Shit I’ll never have.
Not the way I want it.
I’m tired. The thought of getting up in the morning and going to work and then to the gym and then home to this, makes me want to close my eyes and just sleep. There’s no point to it. No point to any of it.
Yesterday was supposed to be a way to make some inroads with the Landry’s. I figured it was probably for naught and that’s why I refused for so long.
Then things changed.
I don’t know when it happened, but it did. She became not just a girl I was fucking but someone I looked forward to seeing at the end of the day. I made sure there was sorbet, something I didn’t even know existed before her, in my freezer. It was her voice I wanted to hear before I laid down.
Cam makes me feel things I haven’t felt before. Give a fuck about things I didn’t know I could care about. Like the fact that she made it home at the end of the night or had enough cold medicine when she wasn’t feeling good.
When things got to this point, I don’t know. But when she asked me to meet her brother and I could see that it mattered to her . . . I felt like I mattered to her.
That’s why they say feelings are dangerous. They take a quick fuck and turn it into visions of something a year, two years, ten years later. The shit that’s on the television right now.