“If it’s broken ribs, there isn’t shit they can do. I’m not paying that bill.”
Walking to Dom again, I feel a shift in the air. A shiver runs down my spine as I take in the look he’s giving me.
“Sit down with me for a minute,” he says softly.
I do, placing my hand over his. It’s cool and damp and makes my stomach churn. “I feel responsible for this. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” He heaves a breath, blowing it out slowly. “I should’ve had you watch from the locker room or at least stood in the tunnel. I just . . . I didn’t think clearly.”
“It’s my fault,” I assert. “You told me what this was like and I got you hurt . . .” My eyes leak again, my heart breaking, the force of which almost knocks my breath away.
“Nate should have the car around in a few minutes. I need to go home and get some meds and try to get some sleep.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
His face is blank. “I, um, I think I should go alone, Cam.”
“Why?”
“I have a lot on my mind and I just . . . I need some space. I think you do too. You could’ve gotten hurt worse than me tonight, and by the grace of God you didn’t. Think about that, Camilla.”
“Don’t call me ‘Camilla,’” I demand, my breaths turning into hiccups as reality settles on my shoulders.
He hangs his head. It only spirals me harder down, down, down.
“I have thought about it,” I say, going back to his point. “I made the decision to come here, and if it was wrong, I’ll take the blame. I’ll pay my penance. Just don’t block me out,” I cry.
“I’m not blocking you out. I just . . . this was my worst nightmare. At least I got hurt and you didn’t.”
I can’t respond over the lump in my throat. His voice is raspy, but I can’t see if he has tears or not through my own. I just sit next to him, breathe him in, and wish for the love of God I’d listened and not come to this stupid fight.
“Can I come see you tomorrow?” I ask, almost a plead. “In the morning?”
He looks away and doesn’t respond. Nate comes in and helps him to his feet and they quietly ignore me.
I watch them through the fog, the two men I care about blurring together. Dom finally looks at me.
“Percy is outside. He’ll help me, and Nate will make sure you get to your car, all right?”
“Dom, wait. I . . .”
He takes my hand and guides me closer. He presses a soft, simple kiss to my cheek. “Go straight home.”
“But Dom!”
With a sad smile, he hobbles out the door.
Camilla
“HERE.” SIENNA HANDS ME A saucer of cucumber slices. “Put these on your eyes.”
“I don’t want to put them on my eyes,” I pout, taking the dish and setting it on the table beside the porch swing. Tugging the blanket up around my chin, I stare at the lake.
The Farm is the only place I have no memories of Dominic, and it’s where I want to be. It’s my happy place, my peaceful place. Sienna picked me up this afternoon and came over with me.
I watch the water glisten and think of Dom and wonder if he’s feeling better. I called this morning and he didn’t answer. So, I did what any logical person would do: I called Joy and had her call Nate.
Whether or not Nate is mad at me too I haven’t figured out. I can’t remember much about what he said or did last night. I can’t remember anything other than Dominic, and as soon as I remember that, I start to cry.
It’s a vicious cycle, one that kept me up all night.
“You need to do something,” Sienna sighs, sitting beside me. “Or don’t go out in public. I don’t want anyone thinking you’re me.”
“You’re mean,” I say, feeling like I should laugh but not able to actually do it. “What time is it?”
“Five? Maybe six? You’ve been like this for hours now. You have to sleep at some point, Swink.”
“I can’t. I close my eyes and I remember seeing him fall. The guy racing to him and not being able to do anything about it.”
The tears come again and I feel so stupid for still crying, for breaking down, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’m on a Tilt-a-Whirl of emotion.
“I should’ve listened to him.”
“No, he should’ve listened to you,” she suggests. “You shouldn’t have gone by yourself, I’ll agree with him on that. That was really stupid. But you just wanted to be there for him. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Tell that to his ribs,” I say. “Tell that to him. Tell that to my heart.”
“So dramatic.”
“I mean it. You know, every time I do something I want to do, someone gets hurt. It gets someone in trouble. I guess this is why our brothers treat me like a child, huh? Maybe I am just a child.”
“You aren’t a child,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You are having disagreements with a very alpha male. On one hand, you want to do the things you’ve seen our family do your entire life. Helping each other, lending each other a few—or ten thousand—dollars,” she cringes. “We support each other. How many baseball games did we miss of Lincoln’s?”
“None.”
“How many of Ford’s baseball, soccer, whatever he was doing that season did we not see?”
“None.”
“How many of our things did our parents miss? None. See my point?”
“I guess.”
“You’re just loving the way you know how to love. It’s just, with Dominic, he does things that aren’t as . . . normal, maybe, as the rest of the world we’re used to. And he loves by keeping you from having to deal with a lot of things that are really present in his reality.”
Letting the blanket drop from my chin, I pick up a cucumber slice. “He always says we’re too different. That we’ll always face these problems. Maybe he’s right, Sienna.”
“Maybe that’s a whole bunch of bullshit.”
“What’s bullshit?”
I turn to see Ford standing in the doorway.
“I was just coming by to do some fishing and saw your car, Sienna. So,” he says, coming out and leaning on the rail, “what’s bullshit?” He eyes me suspiciously, his lips set in a thin, grim line.
“Cam thinks she should give up on Dominic because they’re not seeing eye-to-eye at the moment.”
“It’s not that,” I say, aggravated at my sister. “I went to Dom’s fight last night.”
“You did?”
“He told me not to and I did it anyway. I’m fine, let’s let that be known before I go on,” I say. “Some chick shoved me and Dom got distracted and got hurt.”
“Is he okay?” Ford asks.
“Yeah. I think. Maybe a broken rib or something. I don’t know because he won’t talk to me.”
“Because you went?”
“Yeah. I should’ve listened and I didn’t. He’s furious . . . and he should be,” I say, wiping away a tear.