Page 134 of Restore Me

“Things change.”

Concern shines in her eyes, and it pisses me off. I don’t want her concern, not after I tore my heart out and put it in her hand, only for her to hand it back to me. Still pounding, still gushing blood with every beat.

“I know you’re probably upset about last night, but I didn’t think—” Her eyes bounce between me and the bottle. “Did you drink that entire thing by yourself?”

I stare at her, keeping my expression blank. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.” She looks stunned by the question. “Of course, it matters.”

“Why?”

The fingers on her right hand find the rings on her left and start to spin them around. Sloane doesn’t have many nervous habits, but this is definitely one, and I’ve only seen her do it in moments of extreme distress.

“Because you’ve been ignoring my texts and calls, and I didn’t expect to come here and find you drunk. I mean why would you…”

I lift a brow. “Drink an entire bottle of vodka?”

She nods, guilt flickering in her eyes. “Yes. You’ve always been so adamant about not having the same vices as your dad.”

“That was before I accepted the truth about myself.”

“Dom, you have to know you’re nothing like him.”

“How would you know, Sloane? You’ve never met him.”

“And I don’t need to. I’ve heard the stories, and I know you’re a better man than he could ever be.”

I cross my arms, fighting back the swell of emotions her words elicit. For so long, all I’ve wanted was to be known by her. For her to look at me and really see me. Not her enemy. Not her husband’s best friend who she barely tolerates. Me.

The man who braved a thousand hells just to let her continue to dance through the clouds of heaven.

“He would disagree with you.” I see the exact moment she puts it all together. The vodka, the self-loathing, the thinly veiled rage eating me alive. She leans forward in her seat, inching closer to me.

“When did you see him?”

My fingers tap along the arm of the chair as I consider whether I want to answer her question. We haven’t talked about my dad since the day she told me about the miscarriage and her fight with Eric, and I’ve been determined to keep it that way. To protect her from the ugliest parts of me. But we’re done now, and there’s no point in hiding anymore.

“On Friday night when his nurse called to tell me he only has a few months to live.”

Her brows raise in surprise, and I know she gets it. She accused me of leaving her bed that night because of the tattoo, and maybe her asking about it did scare me, but it wasn’t the whole reason I left. And I never got to explain because by the time I got back to her, we were in crisis mode and everything, including her, was spiraling out of my control.

“Dom, I’m so sorry.”

She starts to reach for me then thinks better of it and pulls back, tucking her fingers into her lap. Every inch of my skin aches for her, desperate for the touch she’s suddenly so reluctant to give. And I’m hit with the realization that this is what the rest of my life will be like: the almost touches, the awkwardness of pulling away when all you want to do is move forward.

I drag my gaze back to her face. “Why are you here?”

“I told you I needed to see you.” There’s a gentle waver in her voice that calls to me, tugging at my need to protect her. To do whatever it takes to make the uncertainty lacing her features go away.

Hard to do that when you’re the one who put it there.

“Yes, but you never said why.”

“I want to talk about last night. I have questions, and maybe some answers, about that day you might be interested in.”

My jaw flexes as I stare at her, and I watch her trace the sharp line with her eyes. She’s probably trying to gauge my mood based on the movement of the muscle there.

“You think there’s something about that night you can tell me? I remember every second of it, Sloane. From the dress you were wearing to the exact words you said when you walked up to me and sat on my lap.”

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