Page 100 of Finding the Pieces

“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t talk about it until now,” I say.

“No, it wasn’t until recently that I think I was forced—by both a professional and four not-so-professional people in my life—to look more closely at why I was so determined to fix everything. I think I was trying to fix what you were struggling with in hopes that it would fix my problems too.”

“Tell me,” I plead. “Tell me everything.”

Without hesitation, Dom pulls me into his lap and holds me to his chest while he tells me about the day Luca was born…from his perspective. He speaks slowly, and when he pauses, I look up to see tears escaping as he shuts his eyes. He doesn’t just tell me what happened, though, he tells me every thought that ran through his mind, every detail of the nurse’s expression when she tried to explain to him what was going on with his wife and newborn son post-operation. How it felt staring at his phone when texts poured in from family members and friends asking for updates while he sat next to my body as I slept off the anesthesia. The guilt for being unable to do anything to protect his wife and son. The relief when I opened my eyes and the pain as he watched me fall apart from my own experience. The joy when he held Luca for the first time and the way his heart stuttered watching me become a mother, as unsure and traumatized as I was.

When he’s done, he asks me to do the same. To say it all out loud and to not leave one detail out. I’ve told the people important to me all the same version, giving more of myself than I had since it all happened. But never like this.

I take my time and don’t rush. Some things feel too dark, too terrifying, to say out loud, but I do. Dom doesn’t interrupt. He holds me, stroking his hand up and down my spine, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze when I have to pause to collect myself or my thoughts.

By the end, we’re both crying, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hide my face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, finding comfort in the arms that have held me through it all.

“It was easier to focus on you and Luca than to face the hurt and unresolved grief from everything that happened,” he says softly, before placing a gentle kiss on the top of my head.

“I don’t blame you for anything, Dom. We were delt a card we had no idea how to play, and we both did the best we could. Since Luca was born, I’ve wondered what type of mom I would be if we didn’t experience such a traumatic birth. But every day, that question fades as I ask myself, what kind of mom do I want to be now that we made it through it all? Everything you’ve done…you’ve helped me find the answer to that question.”

“I felt responsible for putting us back together, because while I was terrified, I knew it couldn’t compare to what you went through. I did us both a disservice by not admitting I was struggling too. I thought I could fix it all, but I couldn’t even see myself clearly.”

I take his face in my hands and make sure I have his full attention when I say, “You helped me more than I can explain. You gave me your confidence when I had none of my own. You gave me space to process and grieve when I needed it. You made me laugh when it felt impossible. You never gave up on me. It’s not your fault that what was broken couldn’t be fixed.”

I kiss him, moving into his lap to straddle him. His hands grip my hips possessively, but travel quickly up and down my sides, to my waist, my back, my shoulders, my ass. After holding in this pain and hurt, we can finally let it go and make room for love instead.

I’m dizzy by the time I pull away, and his lips chase mine for one more soft kiss before he leans his head back along the couch cushion.

“I love you, Dominic. At my most broken, at my most healed, I love you always.”

“God, I love you so much, Ellie.”

We start to move again, slower this time, savoring every moment.

I trail my fingertips over his skin, and his palms pull and push until I’m grinding in his lap.

“I need you,” I whisper into our shared breath.

“I need you more,” he growls, pulling my top over my head and tossing it behind the couch.

I stand and slowly push my leggings off. He leans back, admiring the view with hungry eyes. “No underwear?”

I shake my head and smile, kneeling back over him in just my bra. My plain, gray nursing bra. But the look that Dom gives me makes me feel like I’m wearing lacy lingerie as he removes it.

After all these years and everything he’s seen my body go through, he makes my entire body hot with just a look.

I run my hands over his abdomen before lifting his shirt off, tossing it with mine, lost somewhere on the floor. I push the band of his pants and boxer briefs down while he raises into me, lifting us both a few inches before his clothes finally fall past his hips, then his knees, before he kicks them away.

Neither of us moves, eyes locked on each other, my hands resting atop his shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful, Ellie.” He strokes his fingers reverently over my stomach, hips, and thighs, not missing an inch of my stretched, scarred, and dimpled skin. But I believe him. The way his gaze roves over my body, not to mention his hard length between us, I’ve never felt more cherished or desired than I do in this moment.

“Let me love you?” he half asks, half begs before kissing my neck, sucking and biting gently, causing my head to drop back, eyes closing, overwhelmed at the feel of his warm skin against mine and his kiss lighting a fire inside.

“Yes, yes, please.”

He groans against my chest, his face between my breasts, his beard scratching the soft skin, before he pulls me close and shifts us both so I’m lying on the couch and he’s pressed along every inch of me.

Dom doesn’t wait; he slides home, filling me with a satisfying fullness. We moan together as he slowly slides out, lifting his head to look into my eyes.

With one hand pressed into the cushion next to my head, his other grabs my hip as I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer with my heels, silently begging him to fill me again.

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