Swink (Landry Family 5)

Flipping off the burners, I turn to face him. His features are pressed together as he surveys my reaction.

“Then what are you saying, Dom?”

“Last night, I told you a story.”

“I remember.”

“And afterwards, you said

in a roundabout way that you meant it when you said you wanted me.”

“Yes,” I say, pulling in a lungful of air. “I did.”

He drops his arms to his sides and lets them hang towards the floor. “How did you mean that?”

There’s a hope infused in his voice that turns me to mush. It’s not that much different than listening to Huxley ask Lincoln if he’s really going to play catch or Ryder asking me if he can really have another popsicle. It both warms and breaks my heart.

Coming around the counter, I stand in front of him. He looks up at me all delicious with his tousled bed hair and morning stubble scruffing his face.

“When I said I wanted you, I meant . . . I meant I don’t want to stop seeing you,” I admit. “I sort of wait every day for you to move on, and if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want you to.”

Not a muscle moves, but his eyes sparkle. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

“Even after knowing . . .”

I take his hand and press it against my cheek. “Dom, what happened to you was horrible, but if you think I’m going to look at you differently because of what you had to do to survive, to save your mother, your brother, you’re crazy. If anything, I think more of you.”

He stands, towering over me. Twisting his hand, he laces our fingers together. “I don’t want to taint your life with mine.”

“How could you think that?”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Your family would cut you off if they knew you were fucking the help.”

I jerk my hand away. “For one, you are not ‘the help.’ And for two, fuck you for even saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“For three, if you think all we’re doing is fucking, then we should stop,” I say, biting back tears. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like just fucking to me.”

I barely get the words out of my mouth before his arms are wrapped around me. I don’t cry, but my heart squeezes so hard that I can’t breathe.

Those are words I’ve wanted to say for months now but never could find the spot to say them. If I would’ve thought about it a few moments ago, I would’ve held back. But I didn’t, and while I’m partially terrified of what he might say, I’m also relieved.

“At least I got you pissed off,” he jokes, stroking my back.

“Not funny,” I sniffle.

“No, it’s not. You’re right.” He rests his head on top of mine. “It’s a huge fear that my life will poison yours. You have everything going for you, lady. I feel like I’ll hold you back, even if I’m pushing you along.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

“Because I can’t let that happen.”

He finally lets me go. We stand inches from one another, both of us clawing at the proverbial cliff we’re about to go over, not sure if we want to fall together or just cling to where we are.

Clinging is safer. Falling could be amazing or could destroy everything.