Page 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dominic

The fire is going strong; the flames dancing along the fence and illuminating the small area of my backyard. I’m fine with the space I have back here. It’s just enough to have a comfortable area to relax in. There’s a grill on the opposite end with a small picnic table, and the four chairs round the fire pit here.

The old lady who lives on my other side has tall shrubs so we can’t see into each other’s yards, and the house behind me is empty. Has been for a while. Not really sure why. I’d gone by on a run one day and didn’t see a For Sale sign, so I’m not sure what’s up with it. The yard is tended to, so at least someone is taking care of it.

Mikah was the only neighbor I needed to worry about, and when I realized how much he hated me, that only fueled me to do things to annoy him.

“Do you need another beer?” I ask, reaching for the cooler between us .

“Sure,” he says before finishing what’s in his bottle.

He puts it on the ground beside the other two. I pop the top of the bottle before handing it over, then do the same for myself.

We spent an hour at the social security office today. It wouldn’t have taken so long if I didn’t wait to talk to my friend, but I figured it may help Mikah. Of course there are things he has to go through regardless, but at least if I’m talking to someone I know, I’ll trust them to do what needs to be done and not brush him off.

She told me it isn’t easy to get a new number, but I have no doubt Mikah will gather everything needed to prove what’s going on. Part of me wishes he would have told me all of this sooner so I could have helped him sooner, but also… had he done that, we wouldn’t be where we are today. Which is pretty wild to think about.

I’m in the same boat as he is. I think this is all a little crazy, too, but I don’t hate it. It doesn’t scare me. I want it. There are a lot of conversations we still need to have, like about work and what this means for us in that aspect and our future, but for now… it’s just casual dating.

Maybe things won’t get more serious—doubtful with the way I’m feeling and the way he looks at me, but you never know.

“Tell me about your childhood,” he says suddenly.

I huff out a laugh, bringing the beer to my lips to take a swig.

“It was great,” I say, noting the shock on his face. “I have nothing but happy memories of my mother and growing up. She was amazing. My best friend. I’d wake up to breakfast every morning, even if we were struggling for money and all we could afford was oatmeal or cereal, there was always something prepared for me. Same with lunches for school. She left a note in my lunch box every day. Even when I hit high school, she’d sneak them into my backpack. Cause, you know, lunch boxes aren’t cool in high school.” I chuckle, and he lets out a small laugh, too.

“Dinner was always made, except the days she had extra money and ordered us food. She worked at a daycare during the day, so she was home shortly after I was. We went to the park a lot. Did a lot of outdoor things that didn’t cost money because we didn’t have a lot of that. Sometimes none.”

“What about your dad?”

I shrug, shaking my head. “Don’t know him. My mom said it was better off that way. That her biggest mistake in life gave her the best thing—me. Hard to think she could love me so much with how much she didn’t like him. She didn’t shit-talk him, but I saw the look in her eye when he was brought up—mostly by me. It was almost like she was scared or something. I never really got to ask her about it before she died.”

“How old were you?” he asks carefully

I take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I stare into the flickering flames of the fire. I recall the day it happened. I’ll never forget that, even if I wanted to. It’s one of those things that will be burned into my brain for the rest of my life. How could I ever forget the look on her face when she just… died .

“Fifteen,” I rasp out, clearing my throat and taking a sip. It’s not easy to talk about, which is why I usually don’t. I’ve accepted that this is my life, this is what happened, but thinking about her death hurts.

“What kind of cancer?”

I love talking about my mother. I don’t get to do it enough. This shit is hard to talk about because it fucking hurts, but I want Mikah to trust me. I want this relationship to go somewhere. I want him to open up to me so I can heal his wounds. And if I’m going to do that, I have to open up to him first. I have to be vulnerable and lead by example. If I want his trust, I need to give him mine. Show him vulnerability to get it in return. No one likes talking about difficult things, but sometimes they need to be talked about.

“Leukemia, but that wasn’t what killed her.”

“Oh,” he says, shocked. “If this is too hard to talk about…”

“My mom deserves to be remembered. She’d have loved the hell outta you, I’ll tell you that.” I laugh thinking about it, taking another swig of beer. “Your spice. The attitude. God, she’d love you.”

I sneak a glance and see him smiling, but it’s sad. Maybe because he can’t say the same about his mother and wishes he could. If my mother were alive, she’d gladly take him under her wing and be his mom too. That’s just the kind of person she was.

“Her birthday was coming up. It was on a Wednesday that year and I had football practice, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to spend much time with her on the day. Because we didn’t have much money, we always tried to do something special for each other on our birthdays. She had this old Camry. Thing was her pride and joy. No idea why she loved it so much, but she did. It was the Sunday before her birthday, and I woke up early to go clean the piece of shit, wanting it to sparkle for her.”

I clear my throat, taking another sip and another deep breath. My chest aches at the memory. “She’d come outside as I was rinsing the car off. I’d already done the inside and just had to wipe the outside down. Her hair was a mess, face tired. She was in her plaid pajama pants that were too big for her, a white t-shirt and her favorite grey zip-up hoodie that she found at a thrift shop. That thing was ragged, but so damn soft. She wore it all the time.” I huff a laugh at the thought. She wore that thing around the house at all times, like a security blanket.

“What are you doing to my car, honey?” she asks.

I grin at her, turning off the hose. “Happy birthday,” I say. “I’m almost done.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

She folds her arms over her chest, fighting off the chill even though it isn’t cold. I blame the cancer.

“Of course I did. You love this car.”

She laughs, taking a step toward me, but pauses and blinks. I step to her, figuring she’s having another dizzy spell. They come all the time now, and I always try to be within reach in case she falls.

Her face goes blank, the spark in her eyes just… dies out. They go unfocused, and then she drops. She just drops to the ground .

“Mom!” I run to her, falling to my knees, the asphalt digging into my bare skin. I shake her, tap her cheek, but she’s just… staring up at the sky, unmoving. “Mom, wake up! Help, someone help!”

I stay on the ground with her, shaking her, trying to do CPR, calling for help. Crying. Shaking. Eventually the sirens are heard off in the distance until the ambulance is in front of my house and the paramedics are pulling me off her so they can work.

“It was a brain aneurysm,” I say, finishing my beer and dropping the bottle to the ground before grabbing another.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Mikah says. “That’s… I can’t imagine dealing with that at any age, never mind so young.”

I nod absently, fighting off the heaviness in my chest. “Thankfully, I was placed in a good foster home. Not one of those shitty ones. Emmet’s family was the only one I was sent to. Stayed with them until I was eighteen. They were amazing.”

“Silver lining,” he comments.

Yeah, tell me about it.

“What about you?” I dare ask, and don’t miss his flinch.

He sighs, shifting in his seat and staring at the bottle in his hand.

“My life was… very different.” He picks at the label on the bottle, his lips set into a deep frown. “Complete opposite, actually. I’m pretty sure my mother is the actual spawn of Satan.”

I choke out a laugh. “Sorry, it’s not funny. Just sounds like you really mean that.”

“I do,” he admits with a firm head nod. “We lived in a trailer that I’m pretty sure was deemed unlivable, but no one out there really gave a shit. The roof leaked. It was infested with roaches and ants. The smell was…” He shivers, making a disgusted face. “There was never hot water, if there was water at all. Electricity was on less than half the time. There was no food. Never. My meals came from school and the times I went to my friend’s place, which wasn’t too often. I hated taking from them, because they were a big family and struggling to survive too.”

“That sounds rough,” I say.

“It’s not even the worst of it. I could handle the shitty living situation if my mother had any bit of kindness to her, but she was cruel. Vile. She’d tell me at least once a day how pathetic I was. How she wished I had never been born. That the only reason she kept me around was because it got her money and food stamps—which she used for drugs, by the way. Fucking dealers will take anything in exchange for their product. When she was mad, I was her punching bag. When she brought guys there?” He scoffs. “Sometimes they were nice. It was rare, but it happened a few times. They looked like they felt bad for me, like they wanted to help, but they just used my mother for whatever she was willing to give and went on their merry way.”

“Mikah—”

I say his name to let him know he can take a breather, that he can slow down if he needs. But he just keeps going and I can’t help but feel proud of him as I listen to him get this off his chest.

“When I discovered how quickly I could make money creating adult content, I did it. I ignored the fact that I was doing what my mother did, selling her body to survive, and just did it. Because I was different.”

“You are different,” I adamantly say.

He nods. “Yeah, I can agree with that. I’m not my mother, but I am terrified of going back to that life. Of having nothing, living in squalor, having no one to rely on. I know I’m not my mother, and I never will be, because I refuse to be. I was doing well. At least, I thought I was, until all this mess with my identity happened, and…”

“Your worst fear came true.”

“Yep. It sure as fuck did.”

It falls silent for a few moments, nothing but the crackling of the firewood and a car or two passing by the front.

“If you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask, Mikah. I’m here. Whatever it is, night or day, I don’t care. I want you to ask for help. I want to help you.”

“You know,” he begins with a smile, looking up to meet my gaze. “I believe that. And it’s insane, because I don’t get it. I know you do. I see it, I love it, but… why, Dominic?”

I shrug, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I think of how to answer that question in a way that won’t sound like a line.

“We’re all creatures of our upbringing. I was taught to care for people, to be kind, because that’s how my mother raised me. But I learned as I got older that it isn’t just about how she raised me, but who I am. It’d be weird if I said I was into being dominant in the bedroom because of my mother.” I chuckle .

“I’m submissive because of mine,” Mikah whispers, barely audible, almost like he can’t believe it. He looks at me. “That’s why, isn’t it? That’s why I like it?”

“Possibly. Not her specifically, but your childhood. When I said all that stuff… about the way you grew up? It happens a lot. I’ve seen it. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just a bunch of psychological stuff.” I get up and go to him, grasping his cheeks and looking into his eyes. “You had a shit childhood. You couldn’t rely on anyone. You had no one to make decisions for you and had to make them yourself. You grew up too fast, and the little boy inside of you was neglected. So, the adult-you craves what child-you didn’t get. I can give that to you.”

His gaze holds mine before dipping to my lips.

“You do. And it’s…”

“Scary?”

“Addicting,” he breathes out.

My eyes fall closed, and I take a breath. When I open them, he’s still looking at me. And he continues when I don’t say anything.

“I didn’t know how badly I needed you in my life until you were here. I’m terrified of losing this now that I have it. I won’t know how to go back to how I was. I don’t think I can. You’ve… ruined me.”

“No,” I say with a sharp shake of my head. “No, I’ve just given you a new tool to use, is all.”

“Yeah, in the form of you.”

I guess he’s right. I’m not sure what else to say to that. So, I lean in and kiss him.