When History Repeats Itself

Chapter thirteen

"Dom, wake up," I said softly, nudging his shoulder. After nearly slamming a car door shut on his hand, I was treading lightly. Literally and emotionally.

He mumbled something incoherent before blinking himself back to the present. His gaze darted around until it landed on his own driveway, then dropped to the wet pack of ice resting on the seat beside him. His eyes widened—probably picturing the water soaking into his leather seat. But then, slowly, he looked at me.

I gave a sheepish shrug. "We can leave the windows down, let it air out. Sun's out. Not a cloud in the sky."

He just shook his head, amused more than angry. I rolled down the front windows and we got out. He popped the trunk and I followed closely.

"Let me help with your bags. It's the least I can do," I offered, already reaching for one.

But his right hand—the lucky one—stopped mine mid-reach.

"My right hand's fine. I'll get them out. You can carry the shoulder bag."

So he hauled out the trolley bag, and I slung the shoulder bag over mine as we made our way to the front door. Chris beat us to it, opening the door before Dom could reach for his keys. He took one look at Dom's trousers—still wet from the melted ice pack—and the quiet tension radiating from us both.

"Welcome home," Chris said, clearly biting back a dozen questions. He turned to leave until Dom called him back.

"Chris, I need you to look at my hand."

"What happened?" Chris asked, stepping closer. He touched Dom's left hand and Dom winced.

"My punishment for going to Japan," Dom muttered.

Chris snorted. "You two like to play it rough, huh?" He tossed me a knowing glance.

Dom smacked the back of Chris' head. In retaliation, Chris pressed his thumb into the sore spot, making Dom hiss in pain.

"Chris!" I gasped, wincing along with him.

"No broken bones. You're lucky she iced it. Painkillers and you should be fine," Chris said, then turned to me. "Fashion designers need their hands, you know. Next time, mess up the face."

I let out a breathy laugh, appreciating his attempt at humor.

Chris grabbed his keys and left us alone. I stayed rooted by the doorway, while Dom sat on the couch, eyes fixed on me like he was searching for the right thing to say.

"I should go," I said quietly. "Since your hand's okay and all. I'm really sorry about that."

He just shook his head, smiling in that infuriating, amused way of his.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

"What?"

"You don't get to ghost me for days, ignore my calls, pretend my trip to Japan didn't bother you, slam my hand in a car door, drive me home, apologize, and then try to vanish like we're fine. We're not casual, Kerry. We're in this. This isn't some half-assed performance—we're partners."

He got up and walked toward me. His strides were quick, sure. Before I knew it, I was backed into the doorframe, his right arm blocking my only exit.

"You went to her show," I blurted. "You touched her back on the red carpet. She was basically naked in that dress—glass-case-display levels of naked. What was I supposed to think? You probably got a private preview of her entire lingerie line."

He stared at me for a second, then said, "I'm a fool."

That threw me off.

"It was business. Chase Men is doing a collab campaign with her brand. We planned it before we broke up. We took a couple of photos, we talked briefly. I told her about you. I'm happy. She's happy."