Page 36 of Exile
“Oh baby. I’m here. Tell me what’s wrong.” Mom pulls me into a hug, and I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her familiar scent of warm vanilla and sweet berries. She’s smelled like strawberry shortcake for as long as I can remember. I let her hold me through my sobs until I’m able to talk.
“It feels wrong. Leaving here, I mean. This is our home. This is where we lived with Dad. I feel like I’m losing him all over again, and now I’m losing you too.” I hiccup on my last word, and Mom squeezes me tightly as she soothes me.
“Serena, listen to me. You aren’t losing me. I’m still here—I’ll just be getting the professional help I’ve needed for the last two years—and you’re going to finally be able to focus on your dreams and goals without having to worry about me. I want that so badly for you, Sweet Pea. Your dad will always be here with you.” Mom presses her hand to my heart. “He would be so proud of the young woman you’ve become, and I know he would want you to be able to chase your dreams uninhibited.”
I nod, wiping my tears away as I do my best to accept Mom’s words.
“I know, Mom. I know. It’s just so many big changes at once.”
Just then the sound of the front door opening disrupts our heart to heart. A moment later, Dominick strides into the room, a wide smile on his face as his eyes alight on us. “How are my two favorite girls today? You ladies ready for moving day?” Dom pulls my mom into a firm hug before wrapping me up in his embrace and dropping a kiss on top of my head. He pulls back, his brows furrowing in concern when he takes in my tear-streaked cheeks and red eyes.
“Is everything okay, Kitten?” Dom cups my face in his hands while he studies my face, trying to discern what has me so upset.
“I’m fine, I was having a moment about leaving home. I got overwhelmed by it all.” I force a smile as I reach up on my tiptoes to plant a reassuring kiss on Dominick’s lips. Before I get the chance to pull back, Dominick tightens his hold and deepens our kiss until I am breathless and dizzy. He doesn’t pull back until Mom clears her throat with an amused grin playing across her lips.
Dominick shoots Mom a bashful look. “Sorry, Laura. I just don’t like seeing my girl looking so sad.”
“Right, well how about we get this show on the road, and after you kids drop me off, you can…carry on without an audience.” Mom waggles her brows at me, and my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
“Mom!” The woman in question cackles at my mortification as she turns and walks out of the kitchen.
“I’m going to say goodbye to Gloria. I’ll meet you two lovebirds at the car.”
Hours later, after getting Mom settled into her new apartment, we arrive at Dominick’s house. It’s a modest two-story farmhouse built in the early 1900s, just outside of town. According to Dominick the house has been in his family for over a hundred years. It is nestled on a private lot, surrounded by trees, without any immediate neighbors. We’ve been bringing stuff over for the last few weeks, but tonight will be the first night I will sleep here in his home. Our home, I mentally correct myself.
I take in my new home, from the cozy front porch with a swing to the bay window in the dining room that lets in the morning light from the east. Fruit trees dot the large yard. Dominick told me his family used to have an apple orchard, hence the large plot of land the house sits on now. They got out of the business when his grandfather passed away years ago, but a few of the trees remain. It really is charming in a rustic sort of way, but I am slightly unsettled by the absence of neighbors and the calm quiet of the secluded area. Gone are the noises of suburbia, cars driving past, neighborhood dogs barking, the low persistent hum of power tools being used by Mr. White who lives two houses down on the other side of Mrs. G. The only sounds are of wildlife and the creaking of limbs as the wind rushes through the bare branches of the trees.
“Welcome home, Kitten.” I let Dominick help me out of the car and lead me up the steps to the front door. I find myself taking small, hesitant steps, still partially resisting the idea of this being my new home. Dominick must not pick up on my hesitancy, because he picks me up without warning and carries me across the threshold bridal-style.
“Dom!” I let out a surprised laugh as I clutch his neck. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you to my bed, Kitten and giving you a proper welcome. I’ve been waiting entirely too long to have your scent on my sheets, and I’m not wasting another moment.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SERENA
“Girl, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like run over dogshit.”
I cast a baleful look at Marie as I finish stocking the pastry case before we open for the morning.
“Thanks, Marie. You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself.” My sarcasm is as dry and brittle as my current emotional state. Despite moving in with Dominick over the weekend and having him dote on me for the last forty-eight hours, I still feel raw and unsettled about moving and selling my home. Marie must sense how unamused I am by her observation, because she comes up to me and takes the tray of baked goods out of my hands.
“Hey, what’s wrong? I thought you’d still be delirious from all the cohabitation dicking down happening?”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” I blow out a sigh as I rub my tired eyes. “Dom and I spent all weekend ‘celebrating’, and I haven’t slept well in weeks. Between packing, moving Mom into Whispering Grove, selling the house, working here and barely passing my finals, I’m dead on my feet. I haven’t been able to keep any food down either, thanks to the stress.” I don’t even mention the nightmares that have been plaguing me since the shooting. If it’s not that night coming back to haunt me, it’s dreams of Dom catching Kai and I in compromising positions and him leaving me high and dry, homeless while footing the bill for Mom’s care on my own.
Even though I did the right thing and told Kai we needed time apart, guilt still eats at me for not confessing to Dominick about the kiss between us.
An indecipherable look passes over Marie’s face, like a cloud blocking out the sun. “What’s that look for?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.
“You say you’re not sleeping and have been nauseous? How long has that been going on?”
“I dunno, three or four weeks? However long I’ve been dealing with this bullshit?” I pop a shoulder, too tired to do the mental gymnastics required to remember beyond what I had for dinner the previous night.
“Maybe you’re PMSing—is it time for a visit from your favorite aunt? Tell Dom to pick you up some chocolate and a bottle of wine and to give your kitty the night off.” Her voice has that light, forced airiness to it that someone uses when they’re trying to make a joke that falls flat.
I open my mouth to laugh off her suggestion and snap it shut when the cold realization hits me that she’s not entirely wrong. I should be PMSing. In fact, I should be three days into shark week at this point, based on how many of the inert sugar pills I’ve taken in my birth control pack. I always start on day two of the off week. Always. Marie immediately picks up on the panic that must be showing on my face.