Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Mila squeezed her eyes shut, her chest hurting at the picture he was painting. She wondered if he knew that the loneliness he’d felt back then rang clear in his tone. Her cat leaned into him, wanting to soothe.
“I was never allowed in his room,” Dominic went on. “They hadn’t boxed up his stuff, they’d left it all exactly as it had been when he died. It was like a shrine to him. My mother would sleep there sometimes. I’d hear her crying, but I learned fast that there was no point in going to her. She didn’t want comfort. She clung to the guilt, wore it like a badge.
“She often invited spiritualists to the house, and they’d talk of how Tobias was still close. For as far back as I can remember, she used to tell me that the unexplained noises I heard around the house—any creaks, thuds, scrapes—were my brother’s spirit moving around.
“Every year on his birthday, she’d bake a cake for him and light candles, and we all had to sing happy birthday to someone who wasn’t even there. I get that they needed to keep his memory alive. I’m glad they were so determined not to forget him. I’m glad he was loved so much, and I’m damn sorry that he died. But I don’t like that even though they had me, they never let themselves love me. I don’t like that my purpose was to bring them back together, make them happy again. They were never happy. And for a while, I blamed myself for that.”
Rolling over to face him, Mila said, “People are responsible for their own happiness. And it sounds to me like your mother didn’t want to be happy.”
Dominic played his fingers through Mila’s curls. “You’re right, she didn’t. And by leaving, she condemned her mate. She didn’t even leave a note. Didn’t give any warning. Just packed her stuff and went. My father couldn’t handle the distance from her, and so his wolf turned rogue. Mauled two people to death before his Alpha and Beta brought him down. And then there was only me.”
No, she thought, there had only been him for a very long time before that. His parents had never made him feel part of a family. It hurt her heart to think he’d spent his childhood suppressing a shitload of anger for the emotionally absent parents who’d had him to replace their perfect child—Dominic had never stood a chance.
He’d never been special to anyone. Never belonged. Never felt fully secure. He’d learned that it was unwise to expect much of people.
It was little wonder he’d cultivated a player image to avoid relationships. Lots of people “performed.” Pretended they had it all together, pretended they weren’t in debt, pretended their relationships were perfect. Many turned to things like gambling, drugs, or alcohol to numb their pain. But Dominic hadn’t tried to numb his pain, he’d hidden it. Hidden it behind a carefree mask. In doing so, he’d isolated himself.
But, really, who could blame him? If she were in his shoes—even if only subconsciously—she’d ask herself what the point was in baring her soul if she felt like she’d never be truly loved for who she was. She’d feel it was better to hold back than to love, trust, and depend on someone.
“Thank you for telling me that,” said Mila, knowing it hadn’t been easy. He’d had the option of leaving, but he hadn’t. He’d stayed. And more importantly, he’d shared.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I wobbled for a minute earlier.”
“I know.”
“Don’t give up on me. I’m not used to . . . I’ve never needed anyone, Mila. No one has ever mattered to me the way you do.” He put her hand over his heart, adding, “I thought I’d be in control of how and when you got in here, but it turns out I’m not. You made your own way into there, and that realization knocked me on my ass, but I’m back up again.”
God, he made it impossible to stay angry when he said stuff like that. Now that he’d told her about his upbringing, she understood him better. Understood his earlier need to leave wasn’t so much cowardice as him feeling vulnerable and unsure. And fuck if she didn’t feel like crying for the lonely little boy he’d once been.
Her parents had always made her feel loved and treasured and safe. He’d never had that. And now that there was someone in his life wanting to make him feel all those things, his instinct was to hold her at bay. But he’d pushed past that instinct; he’d stayed. Opened the shutters. Exposed more of himself. Admitted to caring for her, even when he was feeling raw and vulnerable. That took a heap of emotional courage, and it melted every tiny bit of irritation she’d felt. And it would only be fair to return the favor.