by Score, Lucy
And that’s why it hurt so, so much. That devastation simmering beneath the surface just waiting to erupt.
I loved Dominic Russo.
And he’d cast me aside like I was nothing. Thank God I’d been too chicken to tell him I loved him.
I reached for a lifeline.
Me: I know I swore I’d never say these words again. But I think I need tequila.
Faith: I. Am. Here. For. This.
She arrived an hour later with a bottle of much better stuff than what we’d nearly gone blind on last time.
“My boyfriend yelled at your boyfriend, and then I slapped him in the face, and it was pretty fucking hot,” Faith said, stepping inside and closing the door.
I chose to ignore the latter part of that statement for now. “Your boyfriend? Wait a second, what happened to ‘we’re just having mindblowing sex,’ ‘we’re too different to be serious’?”
“Look, I’m not here to rub your face in my new awesome relationship. I’m here to get you shitfaced.”
I nodded somberly. “But just because I’m sad doesn’t mean I can’t also be happy for you. Are you happy? Do you like him?”
She reached for my hand and squeezed. “I’m happy. I like him. He’s gorgeous shirtless. Now, how are you? Are you ready to talk?” she asked, pulling the stopper out of the tequila.
Ah, the sound of bad decisions.
I shook my head. Maybe there was something to be said about keeping the bad stuff inside. I’d trusted Dom with so much. With my fears, my secrets, my heart.
And look what had happened.
“The real estate guy is going to list the house on Monday. In the meantime, I need to find gainful employment.”
“Christian said you were doing some branding work for him? But I think he said it with his shirt off, so I wasn’t listening very closely.”
I nodded. “It was the other half of our deal for Dom—the vest.” His name used to mean so many other things. Its definition, my association with the arrangement of those seven letters, was irrevocably changed.
“Christian said the concepts were really good.”
I shrugged. Apparently getting your heart stomped on made it hard to care about anything.
“Do you want to go on a revenge spree? Maybe drive by his house set his bushes on fire? Rub some dog shit all over his Range Rover? We could get all the girls from the office together and make shirts that say Domidick.”
I should have laughed. But the cracks couldn’t hold back the hurt anymore. Thanks, tequila.
“I really loved him, Faith. Like really. A lot.”
She pushed the emergency box of tissues at me and pushed my hair off my forehead. “I know, babe. I know,” she said grimly.
69
Dominic
As if to prove what an asshole I was, Christian’s new Instagram post was a picture of Ally and Faith, both in couture, laughing and lounging on those same rumpled sheets. It was followed by a picture of Christian and Faith in a lip-lock.
I was a champion asshole. And I’d spent one too many hours last night listening to people who should have felt comfortable talking to me in the first place. But apparently I didn’t encourage open communication and honesty. My attitude convinced people that I didn’t care about them and left them to deal with things on their own.
I’d spent an uncomfortable hour with Shayla, followed by a trip to HR to get Gola’s home address. For the second time, I’d shown up unannounced on a woman’s doorstep to ask her tough questions about abuses of power and trust.
I was still turning it all over in my head when my mother summoned me to her office to talk about cover stories.
“We can’t get Amalia,” she was saying. “She’s on location shooting some music video for six days. So that’s out.” She sat perfectly still, staring up at the whiteboard someone had wheeled into her office. Ideas for the cover were listed out in order of potential. Over half of them were crossed out.
“Mom,” I said wearily. “I can’t talk to you about stories. I don’t know anything about stories. You know what I do know? Secrets. I know how to hide the dark, dirty truth. How to be ashamed of it.”
“Oh, lord. Dominic, I really don’t need you having some sort of existential crisis right now,” Mom sighed. “We have an issue to discuss.”
She was talking about the magazine.
“Actually, we have several issues to discuss,” I countered, leaning back and shoving a hand through my hair.
Issues.
Stories.
Secrets.
Ally.
I sat up a little straighter, thinking it through. I heaved myself out of the chair and crossed to the board. “Secrets and stories,” I said and picked up the eraser.
“What’s gotten into you? Are you having a breakdown right now?”
“Probably,” I said, starting to erase the list.
“Dominic!” Mom appeared at my side. As I scrawled the words “secrets” and “stories” at the top of the spot I’d just cleared.
“We foster secrets. We encourage people to keep secrets and hide things, and this is what happens. Everything rots from the inside.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Dad. Irvin—who I’m firing in twenty minutes if you want in on that. Me. You. Simone.”
Mom went still again.
“We’ve all kept secrets,” I said. “But what happens if we stop keeping them? What happens if we tell our stories?”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I was back in my office with calls in to HR, the magazine’s general counsel, and the family attorney. Mom was working her magic on her favorite designers and photographers. There was a new energy, an excitement. But I could only watch from the outside.
My cell phone buzzed, and I pounced, hoping that something had happened and Ally had magically forgiven me.
Harry: Del just texted. She read that you dumped Ally for being pregnant with another man’s baby.
Me: Tell Del not to read that shit.
Harry: So you didn’t dump her? I can tell my wife to stop sobbing into her bottle of Merlot?
Me: Ally and I decided we were no longer a good idea.
Harry: Mainlining wine gif.
Harry: WTF gif with a really pissed off face.
Harry: Are you fucking with me right now?
My phone rang. I knew it had been too optimistic, hoping that Harry would give up and leave me alone.
“Man. Seriously?”
It sounded like he was ringside at a professional wrestling event.
“Where are you?”
“At home. Why?”
“You don’t hear that noise? What is it? Banshees? Someone running kittens through a wood chipper?”
“Oh, that,” he said dismissively. “That’s the girls. They’re either mad or happy. Can’t really tell just from the sound. The screaming is pretty much the same.”
There was another blood-curdling shriek on his end. “Oh, good. They’re happy,” he said. “Lay it out for me, man. Don’t go all Vault on me.”
“Vault?”
“That’s your mean, behind-your-back nickname bestowed upon you by the lovely and never-wrong Delaney,” he explained.
Harry had once lost a bet with Delaney. The stakes had been he had to refer to her at least once a day as “The lovely and never-wrong Delaney.”
I sighed audibly.
“Every guy has one,” he continued. “Mine’s Pretends to Be Listening. And don’t insult either of our admittedly limited intelligence by asking me to explain why you’re Vault and I’m Pretends to Be Listening. Just tell me what you did, and I’ll tell you how to fix it. Or get Delaney involved if it’s a bad fuck-up.”
Oh, it was a bad fuck-up. An unrecoverable one.
“I don’t think even Delaney could fix this,” I admitted.
“That bad, huh?” he asked.
“Think about the worst thing you’ve ever done to your wife,” I advised him.
&nbs
p; “Uh-huh. Okay. Got it.”
“Then make it ten times worse.”
Harry let out a low whistle. “That’s bad. Did you accidentally cut off one of her limbs?”
“Worse.”
“Okay. I’m with you, brother. We’ve all done really stupid fucking shit. Lay it on me.”
I thought about everything. About my mother, my father. About Ally and the women my father victimized and used. About Elena and Gola and Harry and Delaney. About that jackass Christian and Faith. About how I’d never once confided in Harry, my best friend.
So I told him everything. From my father’s gruesome predilections to my breakup with Elena to my epic, unforgivable fuckup.
“You fucking asshole,” he said without heat when I’d finally finished.
“I know,” I agreed. “I’m a monster. Just a different kind than my father.”
“No, idiot. You should have had this conversation with me or someone a year ago.”
“You have to admit, it was the worst possible thing I could have done.”
“Not the worst. You could have cheated on her in her own bed, and when she walked in on you, you could have chopped off one or two of her limbs. Or you could have accidentally nudged her grandmother with your car eight years ago so everyone in the family had to spend Thanksgiving in the emergency department.”
“That last one sounds a little specific for fictionalized moral lessons.”
“Yeah, so I accidentally hit Delaney’s grandma with the car. To be fair, the woman hated me, and I swear she jumped behind me at the last second. That woman would have been willing to break a femur to make a point. Anyway, she was fine, and Delaney and I recovered. You can too.”
“I abandoned her, Harry. Not only did I live up to the example her shitty mother set, I accused Ally of using me.”
Harry sighed. “Look, the point of a relationship isn’t hiding your stupid wounds and flaws. It’s about showing them to someone and letting them still love you. You were able to hurt her because she let you in.”
“Is that supposed to be good news?”
“I think so, but now I’m having flashbacks to Granny Mabel lying on the asphalt. I’m going to have to call in the big guns.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose while my best friend conferenced in his wife.
“You stupid motherfucking guy.” Delaney didn’t mince words.
“Already acknowledged, Del,” Harry said, stepping in. “How does he fix it?”
“Fix it? The man stuck his fingers in her open wound and rooted around in there. He conned her into caring about him, trusting him, and then he abandoned her just like her mother did.”
Fuck.
“You want someone you can trust with your nightmares. Not just your dreams. She showed you her nightmare, and you walked,” Delaney continued.
“Babe. Focus. How does he make it right?”
“Listen, I don’t know about Ally. But there wouldn’t be any fixing this for me.”
“So what you’re saying is this is worse than Granny Mabel.”
“Harry, honey, you could have backed over Granny Mabel six times, and this is still worse.”
My desk phone had incoming calls. Several of them. “This has been really helpful, guys. I’ve got to go.”
There was a knock at my door, and Irvin sauntered in.
“What can I do for you, my boy?” he asked.
“Irvin, you’re fired.”
70
Dominic
To: Ally
From: Dominic
Subject: I’m so sorry.
Fun Fact: I’m terrible at apologizing.
The words “I’m sorry” didn’t mean anything when I was growing up. They just meant “I wish I hadn’t gotten caught.” Or “I’ll do it again.”
I realize it’s pathetic to be 45 and still not know how to say those two little words. But I’m sorry, Ally. I’m so permanently, painfully, unforgivably sorry. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But that doesn’t stop me from hoping for it.
Yours Always Even Though I Don’t Deserve You
Dominic
* * *
To: Ally
From: Dominic
Subject: Getting to know me
I’ve only recently learned that my nickname is the Vault. I don’t trust easily. I don’t share easily. And in an incredible dent to my male pride, apparently I’m always waiting to be taken advantage of. All of this should have come up in the “getting to know you stage.” Which we skipped over because I was too focused on the “getting you naked.”
Not that I regret that part of it.
But I did you a disservice, Ally. I gave you things. But I didn’t share. I forced your secrets into the open, while refusing to tell mine. It was never an even exchange. You always gave more.
And for that, and so many other things, I’m sorry.
Love,
Dom
* * *
To: Ally
From: Dominic
Subject: Getting to know me
I can’t stand the smell of hummus. It makes me gag.
Love,
Dom
* * *
To: Ally
From: Dominic
Subject: Getting to know me
Adding to the hate list.
I hate not knowing what’s going on in your life, in your day. Instead of knowing how your dance class went or what you had for lunch or even where you’re working now, my knowledge of you is limited to the fact that I lost the right to know anything new.
I hate that your birthday is coming up and I don’t have any right to be a part of it.
I hate that you’re not here to ask me how far I am in Pride and Prejudice. I finished it by the way and then watched one of the movies.
I hate not being able to ask you who your favorite onscreen Mr. Darcy is.
I hate that I ruined us just as you were fixing me. I’m doing something good. Really good here. Mom too. And it would never have happened if it weren’t for you. I hate that I can’t share it with you.
I hate that I let old bad ruin new good.
I hate finding pieces of you around the house. They remind me that not only will you not be walking through the door, but I’m the reason you won’t.
I hate that $50 you send me every week. And I know that’s why you’re sending it. I don’t want your money. I just want you. And I hate that that’s how you felt about me and I didn’t see it.
Love,
Dom
* * *
To: Ally
From: Dominic
Subject: Getting to know me
I can’t breathe without you. Nothing makes sense anymore. I’m an asshole without you. Ask Gola. She’s #TeamAlly. Along with everyone else in this building.
Buddy finally felt bad enough to eat lunch with me. He told me that you introduced his wife to Christian and that she’s consulting on some of his adaptive designs. That’s just like you. Connecting people.
Sometimes I feel like I’m holding my breath all day just waiting for someone to say your name around me. I don’t ever want a life without your name in it.
Love,
Dom
* * *
To: Ally
From: Dominic
Subject: Getting to know me
I took a page out of your book with Brownie. He misses you almost as much as I do. So I dressed him up in the sweatshirt you left behind. Picture attached. I had a few drinks with Elton—who confirmed my dumbass diagnosis—on the deck last night. I may have had one too many, and I tried to wear your Halston to bed.
I got it stuck over my head and shoulders, and for a few seconds thought I was going to suffocate and die.
By the way, I owe you a new dress on top of everything else I owe you.
I know what you brought to my life. I know nothing I gave you could ever compare. But I’m going to fix that.
In the meantime, Brownie and I are still hoping you’ll walk back into our lives. He doesn
’t know that I don’t deserve you. Please don’t tell him.
Love,
Dom
* * *
To: Ally
From: Dominic
Subject: Getting to know me
The first time I saw you—before you yelled at me and sagely said “Fuck You” with pepperoni—I was infatuated with your hair. I called you Sex Hair in my head because I wanted to put my hands in your hair while I kissed you.
Love,
Dom
* * *
To: Ally
From: Dominic
Subject: Getting to know me
When I was a freshman in college, my roommate lied and said he didn’t have a place to go for Christmas break so I would invite him home with me and he could attend my parents’ annual New Year’s bash. Think models, champagne, caviar, fireworks. He snuck twenty of his closest asshole friends into the party, and I had to break his friend’s nose when he wouldn’t let a seventeen-year-old model out of a bedroom.
Elena dated me thinking I could make her a household name, and when tipping off the paparazzi every time we went out didn’t work, she started sleeping with my father.
My mother knew I was honor-bound to our family and used that to make me walk away from a career that fit me to clean up a mess my father had made.
You never once used me. Never once asked me for anything. And I threw my baggage in your face because I thought I had no idea what a healthy relationship looks like. Harry and Delaney have since informed me differently.
Love,
Dom
* * *
