“But not with Carly. She’s the right one, so I’m not nervous.” Nick shrugged, adjusted his cuffs, turned to make sure the back of the jacket hung right. “Sorry, best man, I guess I’ll have to leave all that nerves crap to you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. You’re the one who’s been falling apart this past month. Have you talked to Jordan?”
“Yeah, I called once and she was busy with the kid. Then she called me back and invited me to dinner, but who wants to sit there with that dragon lady sniffing at me?”
Chuckling, Nick shook his head. “When are you going to admit it?”
“Admit what?”
“You want the woman? Go after her.”
“It’s complicated.”
“So’s everything. So what? You’re giving up? You’re not going to see her?”
Dom shrugged.
“Ever again?”
“I don’t know. I want to, but—” He shrugged again. “The whole thing is a hassle.”
Nick nodded. “With Carly, I went through hassles, too.”
“You kidding? You met Carly on a Saturday and you were living together by Wednesday. When did you have time for hassles?”
“You make time, trust me. Do you have the ring?”
Dom patted his pocket, brought out the ring and showed it to the groom-to-be. “Right here.”
As Nick stared at the ring, his face lost its color, and his air of confidence evaporated. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
Three hours later, as he sat in his living room, beer in hand, slightly drunk and still dressed in his tux, Dom recalled that last moment before Nick took the plunge. He chuckled loudly. “Macho man Nick, I salute you,” Dom said to the empty room, raising his beer can. “Tough till the end.”
It had been a nice wedding, as weddings went. Ceremony at ten, brunch immediately following, over by one so the bride and groom could head out for their honeymoon in the Caribbean.
You want the woman? Go after her. Nick’s words had stuck in Dom’s head throughout the ceremony and the hoopla afterward. They were in his head as he sat sprawled on his couch. Other words came back to him, words Jordan had said to him a month ago: You’ve always been there for me. Always, from the beginning. You’re beating yourself up over something that was not in your control, crucifying yourself on your own homemade cross.
Jordan. Damn, but he missed her, missed her bad. He’d thought maybe she would diminish in importance if he didn’t see her. Instead she’d grown larger and larger in his imagination until she took over most of his waking thoughts, and several of his sleeping ones, too.
What should he do about Jordan Carlisle?
Hell, he might not have a chance to do anything—she might have crossed him off her list weeks ago.
Dom found his gaze shifting toward the fireplace, then along the mantel to where Theresa’s picture sat. As always, her smile was warm and loving.
“Hey, Theresa,” Dom said. “Tell me what to do.”
Silence greeted him, of course, but he decided to keep talking to her anyway.
“Jordan’s nothing like you. No, that’s not true. She loves fiercely and fights for what’s hers. She’s a hard worker. She gets insecure and has a temper and a sense of humor. Okay, she’s not Irish-Catholic, and she’s tall and thin, so in that way, she’s nothing like you. She doesn’t go on diets all the time. In fact, she’s too skinny. But who the hell cares about the size of a body?”
Dom raised his beer to the portrait, took a sip and cradled the can between his hands. “Was I a failure as a husband, Theresa? Jordan said I did the best I could. Did I?”
Theresa was still smiling. Dom shrugged. “I don’t know. But I love her, Theresa.” As he said the words, there was a funny, tingly feeling in the back of his throat. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life without her. Do you mind that I fell in love again?”
Theresa smiled, so did Dom. “Nah. I didn’t think you would. You were always big on the falling in love department. Yeah, you don’t mind. In fact, it’s an honor to you, isn’t it? An honor to your memory.”
As Dom said the words, he could have sworn Theresa’s warm smile grew broader, but of course, that was the beer talking, and maybe a little emotion that slipped in there too.
Still, something that had been wound tightly around his gut, for years it seemed, released inside him, spreading softness and peace as it did.
Love.
Yeah, love. The word, the concept, here, now, today, it all resonated deeply within him. Jordan Carlisle was the woman Dom loved. And it was okay that he did. More than okay. It was terrific.
You want the woman? Go after her.
“How are you doing, sweetie?”
At the sound of Jordan’s voice, Michael looked up from playing with his toys and offered his shy smile to let his mother know he was fine. She’d set him up in the corner of the shop this morning, and between Jordan, Lisa and the other two women who worked at Riches and Rags on Saturdays, he was never out of someone’s vision. All of them loved him. His sweetness shone from his soul.
Perched on a stool near the cash register, Jordan watched her son at play.
In this past month, there had been some progress—a few words here and there, more and more smiles. Even though she hugged him occasionally, Jordan had been careful not to overwhelm him physically, contenting herself mostly with quick pats, a smoothing of his hair, holding his hand when crossing the street. Michael lavished most of his affection on his stuffed animals, especially Pap-Pup, which Jordan had saved and which was always with him.
Cynthia had tried to take Pup-Pup away, claiming it was filthy and that Michael needed all new, better, bigger toys. It had been an ugly scene, one among many ugly scenes since Michael had returned to their lives. Not content with the mere fact of his return, Jordan’s mother-in-law had become more and more demanding, making all kinds of plans for Jordan and Michael, insisting she quit working at Riches and Rags, discussing how Michael would go to the “right” school, so he would have the “right” friends.
Yesterday morning, Jordan and Cynthia had had a showdown in which Jordan had informed her mother-in-law that she and Michael would be moving out. Jordan would raise the boy herself, without interference. She would like her son to have a relationship with his grandmother, she had added, but not one with strings attached, and it was up to Cynthia.
The older woman had been stunned by Jordan’s attitude, but that had been nothing compared to Jordan’s reaction to her own audacity. Sometime in the recent past—it had begun before Michael’s miraculous return, and Dom’s presence in her life had had a lot to do with moving it along—Jordan had finally decided, somewhere inside, that she was a deserving, worthy human being.
After yesterday morning, when she had stood up for herself proudly and fearlessly, she knew that it would be much harder in the future for anyone to manipulate her through guilt or through her own feelings of not being enough.
How she wished Dom could have been there.
Dom. Jordan fiddled with a fun pin they’d just gotten in. It was a fierce, scowling jeweled bumble bee, and it reminded her of Dom.
He’d played a huge part in her transformation. She missed him, wanted to be with him. Stupid, stubborn man, she thought. When are you coming back?
As though some higher power had been reading her thoughts, the bell over the shop’s door rang, announcing a new arrival. When Jordan looked to see who it was, she had to prop her hand on the counter so she wouldn’t fall off her stool.
Dom stood in the doorway, dressed, of all things, in a tuxedo and carrying a large fast-food take-out box. Her mouth dropped open with surprise. He looked good enough to eat.
Dom’s gaze quickly scanned the shop till he found her, and she snapped her mouth shut. The man didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked downright irritated. Dom at his most disgruntled. A wave of strong affection for the tough cop wash
ed over her. God, she loved him, with all his brooding moods and cynical asides, loved him as she loved life.
He made his way to her, the frown line between his thick brows as deep as she’d ever seen it. When he stood in front of her, he nodded once. “Hi,” was all he said.
“Hi back.”
Lisa breezed by, carrying a pile of clothing to the cash register. “Take Michael,” she told Jordan, “go to lunch with Dom.”
Jordan did a double take at her friend’s order. “Did you know he was coming?”
“He called to tell me he was on his way and to make sure you didn’t take a lunch break till he got here.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Are you kidding? And miss that look on your face? Go on, get out of here.”
So Jordan gathered Michael, Pup-Pup and her purse and accompanied Dom out the door of the shop.
It was a beautiful, sunshiny April day, unseasonably warm, and people passed by on Santa Monica Boulevard wearing shorts and halter tops and thongs. Southern Califonians in their element, Jordan thought with a smile.
Dom hadn’t said another word, and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. In truth, not knowing made her a little jumpy inside, but she did her best to go along with whatever was on his agenda. Stupid, stubborn man. At least he was here. Thank God.
He herded Jordan and Michael to a small park a block away, one equipped with swings, a sandbox and a couple of picnic tables. He’d stopped at McDonald’s and bought enough food for an army instead of one tuxedo-clad detective, one ex-model with an appetite that was anything but robust, and one small child. He plopped the box of food on a table beneath a towering tree.
Birds chattered and whistled above their heads, and the sound of children’s laughter came from the play area. Jordan and Michael sat on one bench. Dom sat across from them. Jordan found some fries and a hamburger for her son and set them on a napkin in front of him. “Here’s lunch, sweetie. Can you say thank-you to Dom?”
Michael studied Dom solemnly, then he whispered, “Thank you.”
Beaming with pride, Jordan glanced at Dom for his reaction, which was one raised eyebrow. “So, he’s talking, huh?”
“Here and there.”
Now that their own silence was finally broken, Jordan rooted around in the take-out box and selected a cheeseburger. Amazed at how famished she was, she went to work on her lunch. The act of eating together seemed to ease whatever tension Dom felt, and he relaxed visibly.
On the grass nearby, a courting couple sat on a blanket, wrapped up in each other and totally oblivious to anything around them. Farther on, a grandfather and his granddaughter tossed a large plastic ball back and forth. It was nice here, Jordan thought. Peaceful. Her insides were not nearly as peaceful, but she counseled herself to be patient.
After her initial hunger was satisfied, Jordan wiped her mouth, smiled at Dom and said, “So, what’s with the tux?”
Dom lifted a shoulder. “Nick got married this morning. I had to be his best man. Besides—” one side of his mouth quirked up “—I wanted you to see what a classy guy I can be.”
“I’m impressed.”
Michael poked her on the arm, and she turned to him. Pointing to the sandbox, he said, “Play.”
After she wiped his mouth, she kissed his cheek and said, “Sure, honey, go on and play.” Her gaze followed her son as he made his way to the small square of sand. Two other toddlers were there, as were shovels and pails and other toys. When Jordan saw that he was settled in, she turned her attention to Dom.
“It’s hard to let him out of my sight,” she said with a sheepish smile, “but I’m working on it. I don’t want to be one of those clingy mothers.”
“Hey, with all that you went through, no one would blame you if you were.”
“Yes, but it’s not good for him.”
Dom nodded, glanced briefly at her son, then turned to her. “So, how’s it going with Michael? With everything?”
He had his poker face on, Jordan observed, revealing nothing to her. Obviously, though, he wanted her to go first before he said whatever was on his mind. She would have preferred it the other way, thought of saying so, but decided against it. Dom did things when he was ready, and not before.
So she told him what had been happening, how she’d sold the rings and the Rover, was now driving a used Toyota, was in partnership discussions with Lisa and was about to go apartment shopping. Cynthia was paying for Michael’s therapy, and there was a trust set up for his education, but everything else Jordan would be handling on her own. She was determined, she told Dom, to give her son a mother he could be proud of.
Dom listened, lifted an eyebrow, nodded his approval. But mostly, he let Jordan talk, which he was good at, and which she seemed to do a lot of when he was around. And when she’d finished catching him up, he nodded. “Good,” he said. “You’re doing great. I wish I could say the same for me,” he added ruefully.
Concern made her reach across the table and cover his hand with hers. “Dom, are you all right?”
He gazed at her hand. “Sure, except that I’m miserable...” frowning, he raised his eyes to hers “...without you.”
Her breath hitched, then her heart skittered in her chest. “Are you?” she said softly.
“I miss you something awful, Jordan. It pissed me off how much. And so—” he sighed loudly, made a disgusted face “—okay, I love you, and all that means.”
“Excuse me?”
“I just said I love you. A lot damn it.” He had the most sour look on his face. “You love me, I love you. Okay?”
Placing her hand over her wildly thudding heart, Jordan realized she was either going to break into sobs or roar with laughter. “Never, in all my years, have I heard anything as romantic as that,” she said, laughter winning out and bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. “I mean, you take my breath away.”
It was sarcasm, but with a twinkle, and he took it as such. “Okay,” he said with a loud, resigned sigh, “you want me to get down on my knees—?”
“Not really—”
“—because if that’s what it takes, you got it.”
Sure enough, Dom rose from the bench, came around to Jordan’s side of the table and sank onto his knees in front of her. The people nearby looked up from whatever they were involved with and watched.
Jordan’s hand flew to her neckline, and she played with a gold button at the base of her throat. “What...what are you doing?”
“I’m proposing, damn it. Can’t you tell?”
Her sharp inhalation of breath was enough to make her feel dizzy. Tears formed, began to flow. “Oh, Dom.”
“Unless you don’t want to marry me.”
“Are you crazy? Of course I do.”
He seemed startled by the vehemence of her response. “Yeah? You do?”
“Idiot,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Yeah?” he said again, then got off his knees, pulled her up from her seat and wrapped her in his arms.
Somewhere nearby a woman giggled. Jordan knew she and Dom were being observed by everyone in the park, but she didn’t care.
“Yeah,” she said, pulling her head back and grinning at him through the film of her tears. “I love you, and I want you.”
She sniffled. Her face was probably a mess, her nose was most definitely running, but she went on. “But I also want a father for Michael, someone he can look up to. I want a home of my own, a business, more babies. All of it, even the life that goes with being married to a cop. That’s what I want. Think you can give me all of that?”
Tenderly, Dom wiped the tears from under her lids with his thumb. The look on his face was one she’d never seen before. All the toughness, the cynicism, the bitterness, the guilt—they were all gone. In their place was a softness, a vulnerability, an expression that said he’d stopped fighting and was willing to believe in miracles.
He cupped her face in his hands. “Jordan, love—�
�� he sighed, pressed his lips together tightly as though overcome “—if you and Michael can put up with my life, I will gladly come home to any house where you and Michael are waiting for me.”
That elicited a whole new round of sobs from Jordan, and she buried her face in his neck while he rocked her back and forth. She thought she heard a few people applauding, but she didn’t care. Dom was here, Dom was hers. At last.
She was so overcome with love and emotion, she almost didn’t feel the tapping on her leg.
Pulling back from Dom’s embrace, she looked down to see her son, staring solemnly at both of them. Then he raised his arms, smiled that sweet, shy smile, and said, “Mommy, hug.”
Epilogue
A year and a half later
Dom turned the ribs and sprinkled a little more barbecue sauce on them. Then he glanced at the little boy who stood next to him, watching his every move. “So, what do you think, Mike? Are they almost done?”
“I hope so. I’m starving.”
“Yeah, so is everybody else. Italians, they just love to eat.”
“Daddy?” Michael said.
It killed Dom when the kid called him that, just killed him. “Yeah, Mike.”
“Am I Italian?”
“Not blood Italian, but you can be Italian if you want to be.”
The kid nodded. “Good,” he said, then ran off to play with his cousins.
It was Mike’s birthday, and most of Dom’s family was in L.A. to celebrate. The family reunion had been his mother’s idea. Jordan, in her eighth month, was not to travel to Brook lyn, Mama had declared, so they would all come to California. Most of his sisters and brothers were here, most of the kids. And of course Mom and Pop, looking proud and healthy.
The small yard was packed with D’Annunzios, their husbands and wives. And friends. Steve and his wife were here, Santos and his girl, Nick and Carly. Lisa was flirting with Dom’s only unmarried brother, and the smell of ribs and chicken and burgers permeated the hot September air.
The Tough Guy and the Toddler Page 25
