The Landry Family Series: Part Two

by Adriana Locke

  My chest squeezes at the signs he’s not meaning to give off, and I wish I could get my hands on my mother’s friends and straight tell them what I think of them. How dare they make Dominic feel any which way? They don’t even know him.

  I touch his arm, letting my hand lie gently on the curve of his bicep. It’s as if the contact releases some of his tension because I can actually feel him relax.

  “I’m sorry they looked at you that way,” I whisper.

  “Don’t worry about it. Women like that—if I wasn’t with you, they’d be asking for me to be their dirty little secret.” He watches for my reaction. “When I go to houses like that—”

  “Like mine?”

  “Like yours,” he concedes, “those women like the tattooed, blue-collar asshole. We’re what they’re not supposed to have. I’m exactly what their missionary-style, four-inch-cocked husbands are not.”

  “Dom.” His name is a sentence, not a question or the start to anything more. I remove my hand slowly.

  “So it’s nothing for you to apologize for. If I wasn’t sitting with you, it would’ve been a different ballgame.”

  There’s so much I want to discuss, so many directions I want to go with this, that I can’t pick one. I just sit, buckled in my seat, and wish there was a way to strap in my thoughts too.

  “For the record,” he says, smirking, “the brunette has fucked Ford too.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He just laughs.

  “Is that what you think of me?” I ask guardedly. “That I’m with you because I shouldn’t be?”

  He takes a moment to respond and with each passing second, my anxiety grows. “Maybe.”

  “Really? That’s offensive, Dominic.”

  “That’s the truth.” He bites his lip as he waits for the guard at the gate of my subdivision to let us in. “Do I think that’s what got your attention at the start? Yeah. Absolutely.”

  The gate moves up and he eases the car through. “Is that why you’re still here? No.”

  “I hate that you think I’m so shallow.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said you wanted me at first because you shouldn’t. The same way you always want a pint of butter pecan ice cream that you lament you shouldn’t eat because of the calories. Then we buy it and you eat a couple of spoonfuls and then you’re done because it’s not really what you wanted. You wanted the lemon sorbet. You just were proving to yourself you had choices and could go off-script.”

  “So you’re the butter pecan ice cream?” I ask, trying to follow along.

  “Yes. I was at first. Now, maybe, I’m … those little chocolate cookies you keep in the back of your cabinet behind the cereal.”

  “Wait,” I laugh. “I thought we were talking ice cream.”

  “We were, but let’s broaden it to food.”

  “Fine. Keep going. This is interesting.”

  He whips the car into my driveway, but not without a quick squeal of the tires that he knows pisses off my neighbor. The black marks in the maintained streets are undesirable, the guy two houses down calls it.

  Turning off the Camaro, he faces me. “I’m the cookies you love, but don’t want to love. That’s why you keep them behind the cereal. The cereal is a good choice, full of fiber and all that bullshit you look at on the label. I’m the snack full of preservatives, fake colors,” he says, nodding towards his tattoos, “and cooked in some cancer-filled oils. I’ll be the death of you one day. You know it. You just can’t quite say no when it’s in front of you.”

  “Okay,” I chuckle, waving my hands in the air, “while that is a very thought-provoking analogy there, Waylor’s Cookies, you’re wrong.”

  “I don’t think so.” He hops out and races to my side. The door is opened, letting in the warm afternoon breeze. Lending me a hand, he helps me out and closes the door behind me. “Again, you look very pretty today.”

  “Is the cookie conversation over?”

  “Yes.” He pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around my back.

  I snuggle into the soft fabric of his shirt, breathing him in and shoving off the ice cream discussion to be analyzed later.

  “You know,” he says, his chest moving with each breath, “I could never be like your brothers.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “How do I not mean?” His voice sounds hollow, almost third-person, and it glues me in place. “They’re so laidback. Like they have nothing to do, nothing to worry about. Like they pick their battles, not the other way around.”

  “We all pick our battles, don’t we?”

  “Not where I’m from,” he admits. “Sometimes battles pick us. Sometimes our lives don’t come with trust funds and fairy godmothers.”

  Pushing off, I look at him. “I can’t help I have a trust fund. Just like you can’t help you don’t.”

  “I know,” he says, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “I’m just saying today was really eye-opening for me.”

  My spirits sink like a weight as I watch him search for his next words. There are a million I could come back at him with, but I don’t. I’m too afraid to.

  “There will be a day when someone like Lincoln or Ford catches your eye, a quality lemon sorbet,” he grins sadly, “and you’ll wonder what the hell you’re doing with the butter pecan.”

  “I wonder what I’m doing with you every day,” I say, trying to get playful Dom back and failing. “But every day, there’s no one else I want to listen to telling me about leg kicks or air conditioner units or bringing me Chinese at eleven at night when I just make an off-handed comment that I could really go for some General Tso’s.”

  His eyes lock with mine. “I gotta go.” He kisses my forehead and starts around the car.

  “You don’t want to come in?”

  “I gotta watch Ryder for a while today,” he says as he reaches the driver’s side door. “Nate has to work and Chrissy bailed or something. I don’t know. I don’t want in the middle of their shit.”

  I wait for him to invite me to come over. I’ve helped watch Ryder before. After a few solid, uncomfortable seconds, it’s obvious no invitation is coming.

  If I gave in to my emotions, I’d start crying. Being in limbo is the worst feeling in the world and that’s where we are—in limbo. We’ve never been an official item, yet … we have. I don’t even know if we are that unlabeled item now.

  Demanding things from Dominic gets you one thing—the opposite of what you want. So I can’t just ask him what he’s thinking or feeling. Even if I did, by the look in his eye, I’m not sure he even knows.

  “Okay,” I say, heading to my door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  He waits until I get the door open and the security system off. Tossing my purse on the settee inside, I turn to face him through the doorway.

  “Thanks for going with me today.”

  He bows his head for a moment. “This is going to sound really weird, and I don’t want you to think about it too much, but … thanks for introducing me to your family.”

  I flip him a half-smile that’s immediately returned. “I thought you didn’t like my brothers.”

  With a wink that makes me laugh, he climbs in the car. “I don’t.”

  I watch him zip out of the driveway, listening to the long bark of his tires, and wish I were in there with him.

  Fifteen

  Dominic

  “Hey.” I give a quick nod to Nate as I enter the kitchen. Throwing my keys on the counter, I peel off my shirt. “Where’s Ryder?”

  “Asleep.”

  Wadding the shirt up, I toss it next to my keys. It lands half-draped over a bunch of bananas. “Has he been asleep long?”

  “No. Just laid him down.”

  “Good. I’ll grab a shower then.”

  It would be easier for the both of us if I would just do what I said. Just turn around and go to the shower and when I came back, he would be gone.

  Tension was high last night, and while we mana
ged a few words, it’s Nate that I’m most pissed off at. He knows it. He’s been smart and avoided me for the most part. Until now.

  Now he stands next to the refrigerator, his Gold Room shirt on, hat pulled down low on his forehead, keys in hand. He’s ready to walk out the door I just walked in. But he doesn’t move.

  “How’d it go with the Landry’s?” he asks.

  “A lot more complicated, thanks to you.”

  “I’m sorry. Again, Dom, I’m sorry.”

  “Again, Nate, fuck off.”

  He hangs his head, taking off his hat and letting his hand fall to his side. Maybe I’m tired of expending the energy to be mad or maybe I’m just exhausted from the last twenty-four hours. Either way, I blow out a breath that catches his attention.

  “Just pay her back. Every fucking penny plus interest.”

  “I will,” he promises. “You know I will.”

  “Yeah, I know you will.”

  He extends his hand, and when I take it, pulls me into a one-arm hug. “I am sorry. If I fuck up your relationship with Cam, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Nah, I think I’m capable of doing that on my own.”

  “So, how’d it go? For real.”

  I inhale slowly, the air crackling as it seeps into my lungs. Thinking back on the day, I don’t even know where to start. “I mean, her brothers were okay. Ford’s a decent guy. He’s gonna send us some numbers for contractors he does business with for the renovations, actually.”

  “Really? Do they know about the money?”

  “Yeah. It’s weird. I know,” I say, scratching my head.

  “Ford. He’s the bigger one? Military-looking motherfucker?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s the one that threatened me,” Nate grins. “He’s the only one I probably could hang out with.”

  “We’re so fucked up,” I laugh. “I thought the same thing.”

  We exchange a look that goes beyond a smile. It reassures me, somehow, that I have someone on my side just because.

  “Now Lincoln,” I continue, “kind of an asshole.”

  “He played for the Arrows, right?”

  I nod. “He was decent. I mean, I didn’t knock him out or anything, although I was considering it might come to that a time or two. And,” I wink, “he said to tell you that you owe him a half a bottle of Patrón.”

  “Fuck that,” he laughs. He waits as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and crack open the top before continuing. “So, you and Cam are okay?”

  The water is ice cold going down my throat, and at the mention of her name, it splashes into my stomach. I cough, water coming back up. Holding my head over the sink, my eyes searing with tears, I cough until I think I’m going to black out.

  Once I’m righted and breathing normally, Nate furrows a brow. “Is that a yes?”

  “It’s an I don’t know,” I admit.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Do I really need to explain the obvious?”

  “No, but you need to explain the stupid.”

  Rolling my eyes, I place the water on the counter and lean against it. “I’ve always known she came from a completely different world than we do. Her life is picture-perfect. It’s like a fucking movie, man.”

  “Fast forward to the part where you get to the point.”

  “The point is,” I say, sucking in a breath, “I’m never going to fit into her world and I’ll never trust mine with her.”

  He doesn’t respond because I’m right.

  “At the risk of sounding like a pussy, I’ll admit I hate it. If she were anyone else, anyone else, I’d wife her. There wouldn’t be a second of hesitation. But she’s not just anyone else, and I can’t do that to her.”

  “You make it sound like you’re an ape or something.”

  “I may as well be from the jungle.” I lift the bottle again and down the rest of the water, managing to not choke this time. As I lick my lips, cool from the liquid, I toss the plastic into the garbage. “I think I’m going to need something a little stronger tonight.”

  “Not while you have my kid you don’t.”

  “I forgot about that little shit,” I joke. “This blows, you know it?”

  “If you believe what you say, it does. I happen to think you’re full of crap.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yup.”

  “Look at our mom,” I say, going to a place we don’t often. “Her parents were decent people. Good people. She got with our sperm donor and look what happened to her. It was like that Jack Nicholson movie where he’s not crazy, but they make him believe it and he kind of is at the end.”

  “But—”

  “Or Keeley,” I say, wincing as his features drop. “She was a hell of a mom to Ryder and a good wife to you. She loved you and that kid. Then she got hanging around with Bond’s ex-wife, took the needle in her vein, and was dead in six months.”

  Nate runs his hand over his face, still not completely over the death of his ex-wife. They’d divorced when he found out she was hooked on heroin and he got custody of Ryder. He loved her, even then. There’s no doubt he always will.

  “I can’t let that happen to Cam,” I say quietly. “She has the world, Nate. Everything anyone could ever want, she has it. The only direction she can go is down and she can go so fucking far down if she turns the wrong way that …”

  My head shakes side to side, my eyes forcing closed not wanting to imagine Camilla as anything as she is right now. Happy. Bright. Lively.

  “I’m afraid I can’t protect her from all that shit, Nate.”

  He looks at me with the pity that I’ll only take from him. I’ll take it from him because he understands my plight. He’s been there. He knows the anguish even more than I do. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying.”

  “Cam’s a hard girl to distance yourself from,” I grin. “I tell myself if I’d realized it when I met her, I would’ve stayed away. But I know that’s a lie. There’s nothing in the world that would’ve stopped me from seeing her, just like I’m having an impossible time telling myself to stop seeing her now.”

  “Do you have to though? I mean, it’s not about money, and she’s not some chick from the bar or whatever. She has a house. A gate. Security if she wants it. She can kind of take care of herself.”

  “Then what good am I? Why would she keep me around if I can’t even protect her?”

  “The dick?”

  “This isn’t funny,” I say, but find myself laughing anyway.

  “To answer your question,” he says, making his way to the door, “you could love her. And be there for her. And support her. That’s what I think about when I think about the good times with Keeley. That’s what I miss. I miss seeing her eyes light up when I’d bring her home little gifts or the way she’d look at me like nothing else mattered. Like we were a team. We’d talk about what we wanted in life and how we were going to get it and dream and plot and plan and laugh at how dumb we were.”

  With a little smile, he opens the door. “I gotta go or I’m going to be late. Be home later.”

  “See ya.”

  The door snaps shut and I’m left standing in the kitchen. The picture is crooked on the wall where Nate tried to rehang it after my tantrum yesterday. The picture itself is one from my grandmother’s kitchen. It hung in there my entire life. It reminds me of ham loaf and mashed potatoes and Gospel songs on the radio while we ate with plastic silverware in front of the television.

  With a sad smile, I head down the hallway to check on Ryder.

  Sixteen

  Camilla

  “Those are super cute.” Joy points at my new yoga pants and smiles. “Where’d you get them?”

  “Halcyon,” I say in reference to Ellie’s store. “She has a new line in and they’re amazing. I love them. She has these in green too.”

  “I might run by there tomorrow. Cute workout clothes make me want to wear them which, in turn, gets me off my butt and into the gym. Sometimes.�
��

  We go back to stretching after our yoga routine. I planned on skipping today, but after yesterday, my body needed the release.

  I kept my phone in my pocket all evening yesterday and even took it into the bathroom while I soaked in the tub just so I wouldn’t miss his call in case one came through. I warred with myself whether or not to just call him but decided he might need the space after dealing with my brothers. Maybe I needed a little time, too, to let things marinate.

  “So,” Mallory says, plopping down beside us, “Sienna said Ford and Linc met your mystery man yesterday.”

  I eye my sister as she sits in between Mallory and I. “Yes. They met Dominic.”

  “Oh, he has a name,” Mallory teases. “You know, I feel like I’m ostracized from information because of Graham.”

  “You know, you feel right,” I laugh.

  “Okay, but you guys directed me to him,” she protests. “It isn’t fair that I don’t get to be one of the girls.”

  “Whoa!” Joy says, cutting in. “Did you say Dom had lunch with your brothers?” Her eyes are wide, her jaw hanging open. “I know none of you want to hear this, but that’s like alpha heaven right there—no offense, Mal.”

  “That’s gross,” Sienna flinches. “Except for the Dom part. I’ll agree with you there.”

  “Hey!” I laugh.

  We break into a fit of laughter, each of us mentally erasing a different part of that statement. It’s Mallory that brings us back to topic.

  “So,” she says, “this non-info thing. It’s not fair. It’s not like Graham is going to marry me or something.”

  She rolls her eyes and tries to make it seem offhanded, but it’s not. There’s a pain on her face that Sienna and I both pick up on.

  “What’s going on with G?” Sienna asks.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Mallory frowns. “I’ve left every possible hint that something needs to happen. There’s a bridal magazine on the coffee table. I’ve been talking about flowers and good months for weddings. And … nothing.” She worries her lip between her two bottom teeth. “Look, I know in the grand scheme of things we haven’t dated that long. I get it. But, hell, I live with the man. I can’t as much as look at another guy without him taking me home and …”