Love Her or Lose Her: A Novel (Hot and Hammered, 2)

Christ, could these women put away booze. Dominic had been allowed entry into a secret society where women swore like sailors and objectified men. It was goddamn enlightening, to say the least. Every once in a while, Rosie threw an apologetic glance over her shoulder at him, but it was completely unnecessary. He could have stood there all night and watched her run the show. Even as he marveled over the woman he’d married, however, he couldn’t help but feel distinctly out of place. Not only because he was the proverbial fox in the hen house and stood out like a red ink blot on a white shirt. But because, for the first time, he was seeing his wife through a different set of eyes and realizing . . . she’d grown. Without him.

He’d had nothing to do with it.

Dominic opened Bethany’s fridge and took out a bottle of water, uncapping it and drinking deeply. He would have much preferred a beer, but he wouldn’t have even one knowing Rosie would be in the passenger seat of his truck. Rosie, who was now writing out a recipe for chicken Parmesan with one hand, tracing out a new spreadsheet with the other—all while having a full conversation. This was the same woman he’d passed in their silent house, day after day. All the while, she’d had these amazing capabilities.

She should have been running that restaurant years ago.

God, maybe . . . she should have left him years ago.

“Hey.” His wife turned to him, her eyes bright with exhilaration. “Hey, um . . . there’s a big Tupperware container of carbonada in the fridge. Oh, and some alfajores on a plate on top of the microwave. Could you help me put them in the truck?”

“On it.”

“Thank you.”

She started to say something else, but several people began talking to her at once, hijacking her attention. On the way out of the house, with his arms full of food, he couldn’t help but pause in the doorframe and take in a wide shot of the scene. Everyone was getting ready to pack up and move out, and Rosie was doing the same, Bethany and Georgie helping her pile supplies like napkins, paper plates, and plastic forks into a bag. He could easily see her doing the same thing in a bustling restaurant, knowing exactly what everyone needed to make their dining experience fluid, better, because it was second nature.

This. This is what made her happy. Not warming up her car in the morning or breaking his back on a construction site. She wanted to feed people. When she hadn’t gotten enough encouragement at home, she’d gone and found it elsewhere. The worst part was, he’d known she wanted to own her own place. From the time they were in high school, her dream had been front and center in conversations with him. With her mother. Instead of buying her a restaurant, however, he’d been selfish and spent money on a house. A house he thought she’d love as much as him. A house they’d spent their youth designing like spun sugar, over the phone, under the stars. If he’d talked to her more as an adult—or listened, rather—he wouldn’t have buried the importance of Rosie owning her own restaurant beneath his selfish desire to be her provider. He’d needed that role, and a house was something he could give her all on his own. Maybe he’d even done it on purpose, subconsciously, trying to be the proverbial breadwinner.

But a restaurant . . . that would be all her. And none of him. None of them.

Still, if he’d known how happy it would make her, he would have used the money he’d saved to buy her a place. Somewhere she could shine. Except that opportunity was no longer available.

Had he actually planned on showing her that house tonight? Was he insane?

Dominic walked out into the cold with a lump the size of a fist in his throat. Since the day Rosie left him, he’d been asking her to come home. She’d been hesitant, and while he knew they had problems, he’d thought she was being stubborn. Unreasonable. But as he slid the tray of alfajores and pot of stew into the back cab of his truck, he finally admitted to himself that therapy was exactly where they belonged.

Rosie spreading her wings and flying was a beautiful sight to witness, but would it mean she flew away from him? How selfish was he to be worried about that kind of thing?

Dominic closed the rear door of the truck with a curse, turned, and came face-to-face with Rosie. She looked so familiar and beautiful in her red coat, he wanted to get on his knees and ask her forgiveness for being a selfish bastard. I’m sorry, honey girl.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, avoiding her eyes. “Ready to go?”

She nodded slowly and crossed to the passenger side. Dominic followed, opening the door for Rosie and boosting her onto the seat, his groin tightening at the flash of thigh as she buckled up and crossed her incredible legs. Apparently not even guilt could keep him from lusting after his wife. He wanted nothing more than to wait for the rest of the cars to leave, then drag her back inside and give her a nice, hard quickie up against the door in that tight dress.

And it would solve nothing except his incessant hunger for her. Momentarily.

Ignoring the curious look from Rosie, Dominic closed the passenger door and skirted around to the driver’s side, starting the truck engine a second later. Rosie read him directions off her phone, but apart from that, there was no conversation. Dominic wanted to ask her when she’d cooked the carbonada and if she’d used her mother’s recipe for the hearty soup, but everything sounded disingenuous in his head after he’d finally admitted to himself he’d let her dreams hang in limbo for so long. She’d been pining for something in secret while he’d worked toward an entirely different goal. All of which could have been avoided if he’d talked to his wife. Kept her close instead of at arm’s length where she could never suspect he wasn’t invincible.

“I think this is it,” Rosie murmured, prompting Dominic to set aside his thoughts and pull to a stop at the curb. After putting the truck in park, he leaned toward Rosie and they looked at the modest two-story home. It was lit up like Christmas.

She laid a hand on his arm and a current ran through his body. “We’ll get everyone organized and then we’ll go have dinner. Okay?”

“You’ll get everyone organized.” He cleared his throat hard and dislodged her hand, missing her touch the second it was gone. “You were impressive, honey girl. Back there. You like being a leader, don’t you?”

Dominic hardened his jaw and waited for her answer, even though he already knew what it was. Is this really who I am? A man who’d created an image of his wife that suited him and never noticed she had more inside of her, dying to get out?

“I think . . . maybe I’ve always had the ability to be one.”

He looked over to find her watching him with uncertainty.

“Do you think so?”

“Yes.” He wanted to take her hand back, to kiss her palm, but his own hands felt frozen. “Yes, Rosie. I think you have the ability to do anything.”

Her shoulders relaxed.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Outside the truck, car doors closed, the Just Us League arriving en masse. Rosie gave him one final searching look before climbing out. Dominic carried the heavy stew toward the front door and Rosie held the baked goods. They were flanked by two dozen women with intention in their strides, and Dominic had to admit, they were pretty damn impressive. Next time someone on the construction site wanted to talk shit about the local women’s club, he was going to damn well set them straight.

Bethany reached the door first and knocked briskly, flipping back her blond hair and adjusting the collar of her long white coat. She had the kind of confidence Rosie deserved. The kind his wife might have if he’d taken the time to encourage her, to show he had faith in her.

The door opened to reveal a man Dominic recognized, confirming his earlier theory. Port Jefferson didn’t exactly appeal to tons of single men. It was too coincidental that the single man who had just opened the door was the same one who had recently started working for Brick & Morty.

Wes Daniels took off his cowboy hat and slapped it against his thigh, utter consternation written on his face at seeing the horde of people outside his door.

He swept over them with a suspicious glance and focused in on Bethany. “You.”

“You?” Bethany sucked in a breath. “You’re the one? Taking care of a little girl?”

“That’s right.” He positioned the hat back on his head. “Who are all these women? Is this your coven?”

“Oh, I don’t believe this,” Bethany hissed, turning on a heel to face the crowd. “Someone take over. I can’t be the ambassador of this mission. There’s a conflict of interest.”

“What’s that?” Dominic asked.

“We hate each other,” Bethany responded with a tight smile.

“‘Hate’ is a strong word,” Wes drawled, propping a forearm on the doorjamb. “Unless you’re referring to the clear fact that you hate being attracted to me.”

“Oh my God,” Bethany sputtered. “My head is going to explode.”

Wes gestured at their enthralled audience. “What’s all this?”

Bethany sighed. “Food. We brought food.”

“I don’t want charity,” Wes said after a beat. “If that’s what this is, I’ll thank you kindly to take it on home.”

Rosie stepped forward and her soft voice was like a balm over the whole situation. The tension ebbed immediately when she joined Wes on the porch, laying a hand on his arm. “Let’s start over. I’m Rosie. This is . . . everyone.” Smiles and murmurs followed. Wes spotted Dominic standing among the women and nodded in recognition. “We’re a tight-knit community here and I think we might have been a little overzealous. We’re not here to deliver charity, we’re just excited for the chance to be good neighbors. Everyone here has been the recipient of the same at some point.”

Transferring his attention from Rosie to Bethany, Wes started to say something when a little girl bounded out the door, stopping in front of Bethany.

“Oh,” Bethany said, sweeping the hem of her coat back. “Hi down there.”

“I’m Laura. You look like Elsa.”

Bethany blinked. “Who’s that?”

“Elsa in the movie Frozen,” the girl replied, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Ah, come on. You must know, Bethy,” Wes said, a grin spreading across his face. “She’s the ice princess.”

A moment passed. “Let’s not call me Bethy.”

Wes chuckled on his way into the house. “Come on in, ladies. And gentleman. Don’t worry about taking your shoes off.”

Dominic and Rosie traded an amused glance when the little girl took hold of Bethany’s hand and dragged her into the house. “Let’s go. I’ll show you Elsa. I have the doll.”

“Oh. Um . . . sure.”

Dominic put his hand on the small of Rosie’s back and guided her into the house. The whole place whipped into chaos within seconds, women piling coats onto the couch, rooting through the fridge to make a spot for their offerings. A doll in a blue dress sang about letting it go loud enough to drown out conversation. In the midst of it all was Rosie. She toed off her gold heels and directed traffic, taping a meal schedule to the fridge. She bit off strips of tape and slapped them on dishes, writing expiration dates in Sharpie.

Again, Dominic found himself struck dumb by her talent. How she moved so gracefully, answering questions as she worked. When Laura was finished playing with the shrieking doll, she danced into the kitchen, poking foil-covered trays with a finger. “Are there—”

Rosie handed her a cookie.

Dominic found himself backing toward the door. As much as he wanted to stand there and absorb the light and warmth from his wife all night, he couldn’t. Witnessing the proof of how much Rosie’s giving nature had been stifled was too much. He could almost feel his heart growing to accommodate these new parts of her. Another part of him warned it was too late, though. He’d hurt the woman he loved—and without the benefit of a time machine, he didn’t know how to repair the damage he’d done.

Dominic curled a hand around the doorknob, but Georgie’s voice stopped him.

“Where are you going?”

A silent breath left him. “Will you just tell her I’m proud of her?”

“Dominic—”

He walked out of the house before Georgie could try to convince him to stay. He couldn’t. Couldn’t let another minute pass wherein he was the roadblock standing between his wife and what she wanted most.

As soon as he reached the bottom of the porch, Dominic dialed Stephen’s number and held the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he said, when his friend answered. “That realtor we used to buy the house. Mine and . . . Rosie’s new house.” He swallowed hard. “You think she could help us put it back on the market? Priced to sell.”

Rosie had no idea how much time had passed between walking into Wes’s house and looking up to find Dominic gone from his post beside the door. It could have been twenty minutes or two hours. God, she hoped it wasn’t two hours. She’d only meant to get everything put inside the refrigerator and give out meal assignments, but the questions kept coming, and before she knew it, she wasn’t merely planning cuisine for the household, she was commiserating with Just Us League members about their kitchen disasters and giving them tips to avoid catastrophes in the future. Every time she thought, Okay, now on with the date portion of the evening, a new situation arose.

Dominic must be . . .

Where was Dominic?

Rosie’s attention shifted over to Georgie, who—come to think of it—had been hovering around for the last half an hour, nervously eating way too many cookies. “Hey.” Rosie caught her friend by the elbow. “Did you happen to see where my husband went?”

“Oh, that.”

She raised an eyebrow at Georgie, who promptly deflated.

“I’m not sure what happened. He looked a little out of place so I went over to make small talk and he wasn’t feeling it. He left, Rosie. And . . . he wanted me to tell you he’s proud of you.”

Her throat muscles cinched up tight. “Why would that make him want to leave?”

Georgie sighed miserably and handed Rosie a cookie. “I don’t know.”

The cookie was inserted whole into Rosie’s mouth. “You know what? I just . . .” Her frazzled nerves spoke up, demanding to be heard. “I don’t even want to pick it apart. Actions speak louder than words, anyway, don’t they?”

She’d been excited about the date, bought a new dress, and . . . yes, she felt extremely crappy for letting Wes’s situation get in the way of her night with Dominic, but he’d seemed to understand. Had even wanted to help. And right now, his disappearance was just another in the long line of confusing and hurtful moves her husband had made. At that very moment, she wasn’t even interested in the why.

Rosie spoke around the hurt occupying her throat. “Should we crack open some wine?”

“On it.”

But the next morning had been a different story. Rosie most certainly had been interested in the why when it came to her husband’s disappearance. She’d picked up her cell phone off the bedside table, hesitating only a moment before group-texting Armie and Dominic.

Can we fit in a session this morning?

Both men had agreed with one-word answers, as if they sensed anything more elaborate might make her scream, which wasn’t altogether inaccurate. And the Dominic who’d showed up at the therapy appointment? Oh yeah. This was the Dominic she knew well.

The one who gave away nothing as he held the door open so she could pass through into Armie’s office. He’d been waiting in the parking lot when she arrived and hadn’t said a word beyond a gruff hello. No explanation as to why he’d left Wes’s house early. Left their date early. Nothing. He was back to being an impenetrable concrete wall.

The sudden change in him carved a chunk out of her middle. Or it started to, anyway. She was well versed in shutting down, too, it seemed. Closing herself off wasn’t as easy as it used to be, but she yanked on the switch until her inner electricity went off.

With her back ramrod straight, Rosie dropped into the cluster of pillows indicated by a too-observant Armie, refusing to look at Dominic as he sat down beside her.

They’d tried to make it work. It hadn’t.

Simple as that.

She’d called this emergency therapy session this morning because she desperately needed an outcome. Good or bad. Either she walked out of there with the missing piece to her husband’s puzzle or they completed the sessions and moved on with their lives.

Her mouth turned arid at the possibility the latter might happen. Was she prepared for that eventuality? On the drive over, she’d been rife with frustration and determined to either force progress or call it quits. As always, though, when Dominic was in the same room, nothing was cut-and-dried. Even now, when she wanted to shake him like a snow globe, she also wanted to crawl onto his lap and beg him to talk to her.

Armie fell into a sideways pose across from them. “Well, I hope this is important. I was in the middle of making my own blackberry preserves.”

Dominic sighed. “Is that code for an orgy in the woods?”

Rosie gasped and elbowed her husband in the side. “Dominic.”

Armie released a hearty laugh. “It’s not a code, but I am planning to share the preserves with my female friends, and there’s always a possibility it might lead to—”

“Sorry I brought it up,” Dominic said, tight-lipped.

“Obviously there is a great big elephant in the room, but I can’t read minds, so someone needs to start talking.” The therapist split a bemused look between the two of them. “Both of your auras are edged in gray and extremely murky.”

“Really?” Dominic drawled. “You wait until the fourth session to break out the aura talk?”

“Ah, that’s right,” Armie said, unaffected by her husband’s continued assholery. “This is the fourth and final session.” His twinkling gaze ticked over to Rosie. “You called for the early meeting. What would you like to say, Rosie?”

She swallowed hard, the sudden spotlight making her question her decision. “W-well, everything was going fine. At least, I thought so. I understand now that I was part of the problem, so I was trying to communicate with Dominic—”

“Say it to him,” Armie urged with a flick of his wrist.

“Oh. Okay.” Rosie turned toward Dominic and her heart started to beat faster, now that she was actually looking at him for the first time that day. No shave. Circles under his eyes. A wrinkled shirt. He looked how she felt. Why wouldn’t he look at her? “Um. I tried to show you my appreciation by cleaning your truck and making you dinner. And I thought we were . . . I—I guess I thought we were getting somewhere—”

“You weren’t part of the problem.”

Dominic still wasn’t looking at her so it took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. “What?”

“I said,” he rasped, “you weren’t part of the problem in this marriage. Stop saying that.”

“I was.”

His jaw bunched and he shook his head.

Exasperation clogged her throat. “If I’ve done nothing wrong and I’m so perfectly perfect, why did you ditch our date?”

Armie let out a low whistle from across the pillows. “Ouch, man.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Dominic said.

“What was it like?” Armie prompted.

Dominic opened his mouth and closed it. Said nothing.

“Please,” Rosie whispered, bringing her husband’s head around. “It hurt me.”

He made a gruff sound into his fist, pressing against his mouth for long moments. “I was watching you kick ass with those women, Rosie. Doing what you were born to do. And it was so fucking obvious that I’ve been holding you back for a long time.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize how much.”

“So you left because you felt . . . guilty?”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Rosie waited for him to say more, turning to face him when it was obvious he was committed to being silent. “If this is about the restaurant, Dominic . . . I let the years pass without trying to achieve that goal. Without going after the restaurant. I could have pursued my dream harder, too. This isn’t a blame game.”

His eyes closed. “It should be.”

Armie scooted closer, eagerness in every line of his body. “Tell her why. Right now.”

Dominic stared at some invisible spot on the wall. Minutes ticked by, but nothing came out of his mouth, and with every second that passed, Rosie encountered more and more dread. He really wasn’t going to offer an explanation. The expression “hitting a wall” had never made more sense than it did at that moment.

Eventually, Armie stood and paced to his desk, while Dominic and Rosie remained unmoving on the pillows. He scratched a few notes onto a legal pad and moseyed over to the office door, opening it.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Team Vega,” he said briskly. “But we’ve arrived at the end of our fourth session and I’m afraid your marriage isn’t going to make it.”

A lead weight dropped in Rosie’s stomach. Her limbs lost feeling.

Dominic leapt to his feet, his broad shoulders riddled with tension. “Excuse me?” He laughed without humor, but Rosie could see the panic in his eyes. “That’s bullshit.”

“I’m rarely wrong about these things.” Armie let out a weary breath. “Like I said, I’ve been doing last-chance couples counseling for thirty years and I get a pretty accurate read by the fourth and final session.” He drummed his fingers on the door. “We gave it the old college try, folks, but a resolution is simply not in the cards.”

Rosie took her first breath in what felt like hours, her body remaining winded even though she hadn’t moved a muscle. “A-are you sure?”

Armie nodded sadly and the pillows beneath her turned to spikes.

“Rosie!” Dominic near-shouted, demanding her attention. “We’re not going to take one person’s opinion as fact. Let’s go.” He held out his hand to her, but she couldn’t lift an arm to take it. “Rosie,” he said raggedly. “Come on. Please.”

God, she wanted so badly to take his hand and forget everything Armie had said. Dominic was right. Taking one person’s opinion and running with it didn’t make the best sense. If only she hadn’t witnessed her husband shutting down so resolutely. Refusing to give her a full explanation as to why he’d left their date. Okay, he’d unintentionally held her back. He felt guilty about it. If that was the source of their problems, she was prepared to work on it. But there was more. So much more that he’d left unsaid. And so she couldn’t leave with Dominic. Not when she couldn’t trust him.

Oh God, is it over?

For real this time?

When she continued to leave Dominic’s hand suspended in air, her husband went very still. Still as stone. Finally, a muscle slid up and down in his throat, and he backed toward the door, never taking his eyes off her until he was gone. The utter disbelief and horror she’d seen in his expression lingered long after his truck roared out of the parking lot.