Page 112 of The Replay

"Seven years only? It seems even urban legends struggle to give people more than that."

Dom's brow twists in an incredulous gesture. "That's what you're getting out of the story?"

"No, of course I see the parallels." I squeeze his hand. "I suppose it's different for your mom, having lived there. Not so much a thing for tourists, but a story of her home and her childhood. And when she looks at us…"

He nods. "In her mind, the story is a warning about falling in love with someone above your class. My dad left us, right? He had some money. Then I grew up and I fell in love with someone way above my class. Someone with a strict father who had opinions of me."

"That's why she was kind but she never liked me. Even if my dad doesn't have fits of wrath. She saw our differences and decided it wouldn't end well."

"And it didn't. She saw what our breakup did to me."

My heart twists. Pain and guilt pulse in my chest. They echo each of his words. Our decisions cost us so much and it's just now, more than six years later, that I'm realizing how much of it has hinged on taking every one of my family's rules and making them my own.

Even now, I'm repeating the pattern. I'm in Seattle to do things my way, hoping I'll learn to ignore my parents' opinion to focus on my own, but I'm still moving through the world seeking happiness in the things they told me to fight for. Working hard to get what I want in my career, just like they taught me to do.

Fuck.

Shame throws an anchor into my guts. More mistakes for me to own and, this time, the logical solution terrifies me. Defining what matters to me and mealone is hard to contemplate. Especially when I think of what all of this has cost Dom and me. And how it all rests on my shoulders way more than on his.

My heartbeat drops into palpitations. I let go of his hand and take a slow, calming breath.

I wrap my fingers around my mug. "I guess this is why you were okay with your mom not knowing about us."

"Now she's going to worry about what may happen if it doesn't work out. But it's okay."

He checks the clock. He'll be picked up in a few minutes. He sips more coffee, then gets up and gives me a kiss.

"She won't see me destroyed this time," he adds. "This time, I won't forget that you're leaving. I'll take care of my heart, so it doesn't get a chance to shatter."

It shouldn't pull at my heartstrings to hear him say that. To feel the weight of what's coming, until I start grieving him— again— before I absolutely must. But it's yet another reminder of where we stand, and where this domesticity will end. I better not get confused, and believe the fantasy could ever become real. The whole point of what we're doing is it will give us closure.

There has to be a way to prevent my issues from causing us more pain than is warranted by our arrangement.

Carmen didn't have a lot of agency, back in the times of colonial Guanajuato. If she had, she might have survived her horrible father and her tragic ending. But I have more of a choice than she ever did. So what the hell am I going to do?

For the next few days, Dom and I return to our new normal. Treatment for him, event prep for me, and cozy nights. Even if I don't say anything yet, every quiet moment I have fills me with questions. It doesn't get easier when we go to the stadium to watch the home game a few days later. Dom's friends have a thousand questions for us too.

Chapter 36

Dom

The coaches told me they don't want me anywhere near the field yet. In the chaos of the sidelines on a game day and with a leg that cannot bend, I'm too much of a risk. In just a few weeks my brace will come off, and I'll be welcome to attend for moral support, but not yet.

This is my first time getting the kind of injury that interferes with my career, and I'm itching with discomfort to be a simple observer. Everything looks different from up here in the suite. Even with the game going as poorly as it is, there's no place I'd rather be than down there. Nevermind that I can't do a single thing to turn the tide around. I need to be a part of it.

At least my friends' better halves surround me and provide a great distraction in between drives. I'm sitting in the third row from the window, with my leg slightly to the side so it can remain straight. Mariana is next to me. We're hiding from the crowd beneath the box, so they don't get ideas from seeing us together.

As for my friends, it's too late to prevent them from jumping to conclusions.

"So let me see if I'm getting this right," Evie says. "You are not a couple."

I gaze at Mariana and look for signs. My instinct is to take her hand, play with our friends' confusion, and keep it all casual. It's the best way to convince them my arrangement with Mariana isn't a big deal. Nothing to worry about. Everything under control. But I need her greenlight, when anyone other than our friends could get the wrong idea. Potentially even have questions about HR involvement.

She returns my stare, holding steady as she reads me right back. Her lips curl at the corners. She puts her hand out, palm up on her thigh, and nods. I grin. Without words, we've reached a new agreement. We're far from prying eyes, here on the third row. We'll be careful.

I put my hand on hers and we interlock fingers. "That's correct."

Everyone stares at our hands, then to our faces, one at a time. I chuckle. This is a lot of fun. After the intervention, I expected my friends to tell their partners about Mariana and I, but I didn't expect to have such a good time fielding their questions. Probably because I didn't expect to answer honestly and manage to confuse them anyway.