Love Her or Lose Her (Hot & Hammered #2)(7)

“Are you done?” Stephen complained. “This man’s marriage is over.”

The cavern in Dominic’s chest widened, but he hardened his jaw, refusing to let the turmoil inside show on his face. “Look, if you two assholes wouldn’t mind? I’d like to go knock some walls down.”

Travis tipped his coffee cup in Dominic’s direction. “What you should have done is knocked your own walls down and let her in—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Stephen’s voice was rife with disgust. “You’ve been in a relationship for one minute and think you’re an expert?”

“Yes.”

Dominic turned on the heel of his boot and headed toward the house, leaving his two friends to argue behind him. Today was demo day on their new flip, and he found sinking a sledgehammer into old Sheetrock cathartic most times. This morning, he physically needed the outlet. Already frustration was curling his fingers into fists.

His wife was supposed to be by his side.

He was working, but the money he earned would no longer provide for her. Knowing that was a constant punch in the gut.

I provide. That’s the one thing I’ve never fucked up.

Dominic’s father had been a quiet man, but he’d been driven. After his single mother had passed, he’d left Puerto Rico at age twenty to find a fresh start in New York, where he’d met Dominic’s mother after only a month. With a young family to care for, he’d worked impossibly hard to make ends meet in the beginning. Sick days didn’t exist for the man, and he’d managed to pass on the importance of dependability to his son. Wake up, work, create security for his loved ones. As long as he was doing those things, they would be content. Providing was a no-fail way to communicate love, wasn’t it? So where exactly had Dominic gone wrong?

A few crew members were scattered on the porch when Dominic climbed the stairs and they called greetings to him, but he just kept walking, letting the roar in his ears build and block everything else out. He took a cursory glance at the markings made in thick black Sharpie on the walls, indicating where beams or pipes lay on the other side. And then he picked up the closest sledgehammer and buried it in the old Sheetrock.

Nothing. None of the pressure in his chest abated. If anything, it grew worse.

The sound of his breathing rasped in his ears as he picked up the heavy tool again, raised it over his head, and destroyed another section of the wall. In his mind, he could see Rosie packing her suitcase on their marriage bed. Her words that had split him wide open, sure as he was splitting open the wall.

I don’t love you anymore.

His next assault on the wall absorbed the humiliating sound that left his mouth. Men didn’t lose their heads like this. Or break down in front of other people. They were supposed to be rocks. Constants in the lives of those around them, never wavering. But he couldn’t stop lifting the sledgehammer and driving it full force into the wall.

Finally, he had to quit thanks to his screaming muscles and the two sets of hands that ripped the tool away. Dominic tried to get it back, but the whiskey he’d ingested the night before chose that moment to rise up and set his throat on fire. He barely made it outside before throwing up his breakfast in the grass behind the house.

Dominic’s legs wanted to give out. He needed to sit down. But he’d already shown too much of his hand with everyone watching. No, he’d stand, thank you very much. He’d given in to the pain enough for today. Hell, enough for a year.

As the rush of sound in his ears started to fade, Dominic heard himself laboring to breathe. Heard the passing traffic in the distance, the shift of the yellowing lawn around him. He wasn’t alone.

“You’re welcome,” Dominic said, keeping his back turned to Stephen and Travis. “Saved you some work.”

“Well, hold off next time, man. We like breaking shit, too,” Travis returned. A few moments ticked by. “Look, I was, uh . . . trying to make light of the situation earlier. Knowing you, I thought you’d appreciate me forgoing the one-armed, back-slapping man hug and an off-key rendition of ‘Kumbaya.’”

Dominic cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’d rather die.”

“But it has recently come to our attention . . .” Stephen said drily, “that you might actually need to talk.”

“Nope.”

“You sure?” Dominic glanced over at Travis, who toggled his eyebrows. “I’m willing to break my fiancé-fiancée confidentiality just this once.” A shadow crossed his face. “When Georgie broke up with me, I would have sawed off my fucking leg to find out what she ate for dinner. Or what she wore to bed—”

“We get it,” Stephen said, exasperated.

Travis held up both hands. “All I’m saying is . . . I have the goods.”

Dominic ground his jaw together to keep from asking for information. Was Rosie upset? Did she give a shit at all? Was she still wearing those goddamn high heels that gave her blisters and made her hobble around the house at night? How many times had he hidden them in the back of her closet, hoping she’d put on the flat slipper-looking shoes instead?

Was she eating dinner at a normal hour?

Her boss at the department store used to let Rosie work straight through her legally required break, until Dominic had sent an email to the owner of the department store, not so subtly suggesting they review their employees’ right to meal breaks.