Love Her or Lose Her Read online

  He’d never been more content in his life.

  So why couldn’t he sleep?

  The happier Rosie became, the more his nerves seemed to pop and race. Their growing bond was like concrete being poured onto a cracked foundation. No matter how many times Dominic told himself she would never find out about the house. No matter how many times he convinced himself he’d done the right thing, sleep never came. He woke up in the dead of night with sweat on his forehead, fresh from a nightmare of Rosie walking out the door again. Only in the nightmare, he couldn’t find her.

  I should have told her about the house.

  Now it was too late, though. What was the point when it had been sold?

  He had no regrets over selling the house to give Rosie her restaurant, but he couldn’t help but wish she’d had a chance to see it.

  Regret ate at Dominic’s gut as he let himself into the house. Rosie’s coconut scent lingered in the air and he sucked in a lungful, issuing a silent plea to his maker that he’d never have to walk into his home again without Rosie’s presence coasting over him and settling his blood. She equaled home for Dominic and that would never, ever change.

  He walked straight past the blueprint where it sat open on the table and stopped, denial ripping through his veins. His surroundings fuzzed at the edges and pared down until he had tunnel vision, his quickening breaths scraping his eardrums. He didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to look. But based on the quick glance he’d thrown at the plan as he passed . . . it wasn’t for Buena Onda. No, that plan was rolled up and sitting on the dashboard of his truck. He’d looked at it less than half an hour ago, relaying the square footage of the bar area to Travis over the phone.

  Ice encased Dominic’s spine as he turned and confirmed his worst fear.

  Rosie had seen this. She’d been here, looking at this. One of the discarded blueprints for their house. Had she . . . gone there? This was bad. This was worse than bad. He’d bought and sold a house without his wife’s knowledge. That alone was unforgivable. But they’d gone to therapy to learn how to be honest with each other. It had worked. Except for this one thing. This secret he’d held on to instead of coming clean. And now it could screw him.

  He could lose his wife again.

  “No. No, Jesus,” Dominic breathed, snatching up his keys and sprinting out the door. His hands shook violently as he unlocked the driver’s-side door and lunged inside, turning over the engine and peeling out of the driveway. He knew the route by heart, but nothing seemed familiar when he was facing the loss of Rosie. “Why didn’t I tell her? Why didn’t I tell her?”

  As soon as he pulled into the driveway, his heart dropped into his stomach and his fingers turned to ice on the steering wheel.

  Rosie was sitting on the front step of the house. Wasn’t it the ultimate kicker that she looked perfect surrounded by the old ivy-covered brick and wraparound porch? He’d pictured her in front of the house so many times, but his imagination hadn’t done it justice.

  They watched each other through the windshield.

  Get out and apologize. That’s what he should do. It was the only option. But he was so righteously pissed at himself for fucking up the best part of his life—again—he could feel the anger curl in his belly like a rattlesnake.

  Dominic threw the truck door open and climbed out, his self-disgust forcing the wrong words to come out of his mouth, in place of an apology. “I sold it to pay for the restaurant, Rosie. That’s what you wanted.”

  “No.” She stood, fists balled at her sides. “No, don’t act like I had anything to do with this decision-making process. I didn’t even know we owned a house in the first place.”

  Despite the cold October air, sweat slid down the center of Dominic’s back. “It had to be done. If I’d told you about the house, you wouldn’t have let me sell it.”

  “We’ll never know, will we?” She broke off on a sob, looking around. “It’s beautiful. Damn you, Dominic.” He took a step forward, eager to comfort her, but she held up a trembling hand. “How long have we owned it?”

  He hardened his jaw and didn’t answer.

  “Tell me.”

  “A year,” he croaked, unable to look at her. “Maybe a little longer.”

  A sound of disbelief from Rosie had him glancing back to find full-fledged betrayal on her beautiful face. She might as well have rammed a screwdriver into his chest.

  “Rosie, since we were kids, I’ve only wanted to give you everything, but it wasn’t until I grew up that I realized how . . . impossible that is. I had my hands and my work ethic. And that’s all.” He couldn’t fill his lungs enough. He needed to hold her, but couldn’t. “When I was deployed and I met these men . . . God, Rosie, the plans they made. The places they’d been, places they’d go. Until then, I didn’t realize how simple this life would be. How inadequate for someone as incredible as you.

  “I’d only learned one way to cope with those fears and I followed that example. Head down, bust your ass. Earn. It took me four years of setting aside money until I could afford this house, and by then, I’d had my head down so long, I forgot to look up and see you needed something else. The restaurant, yeah. But me, too. You needed me.

  “Your love would have been powerful enough to overcome everything if I hadn’t shut you—shut everything out. I’m here now, though. Just forgive me for this. Please.”

  For what seemed like an eternity, Dominic stood there while Rosie digested his words. They were coming far too late, that much was obvious. Her eyes were glazed with pain, the heel of her hand pressed to her chest.

  “Even if you’d told me about the house this morning . . . I think I would have understood. We could have talked it out. But knowing you were going to keep this from me forever . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” he said raggedly, the apology like a last-ditch life preserver. “I just got you back, Rosie. I didn’t want to remind you why you left.”

  She took several breaths with her eyes closed. “I need some time—”

  Panic clobbered him. “No.”

  “You have to let me process this,” Rosie burst out. “Goddammit, I’m so mad at you.”

  “I know. Let’s just sit down and talk about this.”

  “It feels like the last few weeks are tainted now. All this time, we were supposedly making progress, but we weren’t. Not really.”

  Dominic dropped his head into his hands, his thumbs biting into his eye sockets. “I don’t fucking get this. I don’t get how we can love each other this much and not stick.” He banged a fist against his chest. “Look at me. I love you. I’m sorry.”

  She turned in a circle and looked up at the house before stumbling away, stopping in front of him, her body language warning him not to touch her. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry you were living with enough insecurities that you kept something so huge from me. That must have been hard.” She opened her mouth and then closed it, her eyes touching on everything but him. “I—I just don’t know if I can get right with this.”

  He could only stand paralyzed as his wife walked away. Again.

  Rosie sat in the parking lot outside Armie’s office, trying to psych herself up to go inside. Or move. Or think straight. Her mind couldn’t seem to hang on to any single thought for longer than a few seconds before it flew off like a flock of startled birds.

  There was a divider straight down the middle of her mind, like a mental pro/con list. On one side, all the bad stuff bumped around. Suffering in silence before she’d left Dominic. Feeling unsupported. Schlepping into the department store every day, her dream moving a little further and further out of reach. The other side of her brain housed all the progress they’d made. Not to mention all the revelations she’d had since she and Dominic had reconnected.

  Her husband hadn’t been ignoring her all those years. She’d been his center of gravity, just like always. To a fault.

  Yes, she’d found that out today the hard way.

  A house.

>   He’d bought her a secret freaking house.

  Who did that?

  Rosie reached up to massage the pounding ache in the center of her forehead. There had been a moment back at the secret house when she’d wanted to throw herself into Dominic’s arms and tell him the house was beautiful. That he was a ridiculous, romantic, complicated man and she loved him in spite of it. But as she’d sat there on the porch watching him approach, she’d heard the therapist’s voice.

  I’m afraid your marriage isn’t going to make it.

  Could they have a successful union if he kept these kinds of things from her? After everything they’d been through over the past few weeks, if he still couldn’t be honest, what hope did they have of him opening up in the future? She’d been so positive they’d laid it all on the line, but it turned out she didn’t even know where the line was.

  She just needed to talk to someone. Her friends were an amazing choice, but honestly? Rosie was almost embarrassed to tell them about the secret house. How could she have been kept in the dark so long? So here she was. Not only did she need to vent, but she wanted to know why Armie didn’t think her marriage to Dominic could work. What had he seen?

  Anxiety turned over in her stomach as she climbed out of the Honda. She closed the driver’s-side door and idled there for a few seconds, measuring her breathing and fingering the shoulder strap of her purse. Armie was definitely open for business—she could smell the pot wafting from beneath the building door. When she walked inside, she found him in a meditation pose in the center of his waiting-room floor.

  She shifted. “Um . . .”

  His eyes cracked open. “Mrs. Vega.” A smile lit his face. “Hello.”

  “Hello!” Rosie did her best to subdue her too-bright tone. “I know we don’t have any more appointments scheduled, but I was hoping we could speak for a few minutes.”

  Armie rose to his feet, not without some effort, and tucked the end of a joint into his shirt pocket, patting it closed. “Dominic isn’t with you?”

  “No.”

  He studied her expression. “I see,” he said, nodding once and turning. “Come on into my office. Something to drink?”

  “Tequila, please.”

  His crack of laughter almost made her smile. “You’re not the type to show up for a spontaneous therapy session.” He leaned back against the front edge of his desk. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happened?”

  Rosie fell onto the couch and stared at the therapist, although she wasn’t really seeing him. Visions of flower beds and patios and a dock extending into the sound played in front of her eyes like a slideshow. “Last time we were here, you said our marriage wasn’t going to work. That you could tell these things.” She blew out a breath. “Well, I guess we didn’t believe you, because . . . hearing your opinion only seemed to bring us . . . closer. Dominic talked to me about his insecurities and he really came through, supporting my dream of opening the restaurant. He even proposed a second time.”

  Armie only rested his hands on his belly and nodded. “Go on.”

  Rosie swallowed hard. “The whole time, he was keeping something from me. I found out by accident that he bought us a new house with money he’d been setting aside since he returned from Afghanistan. He bought it a year ago—and never told me.”

  Armie whistled through his teeth. “Oh dear.”

  “Yes.” She threw her purse to the side. “He sold it to pay for the restaurant.”

  A beat of silence passed. “To give you your dream.”

  Rosie nodded and trained him with a look, nerves building in her stomach. “You said our marriage can’t work. Why? Is it because he can’t be honest with me?”

  Armie sighed and rounded the desk, settling into his chair. “Rosie, I know you’re not in the mood to hear you’ve been duped twice in one day, but I have to come clean.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “I knew you and Dominic were going to make it the day we met.”

  “What?”

  He definitely looked like he wanted to light up his joint again. “Not only had I never seen two people who love each other more, I’ve never seen two people whose hopes, fears, and sexualities are so intertwined. You share a heart.” He laughed a little under his breath. “Not to mention, there wasn’t a chance in hell that man was letting you go.”

  A vision of Dominic walking into Bethany’s kitchen to ask for a second chance caught her off guard and she had to take several deep breaths to kick-start her lungs.

  Rosie spoke through numb lips. “So why tell us we wouldn’t make it?”

  “A little wake-up call, to present you both with the reality of living without each other. Permanently. Kind of a scared-straight program for husbands and wives.” He arched an eyebrow in her direction. “Tell me it didn’t work.”

  “It worked,” she mumbled, thinking of how Dominic had arrived in the club that night, his heart in his eyes. How he’d let her shine. Encouraged her.

  “I didn’t see the secret house coming.”

  She leaned her head back. “That makes two of us.”

  Armie stood up again and came around his desk, sitting beside Rosie on the couch with a kind smile. “It wasn’t right for him to keep the house from you, Rosie. Both spouses should be involved in decisions regarding household finances.” He started to hedge.

  She turned her head. “But what?”

  “Change within a person doesn’t happen overnight. They have to work on it every single day. Their significant other has to help,” Armie said. “Dominic bought this house a year ago, when communication had broken down between you. It’s reasonable for him to think revealing it now might cause the worst damage.”

  Rosie chewed her lip and waited for him to say more.

  “Let’s untangle this. The fear of losing you trumped honesty, in this case. Not an excuse, just a reality. And we’ve both learned that Dominic expresses his love and appreciation through deeds.” He shifted on the couch, moving his raised hands around as if feeling her aura. “Close your eyes. Let’s put you in Dominic’s shoes.” Rosie complied. “Go to the moment your husband realized he could present you with your dream of the restaurant and avoid losing you again in one fell swoop. What do you think he’s feeling?”

  “Duty. Love. Some self-doubt,” she whispered. “Mostly, the need to make me happy.”

  “You need words, Rosie. We’ve discovered that. Do you think there are words Dominic could have said that would have given you the same feeling as realizing your dream? Having him help you realize that dream?”

  “No,” she said quietly, aching to feel her husband’s arms around her. “No, I can understand why he might have made that decision, even if I don’t agree with it.”

  Those words settled in the room, but she kept her eyes closed.

  “You have the restaurant. What is Dominic’s dream, Rosie?”

  Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. When was the last time she asked him that question? “Being a provider. He lives to provide.”

  “For you.”

  “Yes,” she whispered in an uneven tone.

  An idea came to her, real and vivid. It was beautiful. So right that her blood started to flow at high speed, nearly propelling her off the couch.

  “I have to go make this right,” she said, standing and reaching for her purse. “Thank you, Armie.”

  Before she could reach the door, his voice stopped her. “Rosie.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  “If I may,” he said, smiling. “Remember, Dominic needs deeds. Actions.”

  “I understand.” She rushed back into the room to hug the therapist, plans formulating in her head faster than she could catalogue them. “What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”

  Rosie jogged from the therapist’s office with purpose. And love. So much love for her stubborn, old-fashioned, complicated, sexy husband, she worried she wasn’t capable of waiting until tomorrow to pull off her plan.

  Yes, she was definitely floa
ting on cloud nine.

  Until she realized she wasn’t finished being duped.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Dominic threw a right hook at the punching bag and listened to the satisfying rattle of the chains. A left jab came next, followed by a series of rapid punches. Sweat poured down his forehead and into his eyes, but he continued to punish the bag. Finally, when his arms were spent, he stepped back and doubled over, his sides heaving with exertion.

  When he could manage to stand up straight again, he squinted at the clock. Twenty-four hours had officially passed since Rosie had walked away from him in front of their sold house. The more time slipped by, the less likely it was she could get right with his lie of omission. And the rage he’d been directing at the punching bag for the past hour was aimed at himself. There were no excuses to fuck up so spectacularly this time around—he’d learned the tools to communicate with Rosie and he hadn’t used them.

  God, there was no worse fate than this. Losing her twice. The Groundhog Day from hell.

  The first time Rosie had left him, he’d been devastated. His wife had left him. His pride as a man had been hurt on top of the loss. The loss of the only woman he’d ever love.

  It was different this time. It wasn’t just the loss of his wife, this woman he’d sworn to love and cherish all the days of her life. It wasn’t just losing the woman with whom he shared a past. Those things were true as hell. But he’d also lost Rosie, the girl he’d just fallen in love with all over again. They were old love, committed love, and fresh, insatiable love all rolled into one.

  And he was fucking aching for her.

  He’d gone so long without sharing with Rosie. Talking to her. Listening to her. How had he survived? The sound of her voice fed his soul. He hungered for her nonstop. When she’d suggested therapy, he’d thought there was nothing in the world that could make him love Rosie any more than he already did. Turned out, he’d been wrong. The line that tied them together had been kinked in the middle, and now that their connection was flowing so free and easy, he was gasping for fucking air, trying to suck every nuance of her down.