Chapter Twelve

The rest of the day drags by uneventfully, and by the time I return to the sick bay, Mrs. Hannah greets me with her usual cheerful smile.

Dominic sits on the bed, backpack across his legs, his jaw tight and eyes set on the floor. Someone looks ready to explode.

“Your friend is mad I gave him sleeping pills,” Mrs. Hannah says, patting my back as I reach her.

I glance at him. “He sure looks grumpy. Thank you so much, Mrs. Hannah.”

“No problem, dear.”

I walk up to Dominic, folding my arms. “Stop biting your lip before you bruise yourself.”

He lifts his head, glaring. “She gave me sleeping pills.”

“You needed them, obviously,” I counter.

His brows shoot up. “Wait—you knew?” He looks at me like I’ve committed treason. “You actually knew and let her go on with it? I missed an entire day of lectures, Catherine!”

“I told her to,” I say, grabbing his bag. “You won’t fail because of one day. So stop sulking and let’s go.”

Mrs. Hannah chuckles behind us as I head for the door. I can hear Dominic’s heavy footsteps trailing after me, slow and deliberate.

“Could you hurry up?” I huff, turning to face him—but he just walks past, ignoring me completely.

I flag down a cab and slide in beside him. We ride in silence until it stops in front of my house. I pay the driver and step out, noticing Dominic hasn’t moved.

“Are you not coming out?” I ask.

He blinks up. “I thought the driver would take me to my place.”

“I figured you could tutor me here,” I say, pushing the door open. Cool air greets me and I exhale in relief. “You can freshen up in the guest room—it’s on your left.”

He trudges off without a word. Childish.

Upstairs, I drop my bag and call Dad.

He picks up immediately. “Hi, peas. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. I need your help with something,” I say, kicking off my shoes and heading to the closet. “I want to make an advertisement for our school project—on local TV.”

“The school should already have—”

“Dad,” I cut in, “I want to do it myself.”

He sighs. “Alright. I’ll have someone reach out to you.”

I smile faintly. “How’s Mom?”

“She’s with clients. I’ll tell her to call you.”

“Don’t bother,” I mutter. “Talking to her isn’t exactly on my list right now.”

“Catherine—”

“Bye, Dad.”

“Wait—Travis is in town. He’ll be staying with you for a while.”

I freeze. “Travis? Uncle Zachary’s son?”

“Yes.”

“Ooh.” I squeak as the line goes dead. Travis—Dad’s best friend’s son. My childhood partner-in-crime before he left with his mom after the divorce. It’s been five years. I wonder what he looks like now.

After a shower, I slip into pajamas and head downstairs. Dominic’s in the living room, hunched over a textbook, hair still damp and clinging to his forehead.

“Hey,” I say, dropping onto the couch beside him. “What are you working on? And your hair—it’s still wet.” I reach for it, but he leans away.

“It’ll dry.”

“You should’ve changed clothes.”

He chews on his pen. “Didn’t want to wear anything your ex has worn.”

I sigh dramatically. “Petty much?”

Without replying, I head to the guest room and grab a towel. When I come back, he’s in the same position, eyes glued to his notes. I drop beside him, tossing the towel over his head.

“Let me help you dry off.”

He stays still, surprisingly obedient, as I work the towel through his hair. His lashes flutter shut, his shoulders easing under my touch. I slow down without realizing it, mesmerized by the way he tilts slightly toward me, like he’s letting his guard down for the first time.

“Feels good, huh?” I murmur.

He nods, lips parting a little.

A smile tugs at my mouth. Then his eyes open, meeting mine directly—dark, steady, unreadable.

“What?” I ask, pretending not to notice the flutter in my chest.

“Thank you for earlier,” he says quietly. “I’m glad you care about me. At least a little.”

I roll my eyes and shove the towel over his face. “Who cares about you? I just didn’t want your sister nagging me if something happened.”

He chuckles softly, and it does things to my heart I don’t want to think about.

I spring up before my face can betray me. “I need to check on something,” I mumble and hurry upstairs, shutting the door behind me.

Only then do I finally let out a breath. My pulse is still racing.

Why am I getting flustered by Dominic?

This is Dominic—Alice’s little brother.

Get it together, Catherine.

By the time I return downstairs, my face feels normal again. “Alright,” I say, settling beside him, pretending nothing happened. “Let’s start tutoring before I forget why you’re here.”

*

*

I jolt awake as someone keeps shaking my wrist. My lashes flutter open to find Dominic’s face hovering way too close.

“Ooh God, I slept off,” I groan, sitting up. The textbooks have been neatly stacked beside me, and an intoxicating smell fills the room. I blink again, and there he is—holding a steaming plate of pasta.

“You… made food?”

He nods, handing me the plate. “You didn’t have anything at home, so I figured I could make something.”

He says it like it’s no big deal—but it is. The kitchen in this house hasn’t seen fire or smoke in ages. Not since my parents got lost in their business world. I’d practically become a takeout creature—living on pizza boxes and cold fries.

I take a bite, and the taste hits me—warm, creamy, comforting. I moan before I can stop myself.

“This is so good, Dominic.” Another spoon. Then another.

“Take it slow, Catherine,” he says, watching me with an amused frown.

“I didn’t even realize I was this hungry.” I smile, teasing, “I should probably not get used to this or I might actually have to marry you.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Not a bad idea.”

My heart stutters at his words. “Oh.” I meet his gaze, and something unreadable passes between us. His earlier words echo in my head — From what I remember, I bought that magazine long before I dated her.

I shake off the thought and murmur, “Your girlfriend would be so lucky.”

He stands abruptly, grabbing his books. “I thought you were my girlfriend.”

His tone is quiet but there’s a heaviness to it.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly.

“No. I just need to take care of some things at home.” He heads toward the door. “I wrote down some exercises for you. Try to do them before I come by tomorrow.”

“Yes, tutor,” I mutter under my breath as the door slams shut. I’m not sure if he heard me or not.

“Is he bipolar?” I whisper to myself. “He was perfectly fine seconds ago.”

I keep eating the pasta anyway.

After dinner, I grab my phone and notice a new message from an unknown number.

Hi, I’m Ray from KTY News.

Dad must have contacted someone for me.

I head upstairs, dialing the number immediately. “Hi, this is Catherine Young. I’d like to air our project on school bullying.”

“Okay,” the man replies. “Let’s set a date and talk.”

“Thank you,” I say, a smile forming despite everything.