Page 90 of Impulse Control
Because she absolutely shouldn’t.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a small, uncomfortable thought stirred.
I didn’t need to clean it for Dominic, I needed to make more space for the version of myself I was here to become.
To be honest, I did try.
When I got home, I stood in the doorway and finally saw it. Not the charming kind of lived-in mess. Not creative chaos.
Just… stuff.
Stacks of prints I hadn’t filed. Lenses I hadn’t put away. Laundry folded but never sorted. Notes taped to the walls like reminders of things I no longer remembered agreeing to.
I walked through the living room slowly, like the space might explain itself if I gave it time. Like the mess was a language I just hadn’t learned how to read yet.
My phone felt heavy in my pocket.
For a second, I thought about calling Frankie.
She’d answer. She always did. She’d tell me I was overthinking it, that I was doing great, that she’d drop everything and come if I needed her to. She’d make a joke. She’d probably cry a little. I’d end up comforting her about how much she missed the guys, and somehow my problem would become a shared one I didn’t actually have to solve.
I didn’t call.
Then I thought about calling one of the boys. Coop, maybe. He’d give me some big emotional speech about balance and priorities and how I deserved good things. Bubba would tell me to take a nap and eat something and remind me I wasn’t a robot. Both of them would mean well.
Archie and Jake? Eh. Archie was way too caustic like me at times and he’d tell me to suck it up and stop whining. If I wanted to fix it, then fix it. If I couldn’t figure it out, he’d probably offer to do it for me. No, thank you.
Jake? Honestly, he could go any of the above three ways, he was a big brother. He could also be a dick. One of the things I liked about him.
None of them lived this life.
Then I thought about my mom.
That thought barely lasted a second.
She’d ask if I was eating enough. If I was sleeping. If I was safe. She’d worry in that way that would makemea wreck. She’d remind me that I didn’t have to do everything at once and it was okay to screw up.
She’d be right.
That somehow made it worse.
Noor crossed my mind next. Or Thomas. Or someone I could talk to without it turning into a full emotional autopsy. Someone who would just sit with me in the mess and not try to fix it.
But that felt like asking for something I hadn’t earned yet.
Then, finally—Dominic.
The easiest answer and… the hardest one.
He’d listen. He always listened. He’d tell me to breathe. He’d probably offer to take something off my plate without even waiting to be asked. He’d mean it.
And I didn’t want him solving this for me.
I wanted him to arrive tomorrow and see me as someone who had her life in her hands—not someone quietly unraveling inside a very pretty apartment.
So I didn’t call anyone.
I walked down the short hallway instead.
