“Sorry. I don’t want to fight. It’s just . . . I’ve got it under control.” Dom darts his gaze from the road, throwing me a reassuring smile. Our car drifts into the opposite lane, causing the truck in front of us to honk loudly and veer to the side. Dom screams Shit, then takes a sharp turn back to our lane. I let out a gasp, clutching the edge of the passenger door.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dom mutters, sounding genuinely sincere. “Oh, hell. That was close.”

“What the hell, dude?” My voice is shrill. My hands are balled into fists. I’m shaking all over.

“I wasn’t paying attention. I said I’m sorry.”

“And that makes it okay?”

“Get off my back, all right?”

Something is up with him, and I don’t know what it is.

If we move in together, I could monitor him more closely. I don’t actually feel ready to make this step with Dom. Especially with the entire Joe mess. But I’m desperate to save him the way he saved me. And right now . . . he looks like he could use a helping hand.

We pull up in front of his parents’ house a few minutes later. Dom opens the door and bows a little. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I say stiffly.

He takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “This is me. Your ninety-nine-percent-chance-to-marry guy. I’m sorry about what happened. You’re right. I won’t get behind the wheel before I get more sleep. Crack a smile, will ya?”

He is back to being playful, sweet Dom. But I’m still worried. I’m going to be the one driving on our way back. The thought of having him behind the wheel scares me now.

I muster a smile. He thanks me quietly.

Laughter and the sound of a football game roll in from the living room. We follow the noise. Soon, I come face-to-face with Gemma, Brad, and Joe. The latter looks casual, in worn jeans and workman’s boots. Not like a man who could devastate a girl’s entire universe. Who could make her lose her mom, and maybe her boyfriend, and definitely her sanity.

The city always corrupts you, Mom used to say. But corruption is bloody fun!

We stare at each other like two people with big fat secrets in their pockets. Dynamite that could detonate the entire room.

“Hey,” I say, staring at Joe.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“You look tan! Had a nice vacay?” Gemma jumps up, stepping between us, almost like she can pick up the tangible tension.