Dominik

by Sawyer Bennett

  “No one said a thing,” he replies softly.

  “Probably didn’t want to bother you with it,” I hazard a guess. “I mean… why ruin your high over winning the conference finals? Congrats by the way.”

  “Thanks,” he replies with a grin. “Nice of you to acknowledge it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I retort sarcastically. “I was busy getting proposed to, shooting that down, breaking Dominik’s heart, and then trying to work it out, only to have him break my heart. I had more pressing issues at hand.”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs with sympathy now.

  “And he was really cruel, Dax,” I say… in, yes, a whiny voice.

  Too much of a whiny voice, apparently, as Dax isn’t swayed to any type of sympathy that puts him in overprotective-brother mode.

  “Tell me what happened,” he orders in a no-nonsense tone. He means to assess the situation, then give me talk that’s not sugarcoated. Of course, if he feels it’s warranted, he’ll kick Dominik’s ass for me, but he wants to hear it all.

  Normally, I’d be too embarrassed to repeat everything to most people, but Dax isn’t “most people”. He’s my brother, closest to my age, and we’ve been incredibly bonded our entire life. Because I’m a nomad without a home, I’ve often lived with my brother for stretches at a time as evidenced by his generosity in opening his home again so I can attend all the playoff games.

  I take a deep breath, then let it out. I tell him about how Dominik proposed. How it was so out of left field I had a hard time processing it. That I felt he might just be on an adrenaline high from the win, and perhaps didn’t mean it. Most of all, I admitted the thought of getting engaged scared the shit out of me because while I had indeed fallen for Dominik, I apparently still had some trust issues I didn’t realize I had to work out.

  I don’t get into the nitty-gritty details of what happened at Dominik’s house. For example, I don’t tell Dax I came close to begging Dominik to keep working on this with me, or that I was a shameless hussy by putting my hands on the most private places on his body to induce him to have sex with me. It was so very shameful to use sex as a means to hold us together, yet I’d been convinced it would work.

  But Dominik was right in the end. We both might have gotten off, but it wasn’t good. It was just… normal, and what we used to have was extraordinary.

  No, I didn’t tell Dax any of that. Only that I went to Dominik’s house and made a very impassioned plea for him to give us a chance, hoping that one day we could progress to a point where we could talk about marriage.

  “And so how did you two leave things?” Dax asks as he drains his coffee.

  I shrug. “He asked me to leave his house. Said he couldn’t do this with me.”

  Dax frowns. “What exactly does that mean?”

  I shrug again. I’m not about to tell him we had not-so-great sex, and Dominik pointed out straight to my face that it wasn’t good.

  Hollow was how he said it made him feel.

  “He asked me to leave his house,” I repeat with heavy bitterness, as if that says it all. “He wouldn’t talk about it.”

  Dax scoots his chair back from the table, stands, and moves back to the coffee pot. “I don’t think any of that means things are necessarily over between you two.”

  “You don’t?” I ask, sitting up a bit straighter. Because things sure seem bleak as hell right now.

  He spares me a glance over his shoulder before holding the pot over his cup and emptying it. He puts it back on the burner, then flips the machine off. “He probably just needs time to cool down. I imagine it was a blow to his ego that you said ‘no’.”

  Every fiber in my being says this has nothing to do with Dominik’s ego and everything to do with his heart, which I had inadvertently damaged. “I think I really hurt him,” I mutter sadly.

  Dax blinks. He can hear the shame in my voice.

  Moving back to the table, he sits and takes my hand gently in his. “Willow… if you hurt him, then that means he feels very, very deeply for you. I mean, I suspect as much since he proposed, but if you had the capacity to truly cause pain, then I think that means there’s a good chance you can salvage things. Love like that just doesn’t disappear. I’d try to talk to him again.”

  “You really think so?” I ask, experiencing a plausible feeling of hope for the first time.

  “What do you have to lose?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I reply with a genuine smile.

  “Then I’d work on your groveling techniques,” he suggests with a laugh, releasing my hand.

  No time like the present, I guess. I push up from my chair, then lean over to give Dax a quick hug. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replies with a reassuring smile. “And later, if you really want me to kick his ass, I will. But after the playoffs are over, okay?”

  “Deal.” I laugh, nabbing my phone from the table. I head up the stairs to my room, choosing Dominik’s number from my contacts.

  I listen to the phone ring, hoping he’ll pick up, yet really nervous at the thought of talking to him.

  It rings five times before going to his voice mail, and I wonder if he’s still sleeping, perhaps in the shower, or maybe even just ignoring my call. I listen to his short message that’s all business-like. At the tone, I drop my plea. “Dominik… I was hoping maybe we could talk some more today. I’m really sorry for everything that’s happened, and well… I think we’ve still got something genuine between us. I know we can get back on track if we just try. At any rate, call me back. I’m free all day.”

  I hesitate a moment, not sure whether to say anything more. Should I tell him I love him? Or would that sound disingenuous at this point? Maybe that I miss him? That’s truthful and accurate. Or maybe I should beg a little?

  Ultimately, I just mumble another, “I’m sorry. I really want to work this out.”

  I hang up the phone, tapping it against my chin thoughtfully. Maybe he’ll call back and want to meet up for breakfast. I should shower so I’m ready to go.

  With a plan of action in place, I head to the bathroom, feeling hopeful that I’m on the right track.

  ♦

  Dominik doesn’t call while I’m in the shower. I go ahead and dry my hair, put on a light dusting of makeup, and then crawl in my bed to wait.

  It turns into a three-hour nap.

  ♦

  I’m stunned by the For Sale sign in front of Dominik’s house when I pull up. After my nap, with still no word from Dominik, I knew I’d have to be a bit more aggressive to get him to talk. There’s always the option of giving him space for the time being, but I just can’t do it. I feel like our entire relationship is hanging on by a very thin thread that’s about to break. I need to salvage this now for my own peace of mind.

  There’s a car in the driveway—not his Porsche—but the garage door is closed, so I have no clue if he’s here or not. There’s only one way to find out.

  After I park at the curb, I make my way to the front door. I ring the doorbell, my heart pounding as I wait for Dominik to hopefully give me the time of day.

  When the door opens, I’m surprised to see Mrs. Osborne—his assistant—standing there. She’s a pleasant woman but very brisk and efficient. At least that’s what I remember from the handful of times I interacted with her during my trip to Los Angeles.

  Her smile is polite but aloof. “Can I help you?”

  “Is Dominik home?” I ask, moving in a little closer to look past her.

  She moves to block my line of sight, clearly setting up a protective barrier between me and Dominik’s house. “I’m afraid he’s not.”

  “Where is he?” I ask.

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose that,” she replies primly.

  “Mrs. Osborne, you know who I am,” I remind her with a charming smile. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind—”

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose his whereabouts to you,” she repeats firmly, and I have to won
der… did Dominik actually instruct her to not tell me anything in the off chance I showed up? Or is she just doing her job like she normally does?

  “Why is the house up for sale?” I ask.

  “You’d have to ask him that,” she says, clasping her hands in front of her body.

  I’m not sure why the thought of him putting this house up for sale is so scary. It’s not like I expected him to move here permanently. I mean, why would he? He has no permanent ties here, and it’s not like even I make this city my permanent home.

  But still… we shared a lot in this house. I guess I had envisioned us staying here together, and I realize how pompous it is to even think like that when I couldn’t commit to anything when he asked me.

  “I assume he’ll be at the game tonight,” I press.

  “I’m not at liberty—”

  “—to disclose that,” I finish, disgruntled. “Yes. I get that. Is there anything at all you can tell me?” I ask, finally letting down my confident façade. “I really need to talk to him.”

  She just stares, her face stony.

  “I hurt him,” I admit. “And I’m trying to fix it. But I can’t if he stays hidden.”

  Mrs. Osborne’s expression doesn’t change one bit, but she does admit, “He will be at the game tonight. That’s all I can tell you.”

  It’s not much, but at least it means I still have a shot. I nod gratefully. “Thank you. And if you see him before the game tonight, please tell him I came by and I really need to see him.”

  The aloof tone is back. “I’ll be glad to pass that message on.”

  Then she closes the door in my face.

  ♦

  The arena is packed with a record-sized crowd tonight. The excitement is palpable, and yet… I just can’t seem to care about any of it.

  I came to the game with my parents and Regan. Dax procured us great seats down on the ice, right behind the team bench. Joining us in the same row is Pepper and her parents, along with Brooke, Nora, and Nora’s ranch manager, Raul.

  I can’t sit still for long. With Dominik not answering my calls or texts, I have no choice but to try to pin him down in the owner’s box. I won’t make a scene, though, just a very heartfelt apology and a request for some of his time, perhaps tomorrow, for us to talk.

  I run into no issues making it to the level where the box entrances are, the attendants who man the area knowing me well.

  But when I get to Dominik’s box, the attendant there holds his hand up as I approach. “I’m sorry, Miss Monahan,” he informs me, clearly having been given instruction if I show up. “But the box is full tonight. I understand you have good seats down on the ice.”

  Oh my God, this is humiliating. Dominik has actually gotten one of his employees to thwart me. I can’t even imagine what this guy has been told.

  “I just need to speak to Dominik for a moment,” I say, grasping at straws. “If I can just pop in—”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Carlson isn’t even in the box tonight,” he replies. “And, as I said, it’s full.”

  I stare suspiciously. “You wouldn’t just be telling me that so I’ll leave, would you?”

  The man looks offended. “I most certainly would not.”

  “Because I’d understand if Dominik told you to keep me away,” I continue.

  “Miss Monahan… the box has been given to another party to use tonight. Mr. Carlson is actually availing himself of regular arena seats tonight.”

  I look back toward the escalator that leads to the main seating level, then back to the attendant. “He’s sitting with the regular crowd? Where?”

  “I don’t know where his seats are,” he replies stiffly. “I only know the box is in private use, and Mr. Carlson asked me to let anyone who usually sits up here know that it’s unavailable tonight.”

  Maybe he has a seat down where we’re all at.

  Maybe he’s chosen to sit down there with me.

  It’s a good sign, I’m sure.

  “Thank you,” I gush to the attendant before taking off back through the arena.

  I’m huffing and puffing as I make my way to our seats. I’m disappointed that I don’t see Dominik, but there are still some empty seats around. It’s a good fifteen minutes before the game starts.

  I sit down next to Regan, halfheartedly listening as she goes on about how excited she is. I keep watching the seats around us filling up with no sign of Dominik. I take to scouring the crowd, peering around the entire arena, hoping I can spot him.

  It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack, and for all I know, the attendant could have been lying.

  Or he could have been telling me the truth as he knows it, given to him directly by Dominik.

  Regardless, by the time the puck is dropped and the game starts, a few things are impossibly clear.

  Dominik does not want to talk to me.

  Dominik most certainly doesn’t want to see me.

  There’s even a chance he’s doing this to purposefully hurt me, the way I hurt him.

  Most importantly is the realization that the crushing weight on my chest and the hurt deep within me is the most awful thing I’ve ever experienced. No one has ever managed to hurt me this way, and I feel completely destroyed.

  CHAPTER 26

  Dominik

  I sit in the lobby of the hotel waiting on the bus to arrive with my team from the airport. Normally, I would have been on the plane with them from Phoenix to Raleigh as we head into games three and four of the Cup finals, but I needed to make a visit to New York City for some business dealings.

  Despite the fact the Vengeance took games one and two, I have no expectations we’re going to sweep the series by winning three and four. I mean, it would be nice and the headlines would be amazing, but the truth is the Cold Fury is our toughest possible opponent. Games one and two were bitterly fought battles, and they could have gone either way, to be honest. I expect the play will be just as intense during the next two games, but the Cold Fury will be on home ice and have the advantage of the crowd behind them.

  Regardless, we’re in the thick of things now, and all I can do is continue to have faith in my team.

  Admittedly, I’ve had a bit of a difficult time putting my full energy into anything lately. The victories in games one and two were incredible, but they also felt bittersweet because of the way things had ended with Willow. I’m still pissed, yet I miss her. I don’t think we have a future, and I’m angry we don’t.

  Angry at Willow and myself because I can’t seem to think past my own hurt. In my mind, things are black and white. I proposed and confessed my love. She shot me down, which means she clearly doesn’t love me back.

  I should let it go and move on, yet I’m wallowing like a fucking loser.

  I have no clue what Willow’s thinking. She tried hard the day after we broke up to initiate more conversation, but I wasn’t ready. Didn’t want to talk to her or hear all over again that hopefully one day she could get to the spot I’m at. I mean, how fucking offensive is that… that maybe with a lot of hard work and perhaps a bit of luck, she might be able to fall in love with me?

  I don’t need that shit.

  Mrs. Osborne told me Willow came by the house—which I put up for sale without a second thought. I was headed back to Los Angeles after the Cup finals, and I wasn’t going to look back at Phoenix until the next season started. When that happened, I’d fly to some of the games and stay in a hotel.

  I also heard Willow had gone to the owner’s box.

  She had called and texted me repeatedly, but, in all honesty, I deleted the voice mails without listening and barely glanced at her texts. It was all the same thing. She wanted to talk so we could try to get back on track.

  I just wanted to move forward without her.

  But then she went radio silent. No more communications. She didn’t try to call or text me after we won the first game except for a simple congratulatory text that said nothing more than, Great win.

  Of cour
se, I hadn’t responded.

  I didn’t hear from her the day after that, or the day after that, which was game two. When I moved back to the owner’s box, I half expected Willow to show back up. I was better prepared to face her at that point, and I was just going to tell her I’d like some space. Maybe I’d even suggest she give me until after the playoffs so I could keep focused on my team. I’m not even sure what I was hoping would happen, but truthfully… I was slightly disappointed when she didn’t show up.

  I could do nothing more than consider it a sign that this was all working out the way it was supposed to.

  And I fucking hated the way it was making me feel.

  Now I have doubts.

  Should I have talked to Willow? Perhaps given her a chance to process what I had asked of her? I know I caught her off guard, and I know she has fears. Should I have been more supportive rather than worried about how it affected me?

  All are questions I have no answers to, and I’m afraid if I knew the real answers, I’d feel even more like shit than I already do.

  So I press on.

  I make myself concentrate on the playoffs, and I wait for my team to arrive at the hotel so I can be the first to welcome them off the bus.

  My phone rings, startling me. I pull it from the inside pocket of my suit jacket, surprised to see Gray Brannon’s name.

  I answer about as informally as one can to the general manager of the opposing team in the Cup finals. “Calling to cede victory to us?”

  Gray laughs, a husky, smoky sound of amusement. “You’re adorable, Dominik. And while I’ll congratulate you on games one and two, I will promise you this right here and now… we’re taking the next two games.”

  I don’t bother bantering since I know it’s a very real possibility.

  But I laugh in response, because I like that we have this relationship now. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  “Well, for one,” she says with businesslike efficiency, “I wanted to welcome you formally to Raleigh and see if there was anything you needed?”

  Polite formalities are extended all the time between business owners and upper management. It’s part of the profession.