I’m so confused.
“Okay,” I finally drawl. “I better get going. I have dinner plans tonight.”
Not really, but whatever.
Everyone starts talking at once, saying goodbye and sending me their love.
Everyone except Dominik.
He doesn’t utter a single word.
When I finally hang up, I have no idea how I feel about him at this point.
CHAPTER 15
Dominik
I take a sip of bourbon on the rocks. It’s my second of the night and just the start of the third period, but I can breathe a little easier, at least as far as the game is concerned. We have the Vancouver Flash well in hand with a commanding 5-1 lead at this point. Of course, anything can happen, but my men look like the champions I know them to be so far.
I can’t say for sure what caused the disconnect on the ice during game one, but it seems to have been a fluke. Tonight, they’re skating better than ever, making crisper passes, and seem to be thinking five moves ahead of the other player in one-on-one situations.
Doesn’t mean I’m not still filled with pissy feelings, though, and they have everything to do with the fact Willow isn’t in the owner’s box with me. Not that I expected her to accept my invitation given the fact she thinks I ratted her out to her family, but fuck… I just want to see her.
Want to be able to confirm for myself that she’s okay.
I want her to acknowledge I didn’t intentionally tell her brother in the hope to gain something from it. If I’d known it was a secret, I’d have taken it to my grave for her.
Most of all, I need her to know that despite the fact she has an extremely dangerous job, I won’t let that come between us. When I broke things off, it had been pure, unadulterated male ego doing the yammering.
It wasn’t the real me, and I need a chance to tell her that.
I thought it would be tonight, here at the game, but it appears it won’t be.
“Team is looking really good,” Tom Solomon says from beside me. We’ve been standing right behind the four rows of seats in the owner’s box for most of the game. The seats are always filled with business associates, guests of those associates, and even friends of friends. There’s a popular country music star and her date in the front row, compliments of a friend of a friend who asked for the seats.
I never sit down, though. Always too nervous.
“They’re definitely looking strong tonight,” I reply. Tom is an old friend of mine from my internet radio days.
“You seem distracted.”
I give him a sharp look. Is it that obvious that despite the fact I’ve had my eyes glued on the ice, I’ve been thinking about something—or rather someone—besides my hockey team?
“Just wound tight about this game,” I reply smoothly, swirling the bourbon in my glass.
Wound super fucking tight, actually.
I lift the glass to my mouth, downing the rest of the liquid in a gulp so large I almost choke on it. My eyes water and I turn toward the wet bar, intent on making another. I took a car service to the game tonight, so there is no issue with me getting shitfaced. In fact, it sounds like a grand idea, especially since the game is going so well.
Movement from the corner of my eye has my gaze moving over to the door of the owner’s box. It swings open, wide and fast, and then Willow Monahan strides through. Going by the look on her face, she’s not a happy woman.
I take a brief moment to appreciate her, even though I’m sure that expression is for my benefit alone. She’s stunning—dark hair pulled into a low ponytail, minimal makeup, and a baggy Monahan jersey with black leggings.
She scans the box and when her eyes land on me, they flash with fury and something else I can’t quite identify. I set the glass down and start toward her, meeting her before she can advance too far in. By the looks of things, I’m in for it.
Willow comes out swinging. “You are a backstabbing son of a bitch, do you know that?”
It’s loud enough some of my guests had to have heard her, and I’m not about to let this drama unfold in front of them.
“I strongly disagree,” I say in a low voice as I take her elbow and steer her right around toward the door. “But we’ll have this conversation in private if you don’t mind.”
“Why?” she demands, trying to jerk away. I tighten my grip, propelling her through the door and into the hallway. Because the game is in play, most people are in their seats, but there are a few stragglers who give us surprised looks as I continue to march her along while she castigates me.
“Was telling Dax your way of getting back at me? Did you think I’d come crawling back to you or something? Be the meek little girlfriend who sits around on my ass and lets you take care of me? Is that what you thought, Dominik?”
We reach the private elevator, which only the executive staff have access to. It goes up to the offices and down to the basement level where the locker rooms are. When I press my security badge to the scanner, the doors open. I push a glaring Willow inside.
When the doors close, I hit the button for the top floor and take a step back to give her a cool look. “You know damn well you have no reason to be mad, Willow. I didn’t intentionally spill your secret, nor did I even know it was a secret.”
“Oh, you knew,” she snaps, but I can hear it in her tone… she doesn’t believe it. She’d just wanted the opportunity to put herself within my range so we can hash everything out.
So be it.
The elevator opens and I take her elbow again, maneuvering her down a darkened hall and into my office. I shove the door open, push her through, and kick it shut. Before Willow can get another word in, I sling her around until she collides into my body. My mouth crashes down on hers, and I kiss her fucking silent.
It’s a beautiful thing—the way she responds—and it confirms everything I had been hoping for. She’s not truly mad. It’s repairable.
I pull away, prepared to apologize for giving her an ultimatum, but fuck if she doesn’t launch into me again. “I mean seriously, Dominik… you should have known my family wouldn’t know about how I got those scars. And besides… what I do with my life is none of your damn business. Why were you even on that phone call to begin—”
I tune her out. Disconnecting from her ranting, I start to remove my lime green and electric blue tie.
Vengeance colors, but it has other uses than team pride.
Seemingly without taking a breath, Willow continues to rail against me. I put my hand to the back of her head and when her jaw unhinges especially wide while calling me all kinds of colorful names, I shove the tie inside.
She makes a choking sort of sound—more disbelief than anything—and I get just a glimpse of her eyes rounding in shock before I’m spinning her around and pushing her down over my desk.
Her palms slap onto the cherry wood, her torso pressing onto a stack of folders that contain scouting prospects for next year. I step in behind her, press my pelvis to her ass, and lower down over her. My palms come down on the desk near her head, and I bring my mouth to her ear so she can hear me very clearly. “Enough with the recriminations. You should have it out of your system by now.”
Growling, she moves her fingers as if she’s going to pull the tie out of her mouth. My hand locks around her wrist. “Leave it. I like not hearing you for a change.”