My team pulled out a spectacular win to launch us into the Cup finals. The fucking high in that moment was incredible.
I proposed to my girlfriend, convinced she was feeling the same for me that I was for her. She turned me down flat, and I came to the realization I didn’t know anything when it came to Willow Monahan. Fuck her and her risk aversion.
I left her in the owner’s box, and I didn’t look back. As I made the journey down to the ice, surrounded by team executives and two State troopers, I told myself over and over again to put her out of my mind. Now was my time to celebrate with my team and bask in all the glory that came from a hard-fought battle.
But I couldn’t.
Couldn’t fucking put Willow out of my head.
My entire body seemed to vibrate with this low hum of anger, tempered only by an internal hollowness over how quickly I’d fallen from such a high.
Not once during all the times I’d replayed that moment when I’d asked her to marry me and saw that horrible look on her face did I regret asking. I’m not an overly impulsive guy, but I do listen to my gut.
And my gut was telling me to go for it. I took the jubilation, gathered that energy, and hoped to fuck I portrayed it in just the right way that she couldn’t say no.
Without any doubts, I knew I was in love with Willow, and I was ready to commit my life to hers. Thus, I’ll never regret asking her.
I do find fault with myself for failing to read her correctly. Truly, I thought she felt the same. It was all there… her bringing her family into our circle and the way she stood by my side as a partner when I invited the team over. The way we make love and the way we fuck. Two vastly different things, but both filled with trust and deep intimacy that has never felt this way to me before.
Our conversations. We can talk for hours, and she knows me better than anyone.
I thought I knew her better than anyone, but that’s something I’ll continue to castigate myself over.
I continue to flip the yo-yo as I pace the length of the room, wondering where in the hell I go from here. My grandpa taught me how to master a yo-yo in the brief time I lived with him following my parents’ deaths. When I went off into foster care, it was the one object I managed to maintain possession of. Things tended to get stolen in foster or group homes, and I was small and easily preyed on when I first arrived. But I could always keep the yo-yo in my pocket and I’d learned to pull it out, mindlessly flipping it when I needed to think.
As I pace, I come to the realization I’ll have to talk to Willow, but I have no clue what to say.
Throughout the presentation ceremony following the game, I managed to keep my cool. I was charming, gracious, and jubilant with my team. We posed for pictures and accepted the trophy, which is actually a silver bowl named after a former president of the league. Someone popped champagne on the ice, and I got sprayed right along with my team.
After, I went to the locker room and gave the team a little pep talk. I hope it was heartfelt enough because even though I think I said the right words, I was still spiraling from Willow shooting me down.
I then went and gave a short press conference with the coaches.
And because I wasn’t ready to even look at, much less talk to, Willow, I slipped out of the arena unnoticed. I walked two blocks down, called an Uber, and had it bring me home. I’d left instructions with the limousine I’d hired to take Willow and her family wherever they needed. I suspected there would be some bar hopping or partying tonight, but hopefully not too much. The first game of the finals starts tomorrow, after all.
My doorbell rings and I freeze, the yo-yo spinning out of control before tangling. I take the string off my finger, then set the toy on the coffee table.
There’s no doubt in my mind it’s Willow, and I’m not sure what to do.
I truly didn’t expect her to come here because I gave her no invitation to do so. And yet, how could I not know she’d come?
Of course, she’d want to talk about this.
With a sigh, I move to the door. I’ve never been one to shirk away from things that must be done, and, yes, we need to talk.
However, this feels premature because I’m still processing my feelings.
I unlock the door and pull it open, unsurprised to find her standing there with an incredibly worried look on her face. She wrings her hands but doesn’t speak. I assume she’s waiting for an invitation inside.
Finally, she bursts out, “You left the arena without a word! I waited for you forever. Almost everyone had left the arena before I finally went out to the limo, only for the driver to tell me you’d left.”
“Look, Willow,” I start, but she cuts me off.
“We need to talk about this, Dominik. You can’t just walk away and not finish this… this…”
“Conversation?” I ask incredulously. “Because as far as I remember, the conversation was over. I asked you to marry me, and you said ‘no’. I really don’t know what else there is to talk about.”
She pushes past me into my home. I’m ultimately okay with that because it would be rude to keep her on the porch when she feels the need to discuss this. With a sigh, I turn to follow her in, shutting the door behind me.
Willow spins on me. “We can make this work, Dominik. Just because I said ‘no’ now doesn’t mean I won’t get to ‘yes’ eventually.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You think?”
She totally doesn’t catch my sarcastic tone, her face morphing into a relieved smile. “Yes. I mean… we’re on a good path. If things continue the way they have been, then I believe it’s possible. I mean, I think you got caught up in the moment tonight. The excitement of victory. I get it, and I’m really flattered. It’s just bad timing is all. You need to know, Dominik, that you’re the only man I’d ever consider stepping back into the game with again.”
“This isn’t a game, Willow,” I snap, causing her to flinch, the smile sliding off her face. “And I wasn’t caught up in the moment. I’ve been thinking about a future with you long before I proposed. I asked you to marry me, not because I was excited we won the game, but because I love you and I thought you felt the same way about me. So I repeat… this isn’t a game. This is my life. It’s my heart.”
She looks like I just physically struck her, because while I didn’t come out and say it, my words have cast her as the villain.
Her head drops slightly, her gaze going to the floor. Her voice is small. “It’s my heart, too. And it’s scared.”
A growl of frustration rumbles out of me, and I whirl away from her. Those words should appease me. I should have some measure of empathy over her history that makes her fearful, but fuck that… I have history, too. I’ve worked past my issues, and I decided she was worth the risk.
Take the reverse of that… she clearly doesn’t think I’m worth the risk.
I spin to face her once again. “I proposed and you said no. But more than that, I said I loved you, and you gave me nothing in return.”
Her face flushes with guilt.
“Do you love me?” I demand.
“I… um… I don’t know what to call it,” she finally mumbles. “I care for you so much, more than I’ve ever cared for someone before. Is it love? I don’t know… or else I would have said yes with no hesitation, right?”