Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Tears of pride spring to my eyes. He’s on that cusp between childhood and tweenhood, where I tend to think he’s still a baby and he thinks he’s older than he is, but in this moment, all I see is the hard work we’ve put in on having manners and being respectful.
“Hi, Briar. I’m really glad you texted.” There’s nothing inherently flirty in the words, or even the tone, but I don’t miss the sparkle in Dominic’s eyes. He thinks I’m using my son to get closer to him. He couldn’t be more wrong. This is for Harley, nothing more, nothing less.
If only the butterflies flopping around in my belly believed that too.
“Thanks for helping. He’s really excited in case you can’t tell.” I drop my eyes to the floor, where Harley has plopped down to trade tennis shoes for skates.
“Me too.” Dominic’s words are to me, but he makes sure his new student hears them too. “What’re we working on today?”
Lacing his skates, Harley offers, “Connor says I’m not good at scoring, so . . .” His voice trails off uncertainly.
“Alright, we’ll do some target work then. Skate a few laps and get warmed up while I talk to your mom.”
“Yes, sir.” And with that, Harley hits the ice and Dominic’s eyes track his progress for a few seconds before he turns to me.
“Hi.” He already greeted me, but this one feels more intimate, less child-friendly for sure even though it’s barely a syllable.
I blush instantly, and when Dominic’s smile grows as he clocks the rising heat on my cheeks, I lower my chin, hating my body’s overreaction to his nearness and focused attention. Trying to stick to the reason we’re here, I say, “Connor isn’t his coach. He’s Harley’s teammate, one he needs to learn not to listen to.” I let the smallest edge enter my tone, not wanting to speak ill of a child, but also, not particularly caring for Connor.
Dominic’s expression changes in a blink, Mr. All Business as his ears fully open.
I give him the quick rundown of Harley’s team and how Connor is a bit of an ice bully and tell him that while I appreciate the help with drills, what I really want is for Harley to trust his own instincts and stand up for himself.
Nodding, he says, “Okay, we can work on that for sure. But one question . . . Is Connor right about the scoring shots? Objectively.”
“Well, he’s not laser-precise if that’s what you mean. But he’s okay compared to the rest of the players.”
Dominic glances out at Harley. “Gotcha. Let me see what he’s got.”
As Dominic joins Harley on the ice, I stand back, simply watching their interaction. They start with skating skills, doing simple footwork that Harley nails, and then moving on to stick drills. Dominic watches thoughtfully, analyzing and gently making corrections here and there.
To my surprise, Dominic is actually really great with Harley. Though I can’t hear their conversations, I can see my son’s confidence growing with every passing minute as they work together. Eventually I relax enough to take a seat on one of the benches, but I keep my eyes locked on the two guys who have my full attention. One always has that. The other? It feels strange to be this locked in on a man.
I don’t do that. Not anymore. I learned that lesson the hard way and refuse to have a repeat experience of that hell.
Harley, first. Me, second. My work, third. And that leaves no time, energy, or desire for anything else, and definitely not for anyone else.
The reminder is automatic, yet my eyes keep finding Dominic again and again. His easy smile, his broad shoulders, his grace on the ice, and fine . . . his round butt in the black sweatpants he’s wearing. All make him a feast for the eyes.
Before I know it, an hour has passed and Harley speeds over to the boards, his face full of excitement. “Did you see me, Mom? I got a shot past Dom!”
Noticing the nickname, I glance at Dominic as he comes up behind my son, but he’s smiling proudly. “Sure did. Great job, man. Just gotta trust yourself to see those pockets and act on them the instant you do.”
Suddenly an apt student, Harley nods emphatically. “Trust the puck to be where I left it. Let my eyes look for where to put it. Act fast.” He says it like he’s quoting the advice Dominic gave him.
“You got it,” Dominic says as he holds a hand out for a fist bump that my son happily returns. “We’ve got the space for a few more minutes. You want to skate it out?”
Harley checks in with me and I nod, giving permission, and he’s off. Dominic leans down, planting his elbows on the board, to get closer to my level. “The kid’s good. Age appropriately speaking. He’s not a prodigy, but he’s got heart, and that’s more important than skills that can be developed with practice.”