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)
“Hey,” Dominic answers, grinning. Then with a chuckle, he says, “Stay there. I’ll get a washcloth.”
Once we’re cleaned up and situated back in the bed—to actually sleep this time—Dominic pulls me to his side. With my head on his chest, I can hear the steady thud of his heartbeat. It feels reassuring and comfortable, a song I could listen to forever.
“You awake?” he whispers. “I need to tell you something.”
I don’t move. I don’t let my breath hitch. I try really hard to not let fear grow. That last one is the hardest. “Yeah?” I answer.
“Okay, don’t freak out—”
“Saying that makes me freak out.”
“Briar . . .” His heart thuds faster against my cheek. “I love you.”
I lift up, barely able to see him in the darkened room. But I see his smile. To be sure, I poke his cheek to make sure it’s one of the good ones and not a “gotcha, just kidding” one. It’s real. “You do?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I do. And I know it’s fast and I know you might need time, so I’ll do the albatross thing and wait forever if that’s what you need. But I needed to tell you.” He’s rambling, which is about the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard. Confident, cocky Dominic is nervous about sharing his feelings with me?
“Dom?”
“Yeah?” he says, his voice tight.
“I love you too.”
Time stops, at least in this room. And in the moment, I think we both realize the hugeness of what we’ve just said. Or at least I do.
Dominic pulls me back into him, and with our lips close enough that I feel the brush of his, he says, “Of course you do. I’m Dominic Lee, what’s not to love?”
I’m still laughing when he kisses me. Even though he’s absolutely right.
Chapter 26
Dominic
Getting called into the coach’s office is never a good thing in my experience. At least once in my career, it’s resulted in me getting sent to a new team. I’m reasonably sure that’s not going to happen today, but you never know. I would’ve said the same thing a few months ago too.
My knock on Coach Boothe’s door is answered with a curt, “Come in.”
Coach is sitting at his desk, looking a little worse for wear than usual. His eyes are bloodshot, his usually clean-shaven jaw has a shadow of gray hair, and his hair is mussed like he’s been running his hands through it. On the wall next to him, his screens are filled with stats and plays, and one has a game paused like he was watching before I knocked.
“You wanted to see me after warm-ups?”
The team and I just finished our morning skate and check-ins with sports medicine. Some of the guys are still in the locker room, taking cold plunge dips or getting massages, and some have already headed home for a nap or food in preparation for tonight’s second game against the Hawks.
“Sit down.” He doesn’t indicate where, but I pick the chair in front of his desk that’s closest to the door as a strategic move. “I think you know why I’ve called you in here today.”
Honestly? No, I don’t. There are so many things it could be related to . . .
To thank me because Kipson is actually doing better, on and off the ice.
To discuss the changing team dynamics.
To dissect Anderson’s latest temper tantrum outburst.
To ensure Kipson and I are prepared to play our asses off tonight the way we should’ve last night.
Or you know, the obvious . . . that I’m in love with his daughter.
Playing it safe, I ask, “What’s on your mind?”
He glares at me, narrow-eyed and cold, silently waiting for me to break. I’m pretty sure it’s an interrogation technique I’ve seen in at least a few dozen movies. When I stay respectfully quiet, simply looking back at him, he exhales loudly and stands.
In front of his wall of screens, he points to one. “Know what this is?”
I look at the list of names. “Seems like tonight’s team roster.”
He arches a brow. “Notice anything unusual?”
I really wish he’d skip all this bullshit and get to the yelling. He’s angry, that much is obvious, but I’d like to know why so I can adjust accordingly. But I play along for now and read down the roster. Wait . . .
“I’m an alternate? You’re starting Tomville as left d-man?”
“Smarter than you look, aren’t you?” he quips snidely. “That’s my plan. Could be for tonight. Could be for the rest of the season. That all depends on you.”
I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. “On me doing what?”
Coach deliberately steps back behind his desk and sits down. The whole time his eyes, which are filled with fury, stay locked on me. He takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. All moves designed to demonstrate the power dynamic in the room.