Willow
I’m bleary-eyed as I scroll through the news articles on my iPhone. Two cups of coffee haven’t made a dent in my fatigue, so I push up from the kitchen table and move to the pot. The sun is barely up over the horizon as I look out the window over the sink and I realize I’ve now been up for almost twenty-four hours straight.
To say I couldn’t sleep last night when I got to Dax’s house from Dominik’s is an understatement, despite the fact I was exhausted to the bone. I laid in my room, tossing and turning, replaying every humiliating moment over and over again in my head.
Particularly that last part after we’d made love and he told me it just wasn’t good. I’m not sure why that’s striking my heart so much as it should only ding my ego, but I’m thinking it has something to do with the fact sex with Dominik was never an emotionless endeavor.
I pour another cup of coffee before trudging back to the table. Picking my phone up, I skim another sports article about the Vengeance’s win last night.
Arizona Heading to the Finals with a Vengeance!
By Kat Mizera
It’s been an exciting couple of months for team owner Dominik Carlson and his Arizona Vengeance team. In their inaugural season, the desert Cinderella team is heading to the Cup Final against two-time defending champs Carolina Cold Fury, and this is gearing up to be a hot one.
With home-ice advantage, the Vengeance is riding the momentum of their groundbreaking playoff run. After sweeping the Seattle Storm in the first round and taking out the Vancouver Flash in five games in the second, they were primed for the Western Conference finals against the L.A. Demons.
The seven-game conference final series both electrified fans and had them on the edge of their seats as the clock wound down in the last game. Tied at one a piece, team captain Bishop Scott and left-wing Dax Monahan dazzled fans with a memorable drive down the ice. Scott pushed the winning goal past Demon goalie Ryder Hayes to secure the Vengeance’s first appearance in the Stanley Cup Finals.
After a somewhat tumultuous season, including the ten-game suspension of veteran center, and then-captain, Tacker Hall, the team banded together and rallied back to finish the season leading the Western Conference. Their ability to overcome adversity as a brand-new team undoubtedly played a role in their success, not to mention the impact of head coach Claude Perron.
Under his tutelage, the team’s top scorers in the playoffs, Scott and Monahan, both racked up an impressive nineteen and twenty points respectively in sixteen games. Vengeance netminder Legend Bay stopped fifty-two shots, letting in just one goal by Demon captain Artur Lafleur. Letting in just ten goals over the course of the playoffs, Bay notched a remarkable .932 save percentage, putting him firmly in contention for the Con Smythe trophy.
Defensemen Erik Dahlbeck and Aaron Wylde were integral to the team’s success, with Dahlbeck notching his first-ever hat trick against the Demons, and Wylde netting three game-winning goals and setting a team record.
I stop reading for a moment to reflect on how momentous this all is. This final series is going to be brutally fought. The Cold Fury is trying for a three-peat championship, which is virtually unheard of. The Vengeance is trying to make history as the first expansion team to win the Cup. I predict it will go all seven games and souls will bleed. The first game is tonight, and we have home-ice advantage once again. It’s a good thing, as the Cold Fury has the edge where experience is concerned.
The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs startles me from the article, and I’m genuinely shocked anyone is up this early. I can tell by the heaviness of the steps it’s Dax coming down.
I look up from my iPhone just as he comes into the kitchen. He frowns. “Why are you up so early? And Jesus… you look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I reply dryly, picking up my coffee and taking a nourishing sip. “Every girl loves to hear that.”
He doesn’t even look chagrined because he’s my brother and we’ve been telling it real to each other our entire lives. Moving past me, he goes to the cupboard and grabs a mug. “No, but seriously… are you sick?”
“Just sleep-deprived, I guess,” I mutter.
Dax pours a cup of coffee, then joins me at the table. I pretend to scroll through my phone, but I can feel his eyes resting heavy upon me.
Finally, I look up. “What?”
His eyes narrow on me, and there’s no forgetting he knows me better than probably anyone in this world. “What’s wrong with you? And don’t try to deny it. I can tell.”
I could totally offer up some lame excuse. Pull off a stomach bug or period cramps. But he knows what ails me isn’t really physical unless the ache in my heart and the shame swirling in my gut counts.
“Dominik proposed last night,” I say, and his chin jerks inward in surprise. “I’m surprised Regan or Mom and Dad didn’t tell you. They overheard it.”
“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 wonder… 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.