22. Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
~DOMINIC~
I walk through the Blazers’ building, reminding myself to unclench my teeth for the tenth time and let my shoulders relax.
Five days.
It’s been five fucking days since I fucked Jessica in the kitchen, and I’ve been crawling out of my skin wanting her again. Not just the sex — though fuck me, yeah, that too — but… I miss her.
Playoff season doesn’t care what you want or miss. It means away games. And away games mean time away from her. Time away from home. And somehow she’s become home .
In the middle of fake press releases, media training, and trying to keep my team from losing their minds during the most important stretch of the season, I found a woman who feels like home.
I wanted to drag her with me to Seattle and Ohio. Selfish as hell, I almost did. But she’s got her hands full. The fashion show’s eating her time, and the show coordinator is bringing high-level people to her atelier this week, so she had to stay in Miami.
It took everything in me not to book her a ticket and chain her to my hotel bed.
We landed late last night. I came home to find her knocked out cold in my bed, curled under the covers. My flight-wrecked body didn’t care. All I wanted was to wake her, tear the blanket off, and fuck her until neither of us remembered what city I’d just flown in from.
But I didn’t. I let her sleep. Half of me is proud of it; the other half regrets it.
Now I’m walking through the Blazers’ facility on maybe four hours of sleep, stomach tight, nerves shot to hell, trying to keep my shit together for the meeting I’m heading to .
I know in my gut, this is the one. The make-it-or-break-it meeting. The youth foundation. The Blazers’ community expansion initiative. If today doesn’t go right, if the board doesn’t sign off on what we’re proposing, it’s over.
A large, heavy hand lands on my upper trap and starts massaging the muscle, taking me out of my head for a second.
Jace. He showed up at my house uninvited at 7 AM sharp, fully dressed, fully wired, holding two coffees and a list of affirmations on his phone.
“I am grounded. My feet are rooted in the earth,” Jace chants behind me, one hand squeezing my shoulder like I’m about to birth a child.
“Jace,”
“I am focused. I am centered. I am not afraid to speak my truth.”
“Jace.”
“Dominic, these are powerful tools. I read that confidence is fifty percent posture and fifty percent mindset.”
He starts massaging my traps with both hands, fingers digging in .
“You know you can’t go in there with me, right?” I grunt, not slowing my stride.
“I know,” he says brightly. “I’ll wait in the hallway. I’ll sit on the floor. I’ll lie under the carpet. I’ll crawl in the vents. They won’t even feel me.”
I sigh through my nose and keep walking, but my chest doesn’t feel as tight anymore. No matter how unserious Jace is sometimes, he always shows up for me.
We stop in front of the boardroom doors. This hallway’s quiet, always is. It’s the floor where you hear things like “capital expenditures” and “brand alignment.” I hate it.
Jace bumps my shoulder again, then straightens. “Okay, wait,” he says, pulling his phone from his hoodie. “One last one before you go in.”
“Man, I gotta go in,” I sigh, checking my watch.
“Listen, it’s a good one.” He squints at the screen. “‘I am not subject to the opinions of others. I know who I am. I know my worth. I am rooted in power, purpose, and presence.’”
I stare at him. He stares at his phone, very moved by his own delivery .
“You couldn’t memorize one of those?” I mutter.
“I woke up twenty minutes ago.” He grimaces. “We landed at two in the morning. When did you want me to memorize this shit? While I’m checking fuckers into the boards or while I’m sleeping?”
“During your morning shit.”
He lowers his phone, looking at me like I’ve suggested the dumbest idea he’s ever heard.
I exhale a laugh, crack my neck, and try to shake the last of the tension out.
“Look, you’ve got this,” Jace says, suddenly quieter, grabbing my shoulders. “They don’t stand a chance.”
I nod and take a deep breath.
“Root yourself in power.”
“Get the fuck away from me.” I mutter, shoving him away.
“Make us proud, Captain.” He winks as I open the door.
The second I step inside, every head in the room turns. They’re all already here.
“Good morning, everyone.” The door clicks behind me and I step further in.
They greet me back, standing to shake my hand before sitting again. Six people sit at the long glass conference table, all in suits, watching me like I’m the product on auction.
At the end of the table sits Alton Cavanaugh, team owner. Beside him, Sofia Delgado, the franchise CEO. Tinnie’s here too, hair pinned back, mouth in a tight smile. A legal rep and two sponsor reps I’ve seen before fill out the roster.
“Dominic,” Alton says, rising with a politician’s smile. One I’ve seen too often on my father. I cringe at the memory.
“Congratulations on the wins. Stellar performance. You’ve had one hell of a season, son.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Tinnie lifts a brow like she’s bracing for a storm.
I sit and refuse the offered coffee. I’m too wired for a second one. I’ll start climbing the walls.
The usual bullshit comes first — praise, stats, talk about historic wins, team chemistry, growing media coverage, franchise growth.
They mention how the Blazers have one of the highest fan engagement ratings in the league.
I know some of it is thanks to Jessica, and I look at Tinnie; she gives a discreet wink, thinking the same.
I can’t wait for her “I told you so” speech.
Finally, Alton leans back, lacing his fingers. “Let’s jump into why we’re here.”
Thank you. Fuck.
Delgado clears her throat. “We saw your vision, Dominic. There’s just been one consistent challenge we haven’t been able to solve for a while.”
Here we go. I keep my face blank.
“It’s you.”
“Okay.” I nod slowly, jaw tight.
“It’s not your leadership or your stats, of course. No one questions your ability on the ice. You’re a generational player. But…” Here it comes. “The public just couldn’t relate to you. Not as a person. Because, well… there was no person to relate to. Just the captain on the ice.”
I blink. Okay. Fuck.
“We’ve had potential sponsors walk away because they didn’t know how to ‘sell’ you,” Alton adds gently. “You’ve been very private and guarded. Dare I say cold at times. ”
Delgado nods. “For a brand built on heart, community, and connection, that matters. People invest in people, not titles. And for years, all they’ve seen is Captain Moreal.”
My fingers curl in my lap. They’re not wrong. I’ve kept the world out for a reason. Watching the edges of my dream start to curl and blacken like paper on a stovetop is brutal.
Tinnie finally speaks. “We brought in an independent analyst to forecast the youth program’s market viability. Without a human angle attached to the campaign…it was weak. No sponsors, no press. It would’ve tanked.”
My stomach drops. I’m watching my dream go up in flames, and I’ve got no fire extinguisher. No rebuttal. Nothing that won’t sound like desperation.
Keep breathing. Don’t show it.
Delgado’s tone softens. “But… the past month has made all of this spin a full 180. We’ve seen a shift in the numbers, in engagement… in you.”
Alton smiles. “It’s what a good woman with a good platform will do to you. ”
I look at Tinnie; her mouth quirks. “Your girlfriend made you real to people,” she continues. “Fans aren’t just talking about the captain, they’re talking about you. She humanized your image.”
Delgado adds, “Sponsors started circling. Because now, the face of the program isn’t just Captain Moreal.
It’s Dominic. It was smart to start posting more of your life on social media and having your girlfriend do the same.
Now you’re a man kids and their parents can see, a man investors want to build around. ”
“I understand,” I say, nodding.
This might not be a funeral after all.
A long beat follows. I glance between the suits. Delgado taps the tablet in front of her and the monitor comes to life.
It’s my presentation — my framework. The full infrastructure of the Blaze Academy Youth Initiative: blueprints, projections, timelines, budget breakdowns. Everything I’ve been sending in piecemeal, compiled.
“As you can see,” Delgado says, “this is all your work. We’ve mapped out preliminary models: locations in Miami-Dade and surrounding counties. Based on your reports and our analysis, there are five viable sites.”
The map shifts and stats follow. Investment projections, tiered program structure, target demographics. It’s all there.
Alton: “Dominic, these are your numbers. Walk us through them.”
I straighten. A part of me — the kid who was never supposed to make it out of his house, let alone lead a franchise — thinks this is a setup. That they’ll let me speak and then pull the rug. But I shove that shit down. I didn’t come here to play scared.
“We modeled the foundation off a hybrid structure,” I say, voice steady. “NHL developmental academies plus community outreach. The idea isn’t just to create better athletes; it’s to build a better future for them.”
“May I?” I point to the tablet and Delgado nods. I click the slide I need. “Tier One is for kids who want to go pro — scouted talent, high-performance coaching, university placement. Tier Two is local youth programming: underfunded schools, at-risk communities, kids who’ve never touched skates. ”
Delgado: “Go on.”
I step closer to the monitor, tapping each timeline. My voice strengthens.
“We run year-round. Rotating coaches from the league. Local mentorship. Academic support built in. Every kid who walks into this program leaves with something, even if it’s just a place to feel safe.”
No interruptions. No rolling eyes. They’re listening.