23. Chapter 23 #2
“No.” He looks at the sea. “I retaliated. I knew things they didn’t want aired.
Knew how to play the game better than they thought.
I’ve been holding that line ever since. They think I’ll burn out.
Come crawling back and run for office like I’m supposed to.
” he scoffs. “They probably cheer every time I take a bad hit and hope it ends me, if they even bother watching.”
My chest aches. He has money, looks, power, fame—but the people who made him don’t see him.
“You know,” I say softly, “for someone raised to give speeches and shake hands… you turned out alright.”
Dom exhales through his nose, smiling. For a minute we just sit—on a beach he never lets anyone see, talking about things he never says out loud.
I look at him, stunned by everything he’s told me. Captain Ice Cold is finally melting. Under the ice is a boy who seems to have been stripped of parental love. What do you do with a man with both mommy and daddy issues?
“So,” I say lightly, “recap: raised with yachts, trained for politics, parents praying for a career-ending injury.”
“Sounds about right,” he nods.
I nudge him. “And here I thought you were emotionally constipated for fun. ”
“Emotionally constipated?” He looks at me with both brows raised.
“Very.” I laugh, raising my glass.
“Yikes.”
I see it now. Under the arrogance and intimidation, he’s been exhausted for years, holding up a version of himself for a family that never deserved it. And for some reason, he’s telling me.
My heart squeezes again.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Too much trauma dumping?” he asks.
“No,” I say quickly, shifting to face him. “That’s not what I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” he cuts in gently.
He’s quiet, jaw flexing as he looks back at the waves. “I don’t know when it happened, Jessica,” he says. “If there was a moment, or if it just… built over time. But somewhere along the way, I started caring about you.”
I blink, eyes wide.
“Don’t look surprised. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
I grin, because, yeah. I have.
“Is this your way of confessing feelings? ”
The corner of his mouth lifts into that slow, lazy smile.
Then he goes quite for a while, almost distant, before he shrugs and starts again.
“I got the greenlight,” he says, letting the glass dangle from his fingers.
“For what?”
“The Youth Academy.” He looks at me, pride shining in his eyes.
It takes a second. Then I remember Tinnie mentioning it before—something about image rehab, sponsorship leverage. Corporate speak I didn’t really get. But the way Dom says it now, I can see what it means to him.
“That’s…” I sit up straighter. “That’s amazing. Tell me more.”
“It’s going to be a training program. With support staff, scholarships, full medical coverage, everything. Year-round access to rinks, gear, coaches.”
“And it’s for kids who want to play hockey?”
“It’s for kids who need it or are just curious,” he says.
“Whether they want to go pro or just need a reason to show up to something that gives them a place to go, play, be part of a group. I’ve seen too many kids burn out and get overlooked.
The system’s fucked if you don’t have money or the right parents.
If you want in, you need access. I want to change that. ”
So this is the man beneath the ice. This is Dom’s heart. And it’s a good one.
I blink fast, trying not to get misty.
“You made it happen,” he says.
“Me? How?”
“You were the story,” he shrugs. “You changed the narrative. Sponsors wanted the good-guy image, and the fake-girlfriend thing reformed that.”
So this is why he agreed to this. Why he let me into his house and tolerated me. For the kids.
“You made it believable even when it wasn’t,” he says. “You made me believable.”
I stare at him. For once I don’t have anything smart to say. He’s looking at me like I’m the thing that changed his life.
I lift my champagne flute. “To that,” I say softly. “To the version of you I’m seeing right now.” I tap my glass to his. “I like him. ”
“So there’s a version of me you don’t like?” Dom winks, clinking his glass with mine.
“I didn’t say that.” I arch a brow.
“So you like all of me?”
“Shocking, right?”
“Not at all. I’m an excessively charismatic person.”
“Well, aren’t you full of yourself?”
His smile is slow and smug as he raises his glass. “All right,” he says after taking a sip, “your turn.”
“My turn?”
“To share,” he clarifies.
“Oh, so that’s how we’re doing it?”
“From what I’ve gathered, this is how people get to know each other. I share something, then you share something. So, spill.”
“Well, for starters, I grew up on the other end of what you just described,” I say with an amused smile.
“Ah, so hippies,” he throws my joke right back.
I glance at him, not able to hold back a smile. “And here’s the kicker… we had a mortgage. And we were heavily in debt.”
His brows lift .
“My parents didn’t have a lot. Honestly, they barely had enough. But they made sure I didn’t feel it. I never knew how tight things were until I got older.”
I smile at the memory. “Once a month, my mom would take me to the thrift store and let me pick one piece of clothing. Whatever I wanted. That was my favorite day of the month.”
Dom shifts, turning more toward me, tilting his head. “And when those clothes started getting old, she taught me how to fix them—how to stitch them back together. I got addicted to it. Loved the way it felt to turn something broken into something new.”
His gaze is soft, and I fight the urge to run my hand through his hair.
“That’s where it started. The sewing and later the designing.
I knew what I wanted early, so I started working for it.
I had two jobs on top of the social media stuff.
I saved every cent so I could move to Miami and try.
When the brand deals started coming in, the ads and sponsors, I finally could. ”
I pause. “I still send money home. Every month. Whatever I’ve got left. ”
Dom’s smile fades from his face, and so does mine. I look down. “That’s why…” I breathe in. “That’s why I wanted to move in with you in the first place.”
He blinks, furrowing his brows. “I knew how wrong it looked, but I didn’t want your pity,” I say quickly.
“And honestly, I was proud of what I’d done.
Even if I came here with duct-taped dreams and half a plan.
” I laugh, embarrassed. “I almost moved back home before I met you. It was getting that bad.”
The silence stretches.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dom asks, shaking his head. “I would’ve helped. I could’ve sent your parents whatever they needed.”
“You really think I was gonna ask for help? From you? When you acted like breathing the same air as me was a tragedy?”
“Jessica.”
“I didn’t want your help. I wanted it to be mine. I needed to know I earned it.”
“How much do they need?” Dom asks, brows drawn.
“This isn’t your responsibility,” I say. “My problems. My parents’ situation. It’s not yours to carry. Especially not on top of everything you’ve already got going on. You were forced into dating me.”
He leans forward slightly, one forearm resting on his thigh. “The PR relationship did its job. I got the green-light today, Jessica. No one’s forcing me to keep doing it. If this were still fake, we’d be having an entirely different conversation today. We’d be telling each other goodbye.”
Warmth sparks in my chest at his words.
“I know you mean well,” I say quietly. “I know you want to help. But I’m not your charity case.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“I know,” I say again. “But I want to make it on my own, Dom. If I don’t, then what was it all for?
The years of saving, the burnout, the sacrifices.
If someone else just fixes it, none of it feels like mine anymore.
I need to know I helped my parents. That I did it with my hands. That I earned it.”
“I’m not trying to take that away from you. I’m not trying to erase what you’ve done or how far you’ve come.”
“Thank you,” I say softly .
“But,” he adds, eyes meeting mine, “if there’s ever a moment where it gets too heavy, I want you to know there’s someone who’d carry it with you. No conditions. No strings.”
He looks at me with a seriousness I recognize. “I don’t pity you, Jessica. I respect the way you’ve played your cards. I understand why you need to do this on your own, and I won’t take it from you. But if there’s a day where it’s too much, don’t let your pride stop you from asking.”
I stare at him, forcing myself not to kiss him.
“I need you to say you understand,” he urges.
“I understand.”
He holds my gaze, thumb tracing my knuckles.
I exhale, something loosening in my chest. “So… how long do I get this version of you?”
“What?”
“This version,” I wave a hand. “This open, emotionally available version.”
His brows draw together. “Have I not been this way before?”
“You’re a sealed vault, Dom,” I laugh. “I just—” I exhale. “I don’t want this to burn out.”
“You don’t want picnic dates?” He frowns.
“No,” I say quickly. “Not the picnic. I love the picnic.”
“Then what?”
I turn to face him fully. “I don’t want the love-bombing. I don’t want the high followed by silence. The tenderness followed by shutdowns. I don’t want to wonder if I’ll get this again or if I’m shut out while you build back your walls.”
His expression shifts. He looks at the setup, then back at me. “I didn’t know I was love-bombing you,” he says quietly, looking lost. “I just wanted to do something nice.”
My heart squeezes.
“I know,” I say, reaching out to place a hand on his. “And I love it. I really do. But you have a track record of retreating. I’m a little scared it might happen again.”
There’s a pause before he nods in understanding.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For the mixed signals. For expecting you to be okay with it just because I didn’t know how to communicate. ”
I stare at him, scanning every detail of his impossibly handsome face.
“I’ve been set in my ways a long time. I’m prideful, controlling, and selfish.”
“Don’t forget the god complex,” I murmur with a small smile.
“That too.” His mouth twitches.
He runs a hand through his hair and exhales. “I’ve been chasing hockey my whole life. Tunnel vision. It was my ticket out, my fuck-you to my parents, proof I could be someone on my own terms. It’s all I’ve focused on for over a decade.”
He looks down. “I burned for it. Trained through injuries. Lost friends, lost years. I didn’t care. All I saw was the goal line.”
“I know how that feels,” I say. “When everything in you is pointed at one dream. When you’re the only one carrying it.”
“I wasn’t carrying it alone.” He looks up, eyes soft. “I had Jace. We had the same dream. We pushed each other and somehow ended up on the same team. But you?” He leans in slightly. “You didn’t sign up for that. You’re not obligated to live with the consequences of it.”
He pauses and slowly lifts a hand, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I lean into his touch, fighting not to close my eyes. It leaves me too soon when he sets his hand down again.
“I finally looked around and realized I’d hit every milestone I was killing myself for… and then had no one to share it with.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Then you came along. You disrupted my routine, my peace, my habit. You forced your way into my home...”
My heart drops. The way he words it makes it sound so bad, as if he regrets it. Disappointment flashes across my face.
“And it was one of the best things that could’ve happened to me,” he adds, placing a finger under my chin to lift my face.
I look up, confused. “So you don’t…hate it?”
Dom smiles and shakes his head. “You shook my cage, Jessica. You shook it so damn hard I finally noticed it was there. And once I did, I wanted nothing more than what was standing outside of it.”
“What’s outside?” I whisper.
“You.”