Chapter 2 Briar #3
While I type, he tells me, “Think it over, check your gut when there’s no rum in it.
Be sure that you trust me to be a nice guy, not just nice in comparison to those assholes over there, especially when there’s twangy music setting the tone for this to be some sort of meet-cute.
If you want me to help your son then, call or text me. No pressure, though. I get it.”
A loud chorus of “whoaaaaa” sounds out behind us, something obviously happening that’s excited the team.
Dominic closes his eyes as his chest expands with a deep breath.
I wonder if he knows that there’s an obvious look of distaste and disapproval on his face, like the team is working his last nerve and he’s annoyed at their very existence.
Suddenly, he stands. “I’m gonna go.”
Shocked at the declaration, I stammer, “Aren’t you supposed to stay for the whole thing?” The team will be here for another couple of hours at least, drinking and eating and talking. And taking over the bar.
“My mission left twenty minutes ago, sober and alone. I’m calling that a job well done for the night.” He makes a checkmark in the air, marking it for his mental to-do list.
“Mission?” I echo in confusion.
“Yeah, Mission: Don’t Let Kipson Fuck Himself Up Too Badly,” he says wryly. “It’s why I was traded here in the first place. Your dad, or the owners, clearly expect me to fix their star player’s shit.” He pats his chest, right over his heart.
About a hundred puzzle pieces click into place, namely why Dominic is so grumpy about being here. Nobody would appreciate being called in to babysit another grown adult. But it sounds like Mike might need it. I know enough about him to understand why too. “He’s not handling his divorce well.”
“So I hear.”
“It’s hard—divorce, I mean,” I reply softly. “Even when it’s the right thing to do.”
“Speaking from experience?”
I hold my chin high, unashamed. “Absolutely. I knew I had to leave Tyler for a while before I managed to actually do it. Some of that was me needing to save money and make an escape plan, but also, I had to steel my spine and build some walls around my heart. That took longer than it should’ve.
Even so, it was painful for a while after. Kipson is hurting.”
“He’ll be okay. You are.”
I laugh brightly. I am so not okay. I haven’t been okay since the day I met Tyler.
I thought I was, I even truly believed I was, but from the moment he saw me as his, I haven’t been okay a single day.
“I’m four years out, and still dealing with his manipulation tactics on a near-daily basis, so I’d beg to differ. ”
All humor and flirtiness evaporate from Dominic as his eyes sharpen warily. “Call me if you need any help there too. I don’t like the idea of you dealing with anyone’s bullshit.”
“Not even yours?” I challenge.
The attempt to lighten the mood falls flat, with Dominic’s face staying stony. “Especially mine,” he agrees.
“You don’t even know me.”
He nods slightly. “Fair. But I don’t like anyone being subjected to that. Especially a woman, and especially you, when you seem to be sweet and kind, and just want the best for your boy.”
I drop my chin, staring unseeingly at my half-empty drink.
That sounds . . . nice? Like Dominic isn’t playing some game or scheming to get into my jeans or into Dad’s good graces by being nice to his daughter, though little does he know that would have the opposite effect.
Still, I don’t know what to do with his generosity.
I’m too used to fighting my own way, making my own magic out of nothing, and figuring things out for myself.
Like he can sense my struggle, Dominic doesn’t pressure me, saying, “Just let me know if I can help with anything—hockey, exes, or I don’t know, light bulbs that need to be changed or whatever. So far, you’re the only friend I’ve made here, which means my schedule’s wide open.”
I lift my eyes to meet his. “Thank you.”
“Whether I hear from you or not, it was really good to meet you, Briar. You made tonight a billion times better than I thought it’d be.” He smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “To be fair, my expectations were in the gutter. Maybe lower.”
“It was good to meet you, too, Dominic,” I concede. “Pina coladas, loaded fries, and a conversation including actual words with more than one syllable? Winner-winner, chicken dinner, in my book. Not sure what that says about my expectations.”
As he walks away, I watch him . . . His shoulders wide and sturdy looking, tapering to his waist, his long legs eating up the wood floor on his way to the door.
He doesn’t spare a single glance toward the team he’s supposed to be a part of, and when he disappears through the door, I look over at them.
Too busy raucously playing pool and darts, not a one of them notices their new top defenseman leaving either. They really are awful.
I look down at my phone, seeing Dominic’s info still on the screen. Before I can second-guess myself, I type out a message and hit send.
Thank you.
That’s it, just two little words, but it means that he has my number now too. Wait . . .
This is Briar.
Okay, three more words and now he has my number and knows who it belongs to.
I wonder if he realizes that this was the first date I’ve had in over ten years. Because despite my argument, that was as close as I’ve gotten, and it wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.