Chapter 10 Briar #2
What did he get out of it? My adoration made him feel powerful.
“You were young,” Dom says sagely. “We’re all stupid then.”
Is Dominic giving me an out by excusing the poor choice I made or talking about his own poor choices? I’m not sure.
“Have some skeletons in your closet, too, do we?” I pry, trying to keep my voice light but sounding like a Nosy Nellie. “Girls whose hearts you broke? A trail of tearstained letters filled with promises to wait for you?”
Giving me a cocky smirk that says he knows why I’m asking, he sits back on his couch, packing away his anger like it never existed, which is fascinating.
There’s no explosion, not a single expletive, it just turns off like a light switch.
Poof, gone. Is this what emotional regularity looks like?
I’m not sure I’d know. Especially since I’m still feeling woozy from my own up and down roller coaster of an evening.
“Not really. I had a girlfriend in high school. We broke up after graduation because she went to school out of state. Dated a couple of women later on. It never panned out. Wasn’t the right time.
I was too consumed with getting to the pros or staying in the pros. After that, I’ve kept things casual.”
“You’re a fuckboy after all,” I tease. “You should fit right in with the Blizzard.”
“Hell no,” he laughs, shaking his head. “But I understand that sometimes people have needs that aren’t being met, and as long as expectations are clearly communicated by all parties, there’s no harm in being what the other person needs you to be.”
That is a very fancy way of saying he’s had friends with benefits, but I don’t think we’re actually talking about his past relationships anymore. He’s offering to be whatever I want him to be and give me whatever I want. Whether that’s friendship or . . . more.
“I don’t . . .” The words I’ve said countless times before stall out in my throat.
“Date,” he finishes for me. “Especially hockey players. I know.” He winks, not taking my rejection personally.
Winking is ridiculous, completely comical as far as moves go, but on Dom, it looked sexy in a cute sorta way. Like he’s not taking things too seriously or pushing me into the deep end when I can barely tread water, much less swim.
Usually, I’m the type of woman who needs someone to literally say I’m flirting with you if they want me to catch on.
Otherwise, I tend to think, Wow, they’re nice, or more often, What do they want?
But I’m certain that Dominic is flirting with me.
What’s more, I’m also pretty sure I’m enjoying it. And that is a shock.
“They’re the worst,” I agree, though I don’t mean it quite as vehemently as I once did.
I stare at him through the screen for a long moment, reevaluating everything I’ve ever thought about hockey and hockey players.
Dominic doesn’t seem to fit any of those stereotypes.
If anything, he’s the antithesis of the stupid, violent, fuckboy image.
He’s smart and observant, kind and thoughtful, and respectful of my boundaries.
Why hasn’t someone snatched him up already?
Why aren’t I taking him up on his offer to help me . . . any way I’d like him to?
“Why the hockey hatred?” he asks, seeing my thoughts and at the same time giving me a chance to make up my own mind. “Especially when you have a coach as your dad.”
That is a story. One I’m not sure I should share with one of Dad’s players. But I find myself confiding in Dominic anyway. It seems a safer option than addressing those potential benefits he might be offering.
“Because of my father,” I say succinctly.
Dominic winces. “Ouch. Pacholek said he’s on his fourth marriage. Was your mom number one?”
“Two, actually. He was freshly retired from his playing days, an assistant coach then, and Mom thought she’d met the man of her dreams.”
I close my eyes, remembering the pictures of Mom and Dad I saw as a child—of them happy, together, smiling with their arms wrapped around each other.
But it was only for pictures. I also remember the tears, the fighting, and Mom pleading with Dad to come home, but there was always another game, another player to see, and later I realized, another woman to sleep with.
“They got divorced when I was seven. I’m not sure if Mom was tired of him cheating on her or tired of him being gone.
After that, he’d come and go randomly. A few times, he picked me up for a couple of weeks during the summer, but when I was around fourteen, I realized that those occasional trips were to scout players, not to spend time with me.
It was always hockey, hockey, hockey, to the detriment of everything else.
” I give Dominic a pointed look, silently reminding both of us that he admitted to the same thing a mere few moments ago with his failed relationships.
“Still, I had friends with no dads, so his minor efforts to see me and the child support money he faithfully sent Mom were appreciated for a lot longer than they should’ve been.
Long enough that it made the bare minimum seem exceptional.
I accepted his scraps and learned to accept scraps in my other relationships for longer than I should’ve too.
” I’m talking about Tyler and we both know it. “I refuse to do that now.”
“You looking for the full-blown princess treatment?” There’s no judgment in the question, but rather, it’s like he’s trying to figure me out.
I shake my head. “No. I want peace. And I have it, so I’m fine on my own.”
“Do you, though?” Dominic asks skeptically. “With Tyler pulling shit like what he did tonight? Is that peace?”
He’s right. Tonight has not been peaceful. It’s been challenging and scary and thought-provoking in new ways that I’m not sure I like.
“Tyler will usually say out of pocket stuff, but he’s never done anything like this dick-dialing stunt before,” I argue.
“What changed?”
I suspect he already knows the answer and is asking to see if I’ve figured it out.
I most definitely have. “You. You being at the hospital with me and Harley. It was the first time he’s ever seen me with anyone else.
I didn’t realize it, but I think me being alone was giving him some sort of twisted pleasure, like he still had that control over my life because I hadn’t moved on. ”
He looks thoughtful for a moment, then nods, agreeing with my analysis. “Have you moved on? Or are you still waiting on him to finally give you more than scraps?”
“Ouch. Not pulling any punches, are you?”
“Do you want me to? We can talk about stupid shit if you’d rather?
” He pauses, letting me decide, and when I stay quiet, glaring at him, he says, “We won tonight’s preseason game.
Kipson and I got into it a bit. Oh, and I found a protein bowl place online that I want to check out tomorrow. You wanna go with me?”
I made the connection between how Dad treated me and the way Tyler treated me a long time ago, but to have it so plainly spelled out for me by someone I’ve barely met is painful.
Especially when we met mere weeks ago when I was semihappily accepting more of my dad’s scraps in the form of a free night out and some gastropub apps.
I’d like to pretend that it was nothing more than taking what I’m owed by the man who has never been much of a father, but deep down, I know the truth.
I long for a father-daughter relationship, not with the dad I have, but with the dad I wished I’d had but never did.
His priorities have always been hockey first, himself second, and anything else, including his daughter, far down the list after that.
Tyler is another matter, though. As much as Dad and Tyler have both hurt me, they are not the same.
And I don’t want to talk about hockey or protein bowls. I like getting to know Dominic more deeply, even if it’s picking at some uncomfortable scars from my past.
“Tyler isn’t capable of giving me what I need.
He’s a narcissist to his core. Our entire relationship was about what I could do for him .
. . what I would do for him. Every kindness he ever gave me was with an underlying intention of isolating me, making me see him in a favorable light, or some other manipulation that only he could understand.
I don’t want him, now or ever.” I want to make sure that is crystal clear, both to my mind and Dom’s.
“But for Harley, I play along and don’t rock the boat, trying to make sure he isn’t hurt by Tyler the way I was because I have no doubt that Tyler would use our son against me if he felt like he was losing control.
He’d do anything to maintain his sense of power. ”
Dominic leans forward, his elbows on his knees as he listens intently. “Is that your plan until Harley is grown? To let Tyler destroy whatever sense of peace you’re able to string together, anytime he gets pissed that he’s not the one providing it?”
“No,” I snap automatically.
Dominic lowers his chin, staring at me through his stupidly dark and infuriatingly long lashes. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”
I want to say no. I want so badly to tell Dominic that he’s 100 percent wrong. But is he?
The question raises prickles all over my skin. I am proud of how far I’ve come since getting the courage to walk away from Tyler, and to be called out on it not being enough is infuriating. Especially when it might be true. Reluctantly, I answer, “I don’t like that you can see me so easily.”
“Easy?” he laughs. “Briar, nothing about you is easy except your smiles. But you’re worth the work.”
The compliment, given after a deep and at times painful conversation, soothes the irritation that’s making me feel vulnerable.
“Thank you,” I say softly. When Dominic smiles back, I ask, “What time for protein bowls?”