Chapter 11 Dominic
Dominic
Briar didn’t clarify if this is a date or just two friends grabbing food, so I’m trying to manage my own expectations as we park, because Briar is deeper than I ever imagined and I’m drawn to that dark, ooey gooey center inside her as much as I am the brightness she shows to the world.
I wasn’t sure which version of her I’d get today—the silly, whimsical side who spits out animal facts or the layered, hidden treasure trove of emotions.
And when she opened her door, looking like sunshine and smiles, wrapped up in skintight jeans, a cropped tank top, and an oversize cardigan that makes me want to crawl inside it and snuggle with her (or more), I didn’t care.
I just wanted Briar, however she was coming.
“How’d you find this place? I’ve never heard of it.” She’s looking around the strip center parking lot as I help her from my truck, and every flick of her head sends her dangling earrings swinging. One is a monkey, the other a banana, and both make me smile.
“I searched for protein bowl places and voilà.” I hold a hand out like a car show model, gesturing to the glowing neon proclaiming “Big Boy Bowls,” with a 3 and a B fashioned into a logo.
“This type of place is my favorite back home. Griffin and I have a pregame, postgame, and any other time habit of hitting them up. I wanted to check this one out before the season officially starts.”
The season opener is next weekend and I want to ask Briar if she and Harley will come watch. But I’m waiting to see how today goes.
“Have you talked to him since you got here?” she asks while we wait in line to create our lunches.
“Yeah, several times, but I think he’s getting tired of my bitching and whining about the Blizzard. He told me to fix Kipson’s shit and get traded back or he’d have to fly out here and kick both of our asses himself.” I laugh, remembering the conversation.
We’re like most guys, I guess, communicating that we care by giving each other a hard time, and as much as I complained about being here, he was doing the same thing—grumbling that my replacement is so new, he bleeds green.
In guy speak, that translates to I miss you and Wish you were hitting the ice with me.
“How’s that going? You said the two of you got into it?” She looks me over, searching for any signs of a fight gone wrong.
“We’re both still alive and kicking, so there’s that.” I’m resigned to the fact that it’s not going to be a quick fix, but I also wish he’d get to the part where he realizes I’m right and starts telling off his teammates for the toxic environment they help foster.
As we sit down with our bowls—mine chicken, hers steak—I say, “Can I ask you a question about Coach Boothe? Hockey related.”
It’s a gamble to use Briar for intel. I don’t want her to feel like this is why I want to spend time with her, but I also want to see if things can be improved for the whole team.
“That depends. Are you going to use it against him or to help him?” she asks, one blond brow arched delicately and her fork poised in the air above her bowl.
I tilt my head, thinking. “Both?”
“Hit me with it,” she says, taking a bite. She pauses, chewing slowly and nodding, her eyes slipping closed as she savors her food. “Uhm, this is delicious.”
I stab a piece of chicken myself and chew it thoughtfully. It is good, a definite upgrade from Chipotle . . . if the guacamole is good too. Another bite and . . . yep, new favorite protein bowl place. At least here. Nothing tops Pro-Bowl back home.
I remind myself to tell Rodney and Tomville about Big Boy Bowls. Maybe I’ll even invite them out for a pregame meal like Griffin and I used to do. I can’t automatically reset the whole team’s dynamics, but I can keep the newbies from going rotten.
“Is he close to retirement?”
She laughs loudly, nearly choking on the forkful of rice she just swallowed. “No! Why?” she asks, covering her mouth.
Sighing, I tell her, “I think the only way to fix Kipson is to fix the whole damn team. If Coach was close to retirement, I could do it without worrying about him. If not, I don’t think your dear old daddy is gonna like the new guy coming in and moving his cheese.”
She props her chin on her palm, looking at me with eager eyes. “Tell me everything.”
I do. I tell her how the guys are the hockey equivalent of finance bros, with too much focus on fucking and fun, and not enough attention on being mentally and physically sound both on and off the ice.
I tell her that Coach has created an environment where relationships are discouraged with some bullshit about them being a distraction.
I tell her about practices with the new rookies and the way they’re already being brainwashed into the Blizzard’s way of thinking.
“And you want to fix alllll of that?” she asks, doubt written in the lines around her frown as she waves her fork in a circle, indicating everything I’ve listed out. “How?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “But I’ve got to try.”
“Why? You keep saying you’re only here for the short term. Play your best, have a few conversations with Kipson, and move on. Dad will trade you back if you’re not the fix he thinks you are, right?”
I could do that. I’m not a magic pill to be prescribed when someone else is sick or a bandage when someone’s bleeding out. I’m a person. But I’m not a half asser. And I do think there’s an opportunity here. Room I could shove my way into and improve.
“Knowing that better is possible is a privilege I don’t take lightly.
These guys? They don’t know any different than the team they’ve been on, but if I can show them what a team can be .
. . should be . . . maybe we could all be better for it.
Because the truth is, this team’s insanely talented.
Just think, if things are this bad and they made it to Finals last year, what could happen if they were actually a team. We could win the whole damn thing.”
Briar is smiling at me, her eyes filled with some combination of happiness and respect.
“You said we, not them. You, my friend, are a fixer.” She bestows the label upon me like she’s figured out my deepest, darkest secret, as though I hide that I’m a mostly decent guy and not a shitstain on society.
I shrug, my passionate speech feeling a bit overzealous now. “Not everyone has what I’ve had—good family, good team, good teammates. It’s hard to want something you don’t know exists. But if they see how it could be, maybe they’ll want it for themselves too.”
“You need a team-building exercise for your team,” she suggests, clapping her hands and nearly stabbing herself with her fork in the process. “Oops!” She sets the fork down in favor of the much safer glass of soda, which she grips with two hands in giddy excitement.
Inspired by her enthusiasm, I point a finger at her. “Exactly!”
“I might have an idea. But my dad isn’t going to like it.” She dances in her seat like she can’t contain the happy wiggles. Like she doesn’t even try, which is downright adorable.
“Honestly, whatever it is, that makes me like it more. Your dad really is kind of an asshole.” I know she agrees with that sentiment, but I still watch for any flinch.
I can say all sorts of things about my own family, but if someone else said one sideways word about my parents or sister, I’d annihilate them before they could finish the last syllable.
I protect what’s mine, and knowing if Briar feels the same way about her father, despite their messy history, is important given what I’m planning.
She doesn’t react in the slightest. Unless you count a sparkle in her eyes. “Neither are the guys,” she says, glossing right over the paternal insult.
The warning makes me chuckle. “Even better.”
Our eyes lock, both of us grinning like idiots. Not that Briar is an idiot, but the grin on her face is huge and joy filled, and I feel like we’re conspiring to steal the Declaration of Independence or some other wild adventure.
A coup of sorts. The idea sounds fun.
I like this. Like her. There’s this pure lightness filling up my chest, even in this dark time. It’s her . . . she’s the light.
“Will you come to the season opener?” The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. I don’t regret them at all, but I probably should’ve built up to them a bit smoother. Clearing my throat, I clarify, “You and Harley, I mean. I got tickets for you.”
“You want us to come to the game?” Her expression softens, like she’s surprised I thought of them for something so important.
I shake my head. “I want you to come watch me play.” The difference is slight but significant. I don’t want them there as Coach Boothe’s family. I want them to come as my guests, for me.
Briar swallows thickly, her voice taking on a shaky uncertainty as she says, “Harley would love that.”
“And you?” I’m pushing, being clear about my intentions. It can still be as friends if that’s what she needs, but I don’t want to pretend that I’m not affected by her, when I am. She deserves honesty, complete and raw.
And the truth is . . . I want to be a lot more than Briar’s friend.
The same way I want to help my new teammates realize that this isn’t how it has to be, I want to show Briar that not all men are like her dad and Tyler.
That some men, me especially, recognize the value in having a partnership built on communication, support, and attraction.
That I’m willing to sit with her, for however long it takes for her to feel comfortable, outside the walls she’s been forced to put up for her own safety and sanity.
And maybe, as I learn how to seep through the cracks in her walls, I can seal them over, like that fancy Japanese stuff Penny showed me once, where they fill the breaks with gold, not to hide them but to celebrate that the trauma she’s been through made her into the strong, beautiful woman across from me.
Tyler’s manipulations didn’t steal away her light, they made her shine that much more brightly in the dark he tried to surround her with.
Slowly, I reach across the table until the tips of my fingers are touching the tips of hers. It’s the barest of connections, but I feel it through my entire body like a small electrical current, from my tingling fingertips to my growing cock.
I watch closely as her eyes jerk to our hands, staring at them in surprise as though they’re not ours. She moves her fingers slightly, not away, but rather touching me in return. I stop breathing, afraid to break whatever spell is being woven around us.
Her gaze lifts to my face, going from one eye to the other, to my mouth, and back to my eyes, as she thinks and thinks some more. “Nothing has changed,” she warns, “but yeah, I’d like that too. We’ll come to the game.”
Neither of us move our hands, but it feels like huge progress has been made between us. At least to me it does.
After lunch, we’re walking across the parking lot and her hand brushes mine.
I feel like a scared teenager that’s not sure if it’s an invitation or accident.
But as much as I want to grab her hand, pull her against me, and taste the sweetness of her lips, I don’t.
Afraid of going too fast for a woman who isn’t sure she wants to go down this path at all, I hesitate.
As I reach for the door handle, Briar spins and puts her back against my truck, trapping her hands behind herself. “Did you know that albatrosses mate for life?”
Is this her version of flirting? Spitting out random animal facts while looking up at me through her lashes? I think it might be.
We’re only a foot apart, but I lean in a little, curious to see where this is going. “I did, actually.”
“They’re not the only birds that do that either. Certain swans, eagles, and cranes do too.” She licks her lips. “But when one partner dies or disappears, the living albatross will eventually find another mate.”
“You don’t say.” I move closer, my nose nearly touching hers. I tilt her chin up with a gentle touch.
“It takes years sometimes, so potential new mates have to be patient.”
“So patient,” I agree, nodding.
“The most patient-est.”
I want to kiss this woman more than I want to breathe.
Hell, I want to kiss her more than I want to play hockey, and that’s my entire purpose for living.
But this needs to be her move. She hasn’t had the chance to be in charge of her life in a long time, maybe ever.
And she should. She deserves that opportunity.
I don’t want to fuck this up. Not for me, but for her. I’m almost scared to ruin the progress she’s making toward her own freedom. I’m not a man who usually sits back and lets things happen to me. But in this, I need to be. For her.
So I slow the internal drum of my heartbeat that chants kiss her, kiss her, kiss her and instead, enjoy the close-up view of her eyes, noting that they’re not simply blue, but there are flecks of brown at the centers.
I let my body burn with the need to touch her, and focus on the way her breathing has sped up.
I wait for her, soaking up her nearness and staying present in the moment, as if there’s anywhere else I’d rather be than this close to Briar.
Closer?
Okay, that’s fair. I’d love to be even closer to her, curled around her, protecting her from everything bad in the world until all she knows is good, and I’d love to be inside her, both her body and beyond her walls.
I tell my aching cock that the delayed gratification will be worth the pain and pray that I’m right.
“Should I start flapping my wings or making bird noises to court you?” I say lowly.
She presses her lips together, fighting back a laugh. “You’d do that?”
“Ca-cawww,” I say with the utmost sincerity.
Her eyes twinkle. Her lips part. And slower than a sloth, she lifts her lips to mine.
I don’t dive into her the way I’d like to, which is completely and passionately.
I let her set the pace, willing myself to give her what she needs, not take what I want.
And her lack of urgency feeds something unexpected in me too.
I relish the softness of her lips, savor the press of her freed hands on my chest, cherish the moment she opens her mouth to deepen the kiss.
I celebrate Briar Johns finding herself again and feel like the luckiest fucker in the world for getting to not only witness this moment, but be a part of it.