Dominik

by Sawyer Bennett

  Yes, these are a different type of men—friends—than I have ever known before. So I give it to them straight. “Willow’s a special woman. I’m hoping it goes the distance.”

  “Oh, how the mighty fall.” Tacker chuckles.

  “Speaking as a man who has recently fallen,” I quip back.

  “Touché,” he retorts with a grin. “We’ve all fallen, so we all understand.”

  “Not me,” Wylde crows with a wave of his domestic beer. “I’m still single, and I have no intention of falling.”

  Tacker nods, having apparently forgotten his best friend is still very much a player on this team. “We’ve all fallen with the exception of Wylde,” he clarifies, then holds his glass up in toast. “Welcome to the club, my friend.”

  Chuckling, I raise my glass and take a sip to acknowledge him, but the buzzing from my phone distracts me. I set my glass down and pull up my texts, smiling at Willow’s message. How is your evening going?

  I type back a quick reply while the guys rib Wylde some more. Good. And yours?

  Found out some sweet news, but you can’t tell anyone. Blue’s pregnant. She told us, but not sure Erik will say anything to the guys yet.

  My gaze slides to Erik, who is laughing at something Bishop is saying to Wylde. I thought he was in an overly good mood tonight, and now I know why.

  Secret is safe with me, I text back. Can’t wait to see you later. Still coming to my place?

  Her response is fast. Yup. I’ll text when I’m on my way.

  And that’s good enough to hold me over. I text back a fist bump emoji, then set my phone back down on the table.

  When I look up, I notice Bishop and Dax staring at their phones. I don’t think anything of it until Bishop snaps his head up and locks his eyes on Erik.

  “Dude,” he exclaims loudly, getting everyone’s attention. “Blue’s pregnant?”

  “How the fuck do you know that?” Erik demands, but he seems more shocked than angry.

  Bishop holds up his phone. “Brooke just texted me.”

  “And Regan just texted me the same,” Dax adds, tilting his phone from side to side as he holds it up as evidence.

  I hold in my laugh, not about to rat out Willow and her secret-spilling ways.

  If it even is a secret, which I’m doubting by the sheepish look on Erik’s face.

  “Yeah,” he admits. “We found out yesterday.”

  He seems to consider something, then frowns, speaking in an overly chastising tone that’s clearly aimed at Blue. “Although we haven’t discussed telling anyone yet.”

  “Women.” Legend laughs. “They can’t help but gossip.”

  “Right on,” Bishop proclaims. “When they get in a group, all they do is talk about love and relationships and babies.”

  “That’s the truth,” Dax adds.

  “Sort of like we’ve been doing all night,” I point out, and Tacker snorts so hard he chokes on the bourbon he’d just taken a drink of.

  Erik chuckles, settling back down into his chair. “I’m glad you guys know. Next to my parents and Billy, you’d be the first we’d share it with anyway.”

  And then, because these guys aren’t normal in any way, they lapse into talking about the baby. Legend, the only father of the group so far, imparts sage advice while the other guys basically make it known they hope it’s a boy who will play hockey like his dad.

  I just watch them all interact with each other, happy my team is so well bonded.

  And I think about Willow and if she wants kids. It’s not something we’ve ever discussed, but I would have to think she does. At one point in her life, she was a fan of marriage, so one might naturally presume that included kids.

  Although, that’s not necessarily a guarantee. Plenty of people choose not to be parents. And with her traveling so much…

  I take a deeper look inside myself, taking stock of my emotions. I’m not even sure how I feel about kids. I know the burden of raising them, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. Just acknowledging the responsibility is a great weight meant for strong shoulders.

  Willow and I are both incredibly strong. We’d be up to the challenge.

  But I did have a weird upbringing. While I have good memories of my parents and my grandpa, I was with them for as long as I was on my own. I spent as much time raising, fending for, and fighting for myself as I had others caring for me. My biggest fear when considering long-term relationships and kids is whether I have the ability to truly attach.

  Do I have what it takes to give myself to Willow and a child for the rest of my life? Do I have that type of sustainability?

  I wish the answer was clear, but it’s not. The only thing I can do is take solace in the fact that coming to an actual answer has become incredibly important to me, and I’m never going to take it lightly. I care for Willow too much to do that.

  CHAPTER 20

  Dominik

  It’s game two of the conference finals, and the energy inside the arena is palpable. Of course, it’s also amplified by the sixteen boys I’m leading on a private tour of the arena before the main doors open. I sent the team plane to Los Angeles to pick them up, and they landed a few hours ago.

  After the game, they’ll be staying in one of Phoenix’s finest hotels before flying back to their life at Miller House in the morning.

  Most of these kids are inner city and from very impoverished backgrounds. Most often it was parental drug addiction or incarceration that landed them in the foster system, and a trip like this can be overwhelming to them. Normally, I bring the residents from Miller House to see my basketball team play, but that’s just a bus ride from the home to the arena.

  The boys range in age from twelve to seventeen, and there are three chaperones on the trip with them in addition to me here at the arena. Some have never even seen a hockey game before while others are already huge fans since I bought the Vengeance. I’m a frequent visitor to Miller House as it’s not just my money I give there. I go often to talk to the kids—focusing on the older ones who are getting ready to age out of the program—so they can see anything is possible if they put their minds to it.

  We manage to get a quick tour of the locker rooms, running into Tacker and Bishop who arrived earlier than normal. They did a great job posing with the kids for photos and answering questions. I brought the boys out onto the ice and let them gingerly walk across it for a bit. Took them to the management offices and the workout room.

  And now we’ve made it to the owner’s box, just as the arena starts to fill with fans. The box is reserved exclusively for the Miller House boys and chaperones tonight. The only other person who has an invite is Willow, and I expect her soon.

  I had considered inviting her family to join us, but I didn’t only because she’s been so uneasy about us making it official with them. I’ll give her some space on that. I’m willing to let her decide when she wants her family to “know” about us, even though we realize they’re already aware.

  At any rate, Willow has no clue about the boys coming in, and I’m not sure why I didn’t tell her. Maybe I’m worried she won’t want to sit up here with us or she won’t have a good time. I have no clue how she feels about kids, much less slightly troubled foster kids from a group home. While she showed immense compassion over my situation, she’s also seen the successful end result.

  Regardless, I’m not going to regret bringing this wily bunch here. If they aren’t exposed to other things in life, they’ll never know what they could aspire to or achieve. And if Willow doesn’t like it, she can always go sit down in the seats Dax purchased for the series.

  There’s an usher waiting by the owner’s box door. He unlocks it, pushes it open, and smiles as the boys all rush to push their way in at the same time, causing a traffic jam. One of the chaperones yells at them to settle down, but they ignore her. I remember being much the same way.

  Following the group in, I call out, “Each of you will find a seat with your name on a card. There’s also so
me gifts there for each of you.”

  The boys rush across the lounge area that’s furnished with chairs and tables, the wet bar, and a small kitchen counter that’s always staffed and stocked with food, over to the rows of seats at the front of the box that overlooks the ice from high above the rest of the arena.

  “There’s pizza, popcorn, and an ice cream sundae bar over at the counter,” I yell above the excited chatter and shouts of surprised joy when they find all the goodies in their seats.

  A small boy named Mickey, who has been at Miller House for about six months, comes rushing toward me. Twelve and small for his age, he clutches a Bay jersey and throws his arms around my waist. He almost knocks me back a few steps as I wasn’t expecting it.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Carlson,” he gushes as he looks up with a big grin on his face. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. Had I been given this opportunity when I was at Miller House, I would have felt the same fucking way. I put my hand on top of his head, tousling his hair. “My pleasure, buddy.”

  He releases me, then runs off to the seats again. I pivot toward the wet bar, intent on having a beer to unwind, when the door to the box swings outward. The usher politely holds it open, and Willow comes sailing through. She’s dressed how she always is for a game in her Monahan jersey paired with dark jeans and black ankle boots.

  Her eyes laser in on me and she grins broadly, clapping her hands together once and rubbing them with glee. When she saunters toward me, it’s the sexiest thing I think I’ve ever seen. “I have a good feeling about this game, Mr. Carlson. I think our guys are going to kick some major fucking ass tonight. I can just feel it in the air.”

  I chuckle, knowing her words carried over to the kids, and she hasn’t even noticed them yet. They’ve heard far worse, I’m sure. I was fluent in every kind of curse word there was by the time I was ten.

  Willow walks right up to me—no, into me—pressing her body against mine and sliding her hand around my neck as her other goes to my hip. She pulls me down and delivers a nuclear kiss that speaks of so much promise for later tonight.

  Catcalls from behind us ensue, some of the kids calling out, “Oooooh, Mr. Carlson… you got a hot one.”

  Willow freezes, her lips glued to mine, before she slowly pulls away and leans to the right to see who is back there. I take a moment to enjoy the shocked rounding of her eyes and the way her mouth falls slightly open as she takes in sixteen boys who are most likely all staring. I hate to even think what some of those older ones might be thinking about my woman.

  Willow jerks back until she’s completely hidden from their view, then groans as she looks up. “Why is your box full of a bunch of kids who look like they just accidentally stumbled upon a porno channel?”

  I burst out laughing at the image, taking her by the hand. Turning around, I place a hand on her back, walking her toward the seats where all the boys are still going through their goodies.

  “Gents… this here is my girlfriend, Willow Monahan. I expect you all to be polite and treat her with respect, because if you don’t, I’ll kick your ass. And after I’m done with you, her brother—Dax Monahan—who plays for the Vengeance, will take up where I left off.”

  The boys are all good-natured, of course, because they’ve just been flown to see a playoff game in a luxury box filled with all kinds of free swag and good food. They beam at Willow and offer greetings.

  She smiles back before addressing me, her brow knitting in confusion. “What is all this?”

  “These are some of the kids from Miller House which is a group home in Los Angeles that I do work with,” I say.

  It only takes a second before her expression and her eyes soften. She glances over her shoulder at them and then back to me, her voice going all gooey. “You brought them all here for the game?”

  Shaking my head, I reply, “Not all. Some are on restriction, but most of them. I normally take them to basketball games in Los Angeles a few times a year, but I thought this would be fun.”

  Willow snorts. “Fun? Are you kidding me? This is probably like the best thing ever to them.”

  My gaze moves past her to the grinning and laughing boys—their joy actually filling the air around us.

  “You’re amazing,” Willow murmurs. She says it with such reverence—in a tone I’ve never heard from her before—that a tremor moves up my spine. When my gaze snaps to her face, she’s bestowing a look upon me that makes my knees want to buckle from the enormity of what she’s expressing.

  I’ve suspected it.

  She’s hinted at it.

  She’s trying.

  Goddamn, I know she’s really trying.

  But right now, she’s regarding me in such a way that says she genuinely cares about me. That she sees past the trappings and the wealth, and she’s pushing aside the fears she has based on her past experiences. She’s looking at me like I’m a good man—one she could entrust herself to.

  Possibly.

  I could be reading too much into it.

  Regardless, I don’t make a big deal about it since it would freak Willow out if I did. Instead, I casually loop my arm around her shoulder. “Let’s grab some food and drinks, then get our seats. We’ve got a rowdy crowd up here with us tonight, so it should be lots of fun.”

  “Can’t wait,” she exclaims gleefully.

  ♦

  The game is intense with less than three minutes left in regular play. The Vengeance is up 2-1 over the Demons, and desperation permeates the air. The Vengeance is hell-bent on keeping this lead until the final buzzer sounds, and the Demons are clawing and kicking every step of the way to stay in it. The kids are all out of their seats, going nuts.

  Every fan in the arena is on their feet, bellowing frenzied shouts of encouragement to hold on, which creates a unified roar that has the floor vibrating.

  Willow and I have our hands clenched together. She’s hopping up and down, screaming so hard most of her voice is gone, and my eyes are pinned intently on the ice as I watch my team putting forth every ounce of effort into winning.

  The Demons will be pulling their goalie if they don’t score soon, choosing to go one attacker up on us. For a dizzying moment, they get control of the puck in our end and manage a point-blank shot on goal, which Legend manages to deflect. Demons regain control, making a few smooth passes between their players to try to create an opening, but then Wylde manages to poke it away.

  Tacker is there, managing to get his stick on it near the boards. All he needs to do is flip it out of our zone, but the worst thing imaginable happens. Lars Nilsson slams into him from behind, crushing Tacker’s entire body into the glass so forcefully I can hear the impact above the roar of the crowd.

  Ordinarily, this isn’t anything to be concerned about. Tacker’s a big guy. He’s tough as nails.

  But he and Lars Nilsson have a terrible history together. Last November, when Tacker was in a really dark place, he and Nilsson got into it on the ice. Then Nilsson made a horrible comment about Tacker’s fiancée dying, which resulted in Tacker going ballistic. He dragged Nilsson down onto the ice, then kneed him in the head so viciously he lost consciousness.

  Tacker got suspended for ten games, which had started a major spiral out of control for him.

  Luckily, he’s come back from that dark place and moved on. He’s been playing the best he’s ever played, and he leads our team in points in the playoffs. That shove into the glass by Nilsson doesn’t mean anything to a guy like Tacker these days, but if the rival player says something about his dead fiancée, there’s no telling what the guy will do.

  Willow and I freeze, staring helplessly at the ice.

  And then… all hell breaks loose.

  Gloves go flying, landing haphazardly on the ice. It’s a universal sign between two players that they want to fight. But it’s not just two players. It’s every fucking guy out on the ice and they start squaring up, fists raised and rea
dy to brawl. Tacker faces Nilsson, and I can see it in his eyes… he has control of himself. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to lose it, but he’s not going to back down either.

  Fights are not as common in playoff hockey as they are in the regular season. Sure, they happen, but for the most part, at this level, players try to avoid penalties and injuries. Most guys know the importance of keeping their cool when the championship is in sight.

  But this is Tacker we’re talking about.

  This is the Arizona Vengeance, a team that has stood by Tacker’s side as he’s battled back from the depths of despair and helped to solidify our race as a prime contender for the cup.

  Not one of my guys is going to take Nilsson’s assault on our star center lightly.

  The crowd goes nuts because everyone loves a fight. The refs stand back uneasily, circling the men who are now throwing jabs and crosses. Bishop gets tangled up with a Demon player, and they go falling to the ice. A ref rushes in to break them apart, but the other men are going at it furiously with their Demon counterparts.

  And then the thing that rarely ever happens… happens.

  Legend drops his stick to the ice, both gloves following, then he streaks toward the other goalie. For a moment, the Demon net defender doesn’t move. But then he realizes he’s being challenged, and he has no choice but to meet it. He takes off, the two goalies meeting at center ice. Legend grabs the Demon by the jersey, who reciprocates, and they start grappling. I hold my breath, praying Legend doesn’t take a shot because his hand will probably end up broken against the other goalie’s helmet.

  My eyes dart to the bench. My Vengeance players are on their feet, leaning over the half wall and I can tell by the looks on their faces they want to clear the bench and join the brawl.