Page 4

Chapter 4

Penalties Avoided

Dominic

“F amily connections can open a lot of doors.”

They could also close them.

I’d spent my entire career ignoring that fact, but tonight, it finally clicked. And the worst part? I had no one to blame but myself. I threw my father’s name around like a shield, using it to deflect criticism, to justify my choices, and to silence doubts, my own included.

It worked. Until it didn’t.

Because when you spend years dodging hard truths, eventually, they catch up to you.

The comment was still bothering me, and it had been nearly an hour since that asshole at dinner said it to Nora. Dinner had ended, the foundation had given its speeches about the kids the community center would impact, and I hadn’t heard a damn word of any of it.

I nursed my third whiskey of the night, knowing I was already over my self-imposed limit before game day. The ice in my glass clinked accusingly with each restless tap of my finger, like a tiny hockey puck hitting the boards of my conscience. It was too bad the burn in my throat wasn’t doing anything to dull the uncomfortable revelations swimming around in my head.

“Really? Whiskey?” Garrett’s voice carried that big brother tone that made me want to punch him on principle. “You do realize you have a game tomorrow, right?” He appeared beside me like a sobriety guardian angel with disapproving eyes.

“Thanks for the reminder. I almost forgot about the career I’ve dedicated my entire life to.” The words came out with more bite than expected, but I didn’t bother to walk them back.

“Whoa.” Garrett held up his hands in mock surrender, sliding onto the barstool next to me. “Just giving you shit. But seriously, what’s going on?”

“Having a quarter-life crisis. No big deal.” The understatement of the century, right up there with hockey players occasionally losing teeth and locker rooms sometimes smelling funny.

Garrett studied me, the teasing edge fading from his face. “Is this about your game? Or...” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Something else?”

“What? No.” I cut him off before he could go full therapist mode. The last thing I needed was another heart-to-heart with my brother about our childhood trauma. “It’s not that. It’s...” I waved my hand vaguely, searching for words that wouldn’t make me sound like I’d lost my mind. “Complicated.”

He nodded, somehow completely understanding what I meant. “Career complicated or woman complicated?”

I exhaled through my nose, debating how much I wanted to admit. “Both.”

His lips twitched like he’d already solved the damn puzzle. “Nora.”

I scowled. “Don’t even get me started.”

Garrett had this annoying big brother superpower of reading me like I was a children’s book with extra-large print and pop-up pictures. “So, I’m right? You keep mean mugging her like she’s benched you tomorrow.”

“She can’t bench me,” I muttered, taking another sip of whiskey. My glass was almost empty, much like my reservoir of excuses. I really needed to think of something to distract him before he dug too deep.

His expression only grew more amused, and before I could shut him down, a familiar presence appeared beside us as if Garrett had summoned her.

Nora’s champagne glass was empty, and she looked like she’d been enjoying the night far more than I had. Her eyes sparkled with a gleam that came from expensive champagne and knowing exactly the effect she had on a room. “Gentlemen, looks like you’re having a fun conversation over here.”

Garrett grinned, eyes flicking between us. “We were talking about what a great addition to the coaching staff you are.”

“Really?” Nora’s gaze locked onto mine, her smile radiant and a touch wicked around the edges. The champagne had brought a flush to her cheeks that made her look softer. “I do appreciate you standing up for me with that asshat at the table.”

“Don’t mention it.” I tried to brush off the weird feeling that twisted in my gut. I focused on her empty champagne glass, which was easier than acknowledging how defending her had felt less like obligation and more like instinct. Besides, focusing on the glass meant I didn’t have to acknowledge how her presence seemed to shift my sense of gravity. “Need a refill?”

“More than you know.” She handed it to me, our fingers brushing in the process. That brief contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with static electricity and everything to do with problems I didn’t need.

Garrett watched us like we were in a shootout, his expression growing more intrigued by the second. “Well, this is fascinating.” His eyes darted between us with the analytical precision of a sports commentator spotting patterns in a championship game.

“Don’t you have some networking to do?” I shot him a look that clearly said fuck off . If looks could physically move people, he’d have been launched overboard.

“I should check on the silent auction.” He stood, smoothing down his shirt. “Nora, always a pleasure. Dom...” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Try not to be such a downer.”

Punching him probably wouldn’t be a good look, so instead, I rolled my eyes as he walked away. The urge to trip him as he passed was almost overwhelming, but I restrained myself. Most would call it peak maturity, but in hockey, we called it penalties avoided.

I found myself alone with Nora at the bar. The same Nora who might as well have been in Carter’s lap with how much they flirted. The same Nora who’d been haunting my thoughts since practice that morning for reasons I refused to examine too closely. Some thoughts were better left untouched.

She accepted her champagne from the bartender, and I couldn’t help but notice how the blue of her dress made her skin glow under the yacht’s ambient lighting. Not that I was looking. I was just... observant. Hockey required good peripheral vision, after all. It was practically job training.

She turned to face me, her arm resting against the bar. “You know, you never struck me as the charity gala type.”

“I’m not. But showing up to avoid Garrett’s guilt trips seemed like a bargain.” I downed the last of my whiskey, hoping it would dull the effect of her perfume that wasn’t helping my concentration. The alcohol was about as effective as a goalie without pads.

She took a sip of champagne, and my eyes were drawn to her lips. “And here I thought you might care about underprivileged kids.”

“I do care. I just prefer doing something useful over playing dress-up on a yacht.” I gestured vaguely at my suit, which felt about as comfortable as skates two sizes too small.

“And what would you consider useful?”

I shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, the whiskey making me more honest than I meant to be. “Well, I coached youth hockey over the summer three times a week.”

“You coach kids?” Her surprise was almost comical, like I’d admitted to having a secret identity as a balloon animal artist.

“Don’t look so shocked.” I gestured to the bartender for another whiskey, ignoring the voice in my head saying I shouldn’t. “Someone has to show up and do the work while everyone else is circle-jerking at galas.”

“Ah, there he is.” Nora’s lips curved into a smile that made me want to... well, nothing good. “Heaven forbid anyone find out Dominic Wilson has a heart.”

“I don’t advertise it.” I accepted the fresh drink, hoping it would dull the effect of her standing so close. The bartender slid the glass toward me with a knowing look that I pretended not to see.

She took another sip of champagne, her eyes dancing with amusement. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re a big softie who cares about helping kids reach their dreams?”

“What I’m saying is someone has to show these kids how to play hockey right.” I tried to maintain my scowl, but her playfulness was infectious. “And maybe keep them from developing bad habits like me.”

She giggled, and damn if it didn’t do dangerous things to my insides. The sound hit me square in the chest, somewhere between a body check and butterflies. “You’re totally going to use my coaching next time you coach them!”

“I am not.” The denial was automatic, even as heat crept up my neck. About as convincing as claiming I didn’t want to win.

She shifted closer, her hip brushing against my thigh. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to admit you care about something.”

“I care about plenty of things.” My voice came out rough as her perfume wrapped around me. Thank fuck she didn’t wear it to the rink. I’d never be able to focus on the puck because I’d be too busy skating into walls. “Hockey. Winning. Beautiful women.”

Where the hell did that come from, and where was a rewind button when a man really needed it?

“Mmhmm.” Her eyes locked with mine, challenging and amused. “And helping kids. And apparently me, since you defended me at dinner.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” She was close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “It’s not every day a stubborn hockey god admits someone else might know what they’re talking about.”

“A hockey god?” My ego inflated faster than a life raft in an emergency, and I couldn’t hide my smirk if I tried. Thanks, whiskey. “Tell me more about this hockey god.”

“Well—” Before she could respond, someone bumped into her from behind. She pitched forward, her hand landing on my chest to steady herself. My hands went to her waist, steadying her.

Time seemed to slow down. Her face was inches from mine, her breath warm against my lips. My heart hammered under her palm, and I knew she could feel it. Her lips parted slightly, and all I could think about was how easy it would be to close that distance.

But I couldn’t. She was my coach. This would destroy her career, her reputation, and everything she’d worked for. The hockey world was already looking for reasons to doubt her. I couldn’t be the reason they found one.

Even as these thoughts raced through my head, I couldn’t make myself let go. She felt too right in my arms, like she belonged there. Like finding the perfect hockey stick with the right weight, curve, and balance.

The shutter sound of a camera shattered the moment like a referee’s whistle ending a play before the puck was in the net.

“Now that’s what I call chemistry!” Carter’s voice was entirely too pleased with himself as he lowered his camera.

Nora’s face lit up as she turned toward him, though her hand lingered on my chest a moment longer than necessary.

Right. Because she’d been flirting with him all night. This moment, whatever it was, was the champagne talking. She wasn’t interested in me. I was just the difficult player she had to manage.

I sneered. “Chemistry? Please. She’s drunk enough to throw herself at anyone with a pulse tonight. Even one of her players.”

Hurt flashed briefly across her face but was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Carter, let’s get out of here.”

Carter gave me a look that said what the fuck? before following Nora toward the exit onto the deck. He looked at me with confused disgust and a side of judgment like I’d attacked someone during a handshake line.

I quickly finished my whiskey before tossing a tip on the counter. My phone buzzed several times in my pocket, and I inwardly groaned.

It was the night before a game, and even though it was an exhibition game, my father was doing his usual slew of criticizing, micromanaging, and reminding me of all the ways I could fuck up.

I needed air. And maybe to punch something. I for sure needed to stop drinking whiskey that made me think ridiculous thoughts about kissing my coach.