Page 40 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

“Jesus Christ.” He starts pacing again.

“Has he fucked you?” He turns to me sharply, and I flinch at his words.

“That’s none of your business,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “And it’s the last thing you should be asking me right now, Dominic.”

“And what should I be asking you, Melody?”

“You should be asking me how I feel.” I take a step forward. “Instead, you’re making this about you.”

“Listen to me, Melody.” His voice softens, almost unnoticeably. “I don’t give a shit how long you’ve been texting him. You can’t expect to get apples from a rotten tree.”

“Jace is not a rotten tree,” I snap, my voice rising. “And I’m not twelve!”

“You’re my little sister,” he shouts back. “And he’s a man who knows exactly how to get what he wants.”

“I don’t know Jace like you do,” I say, shaking my head. “But you also don’t know him like I do. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen.”

“Melody, if I tell you what I’ve seen Jace do, you’ll go check yourself for STDs at the nearest fucking clinic.”

“This conversation is extremely childish. You’re being childish, Dom.” I fold my arms across my chest. “You’re talking about Jace like you haven’t been doing the same since you moved here.”

“Not at his rate, I haven’t,” he scoffs, then turns around. “I need time to think,” he mutters, quieter this time.

“You’re acting like Dad.” I shake my head, throat tight.

He turns his head slowly toward me, jaw locked, eyes full of fire.

“Don’t say that shit to me ever again.” His voice is ice. “Go pack your shit. You’re on a flight tomorrow morning.”

“I’m not leaving,” I snap, stepping toward him. “And if I have to, I’ll go live with Jace.”

That gets him.

“Live with Jace?” He laughs—loud, dark, and ugly. He throws his hands up. “You are so delusional. You really think he wants you in his house when he brings women there?”

This is how I know Dom doesn’t actually know his best friend that well. Either because Jace just hasn’t opened up about the topic the same way he did with me, or because Dom was too focused on winning games… but Dom doesn’t know.

I open my mouth to tell him what Jace has told me, but close it again. This isn’t my story to tell, and it’s not my trauma to share.

“That man has had more pussy than ice time. He’s not going to stop, Melody. You’ll go back home, let Mom and Dad find you a nice guy, and live happily ever after, away from men like Jace.”

I blink at him, everything inside me going still.

This isn’t Dominic. This… this is our father’s voice coming out of his mouth—my mother’s words. And I can’t fucking breathe.

I escaped the gilded prison of our family home only to get sent back to it because my brother has clearly not matured enough to see past his nose.

And I can’t fucking breathe.

I straighten slowly, my heart cracking open in my chest.

“I thought you were my sanctuary, Dominic. I thought you were my pillar—the only person who knows how I felt in that house. You’re the one who escaped. You became my hope that I could too. And now? Now you wanna ship me back there?” My voice rises with each word.

He blinks at me, his lips parting and his eyes finally losing that cold fury.

“Have you forgotten what our parents are like? You want to send me back so they can marry me off against my will? Go ahead.”

“That’s not what I wanted to say, Mel,” he tries, taking a step forward, but I cut him off.

“You hate our parents for all the things they’ve done. But, Dom, it took you getting angry to become them.” My voice wavers, but I push through.

His face goes pale, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, and that’s when I see that his eyes have gone glassy.

“I…” His voice falters. “Melody, I didn’t bring you here to control you.

I brought you here because I wanted to be that pillar you need.

I wanted to be your goddamn support system.

And instead…” He runs a hand down his face.

“I was so happy when you told me you’re coming to live with me.

I told myself I’d be your big protector and your safety.

That I’d never treat you like they did.”

He lifts his eyes again, and they’re red-rimmed. He’s trying to hold back the kind of pain he’s never let anyone see.

“I’m not putting you on any damn plane, Mel. You’re not going anywhere.” He exhales like the words rip out of him. “This is your home. You’ll always have a place here.” He hesitates, then says, quieter, “And I’ll work on being the kind of brother you deserve.”

I swallow, stepping toward him.

“I wouldn’t have kept talking to Jace if I wasn’t sure about him.”

He looks down, nodding once. He’s clearly not willing to talk about Jace right now, so I let him sit on it and watch him.

He stands there like he’s ready for me to hit him and walk away and never speak to him again.

And for a moment, I want to. I want him to feel it.

But then I see something else. Not our father, but my brother—who’s terrified of losing the only family he gives a damn about.

“You want to be my older brother?” I whisper.

He lifts his eyes.

“Then start acting like one, Dom. Not my father—my brother. You don’t get to decide for me. But I am going to need you by my side. And so is Jace.”

“I’ll talk to him.” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “When I’m ready. Not like this.”

I don’t hug him, even though I want to. I want him to feel the consequences of his actions. Still, I reach out and run a hand down his arm.

“I’d appreciate that.”

Dominic doesn’t say anything at first—just breathes deep and steady. The storm inside him settles, bit by bit. His shoulders lower, jaw unclenches.

Then, slowly, gently, he reaches out.

His fingers brush my elbow. Not yanking, not dragging—just offering.

“Come to the kitchen with me,” he says, voice calm. “I’m gonna make us drinks, and you’ll tell me about him.”

“About… Jace?” I blink.

He nods once. “Not as my teammate or best friend. Just… the guy my sister likes.”

I smile up at him and take his hand.

This is the Dominic I know—the one who used to sneak into my room during our parents’ fights, hold me against his chest, and say, You’re safe, Mel. I got you.

“Okay.” I nod. “You’re going to love him. He plays hockey like you,” I joke softly.

“Does he?” Dom asks, a little amused.

His hand moves to the small of my back as we walk into the kitchen.

This time, the click of my boots doesn’t echo like gunshots—it just sounds like footsteps toward something better.