Page 136 of Trick Shot

“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.

Chapter twenty-one

~JACE~

The puck smashes against the glass and ricochets.

“Brooks!” Coach Bennett yells. “You trying to break the damn boards today?”

I raise a hand in apology but don’t speak.

It’s been a week. One whole week since Dominic walked in and saw me with Melody. One week since she was ripped out of my house. One week since I’ve seen her. And I’m going insane.

We’ve been texting, calling, talking. But it’s not enough. Not even close. She told me how the fight with Dom went, keeps giving me updates on how her brother’s handling it—that they’regood now, but he straight-up refused to discuss any topic regarding me.

I keep skating.

The drills are brutal before the first pre-season game. Which is good. I need brutal. I need something to punish my body, because I sure as fuck can’t punish my thoughts.

I fly past the blue line, cut hard, and drop the shoulder. Someone skates in too close, and I slam into him.

“Jesus, Jace!” he gasps, scrambling back up. “Take it easy, man. It’s just practice.”

Shit. It’s Tanner.

“Get up,” I grunt, pulling him off the floor. “This is the fucking NHL. You want hugs, go back to junior league.”

Coach blows the whistle. “Brooks! Ease up and save that for the actual game.”

I don’t ease up. Because when I slow down, I feel. And I don’t want to feel.