Page 25 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)
TWENTY-FOUR
I manage to wash my hair and look halfway human—or as human as one can at five-fifteen in the morning. My hair’s still damp, so I pull on a baseball cap to keep my head warm. I’ll have to do something with it before tonight’s ceremony, but that’s a problem for future me.
I hurry down the steps from the mansion to the beach. After Dominic’s worrying yesterday and his quiet understanding of everything I shared, I couldn’t leave him hanging. Especially not on our last morning here.
Tomorrow, we fly to Chicago. Just knowing that has started to lift the fog a little. I’ll see my brother and Hannah, small pieces of home I’m counting on to give me the energy to make it through the rest of filming. I can’t believe we’re nearly halfway through.
And then comes the whole reason I signed up for this in the first place: Hawaii. More importantly, no more being stuck in this massive house. Surely, they can’t keep us trapped in hotel rooms during the vacation stage… or could they?
And outside of the obligation… there’s also a little bit of missing our routine, of missing him, too. Not that I’d ever admit it out loud.
I’m momentarily thrown off by the tall figure at the bottom of the stairs, almost glowing in his absurdly bright workout clothes.
“Hey. What’re you doing here?”
Dom turns at the sound of my voice. “Figured if you were still feeling off, I could carry you. I also considered using the excuse of a morning run and needing to use your bathroom if you didn’t show up again.”
I giggle. “Of course you did.”
“It’s good to hear you laugh.” His voice is low, maybe a little relieved. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah. I think the promise of Chicago and then traveling has put a little pep in my step.”
He nods and smiles.
Then he pulls a pair of headphones and a tiny pink iPod from his hoodie pocket. I didn’t even know they still made those. Before I can say anything, he gently loops the headphones around my neck and clips the device onto my shirt.
“What’s this?”
“I loaded it with music. I can’t promise it’s your taste, but maybe we overlap a little.” He shrugs. “It’s not much, but I thought it might help.”
I stare at the device for too long. Does he not see how much this means to me? It’s thoughtful. Unexpected. I told him just yesterday that music was the one thing I missed most, and somehow, he made it happen.
A lump rises in my throat as I meet his gaze. “Where did you get this?”
“I bribed one of the crew members.” He brushes it off like it’s no big deal. “Figured you’d need it on the plane.”
“Not because you’re sending me home, right?” I tease, but it comes out too soft.
“What? No. Of course not. We’re finally getting to the part you came here for. I wouldn’t do that.”
He doesn’t say he wants me here, just that he’s holding up his end of the deal. And that bothers me more than it should.
“Thanks,” I tell him, even though it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.
He clears his throat. “No problem. Want to walk, or hitch a ride?” He bends slightly, as if ready to carry me.
My lips lift into a half smile. “I think I’m good to walk, but thanks.”
We start in silence—it always takes a minute to break the quiet. I don’t know if it’s because we’re half asleep, or still trying to make sense of whatever this new thing is between us.
“Can we talk about the other night?” he asks, cutting through my thoughts.
I nod, even though I’d rather pretend that night and my freak-out never happened. When I look up, he’s already watching me.
“I hate how it all went down. With you and Emma. It wasn’t what I wanted, and I just… I want to clear the air.”
He falls quiet for a few steps, like he’s still figuring out what he wants to say.
“I don’t want to lie to her. Or to you. Or even to myself. I know the press paints me as some clueless playboy, but that’s not who I really am. I didn’t come here to mess around. I came here hoping to find something real.” He exhales, looking at the sand before glancing back up.
“I wasn’t trying to be vague or keep my options open.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I was trying to be careful. I care about Emma?—”
I get it. I really do. But I can’t let myself fall back into all of this again.
“Dom, I understand.” I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve. “I know you like Emma. I do, too. You guys are good together?—”
“No.” His voice tightens as he steps closer.
I shake my head and continue, “I guess it threw me. Hearing you talk like every other bachelor . I don’t know, it just… bothered me. But it shouldn’t. We’re friends.”
I force myself to meet his eyes. “And I want you to be happy. Can we just forget the whole thing happened?”
His jaw clenches, and I can tell he wants to say more.
“Can we please drop it?” My desperation seeps into my voice.
After the last couple of days, after pulling myself back together, I’m not sure I can handle whatever he might say.
I know he’s forming connections with everyone here, and ours leans more platonic than romantic.
I’m shocked we’ve managed that after years of me hating him.
I should be grateful. So why does it sting? I push it all aside. Not now.
He exhales, stepping in close enough that I can feel his warmth. His eyes search mine, back and forth, before he gives a sharp nod. “All right. For now.”
He turns and starts walking again, and I fall in step beside him.
“Our last beach day,” he says after a while, the edge in his voice gone.
“Last rose ceremony, too. After this, you’ll have to start breaking up with people the old-fashioned way.”
He shrugs, then admits, “I’ve never really dated seriously, so I’ve never broken up with anyone.”
“Really? Not even in high school?”
“Nope.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I press, “Why not?”
He glances down at me, then shifts his gaze to the sand a few feet ahead of us.
“Umm. Good question.” He lets out a short laugh, but there’s no real humor in it.
“I think the situation with my mom kind of messed me up. Her leaving, not having a great example of healthy relationships. At least, that’s what the therapist said?—”
“You went to therapy?”
“Yeah.” He meets my eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with therapy.”
“Of course not. I’m a big fan.” I run my fingers through the ends of my still-damp hair. “I guess I just didn’t peg you as the therapy type, but I’ve been wrong about a lot of things when it comes to you.”
That gets a little smile out of him. “And that’s a good thing?”
“Yeah.” I tug my sleeves over my hands, fingers curling around the fabric. “Back to what you were saying…”
“Well, to start with, I had wildly unrealistic expectations.” He chuckles.
“I love my dad, but he’s the last person who should be giving relationship advice.
You’ll see what I mean when you meet him.
After my mom, he never remarried or even really dated.
Not that I saw, at least. So, I had to get…
creative about learning what love was supposed to look like. ”
That catches my attention. “Wait, is that why you started reading romance books?”
He nods, eyes skimming past mine. “Yeah. My dad gave me the birds and the bees talk, and it was… something. Pretty sure it had the opposite effect of what he was going for.”
“Do tell.”
“The first girl I kissed—Emilia. I guess you could call her my girlfriend. Sixth grade. Two glorious weeks. She gave me this book…” He trails off and groans. “I can’t believe I’m about to admit this. Don’t laugh.”
“I promise,” I say, already smiling.
He mumbles something that I don’t catch.
“You’re gonna have to repeat that.”
He straightens his spine, like if he’s going to admit it, he’s going to do it with pride. “ Twilight . She made me read it, and then I kinda liked it.”
I lose it, laughing harder than I mean to, but thankfully, he joins in.
“I know, I know.” He points at me. “I better not see this online. If it leaks, I’ll know it was you. I’ve never told another soul.”
“Don’t worry, Edward . Your secret’s safe with me.”
He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “Little she-devil.”
“So, let me get this straight.” I grin. “You learned everything you know about love from a one-hundred-and-four-year-old vampire. By that logic, shouldn’t you have been pining for your one true mate instead of sleeping with half of Chicago?”
“The press exaggerates,” he grumbles. “But yeah, I’m not claiming sainthood.”
He pauses, running a hand through his hair.
“I wanted to find my Bella … God, I hate that I just said that out loud. I thought I’d know when I did.
But no one ever felt right . Not until—” He stops short, clears his throat.
“Anyway. The point is, I’m starting to realize it doesn’t work like that.
Real relationships take effort. Patience .
And sometimes, they show up when you least expect them. ”
He glances at me. “I didn’t really see that until this experience. Which is, yeah, kind of ironic…”
There’s a beat.
“… Didn’t expect you to be here, though.”
“Sorry to mess up your plans,” I try to joke, but something honest slips into my tone.
“You didn’t mess them up,” he says. “Just changed them.”