Page 50 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

FORTY-SIX

“How about a bath?” Dom offers as he carries me up the stairs in his house.

For once, I’m grateful for his coddling. My limbs feel heavy. Everything aches, even though nothing hurts. I rest my head against his shoulder, too tired to pretend I’m fine.

In the bathroom, he sets me gently on the countertop, then turns on the tub faucet, adjusting the water until he deems it just right. The sound of rushing water fills the space as he moves around the room, gathering toiletries from the shower and lining them up along the ledge of the bath.

He comes back to me, his hands steady as they settle on my hips. “Can I help you?”

I give him a jerky nod, feeling like a raw nerve.

He lifts me and sets me on my feet. He takes his time, peeling off each layer—a sweatshirt, leggings, a threadbare T-shirt, panties I’d be embarrassed for him to see if I had the capacity to feel anything, and mismatched socks.

He presses a quick kiss to my lips before scooping me into his arms again and lowering me into the warm water. The heat hits first, then the sting in my eyes. But I blink it back.

I enjoy the view of him stripping off his T-shirt, but then he pauses. “Is it okay if I join you?”

With another nod, he finishes undressing and then climbs in behind me.

“Tip your head back,” he murmurs.

I do as I’m told, and he uses the shower wand to wet my hair, then lathers it with shampoo.

“You know you don’t have to do all this.” My voice sounds thin around the lump lodged in my throat.

“But I want to.”

I tilt my head when needed, but he works in silence, rinsing the suds away.

He finger-combs conditioner through my hair, tender and slow. I should be embarrassed by how intimate this all feels, how exposed I am in every possible way. But I don’t. Somehow, with him, I just feel cared for. Safe.

While the conditioner soaks, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me against him. His chest is a solid wall against my spine, his breath tickles my cheek when he says, “Baby, talk to me.”

The worry in his voice makes me fold forward, face buried in my hands.

His arms tighten, like he’s holding pieces of me together. “Don’t hide from me.”

I exhale, but my breath hitches. I want to tell him everything. But the words sit in my throat, too tight to pull free. What if he sees the worst parts of me and decides I’m too much? What if he already has and it’s too late?

He turns me so I’m facing him, straddling his hips. The water laps between us, and he takes my hands, squeezing them gently. I fixate on the way his tattooed fingers cradle mine, the roughness of his calluses against my soft palms, giving me another sensation to focus on.

When my eyes lift, he’s looking at me with such open concern and longing, it makes the tears spill over, the ones I’ve been refusing to let fall since I ended up on a plane back to Chicago.

“I’m sorry. These past few days have been… rough.” I hiccup. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

“It’s okay to cry,” he soothes.

“I hate feeling like this. I hate people seeing me like this. You seeing me…”

“Mia, la mia fiamma .” He waits until my eyes connect with his to continue. “What’s going on? Talk to me.” This time it comes out as more of a plea than a request.

“I didn’t leave that room”—my voice rises as I gesture toward Ryan’s house, my numbness turning into frustration—“for days, Dom. Days .”

I pause to catch my breath. “I try to avoid these feelings. I hate feeling so weak?—”

“Hey. You are not weak. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

“I’ve never needed anyone before. And now?—”

“Baby, it’s okay to need people. Everyone does. The right people will be there for you… when you struggle, and when you succeed.”

My face stays wet no matter how hard I try to hide it, tears mixing with the bathwater on my fingers. Maybe there’s something poetic in that, but right now, all I feel is the sting of soap in my eyes.

“I don’t want to be a burden… a complication… for people. For you.” I struggle to get the words out through uneven breaths.

“You are neither of those. Not to me. Not to Ryan, your parents, your friends, or anyone who actually knows you. You’re a fucking gift.”

I shake my head. “I thought you were done… done with me?—”

He grips my forearms, grounding me. “I’m sorry I let you go after our argument. I shouldn’t have?—”

“ I shouldn’t have left,” I interrupt, because I know it’s true.

“I knew why you did. Deep down, I knew. But I let my own past cloud everything I’ve learned about you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Baby, I’ll never be done with you. Never .” He frames my face, his thumbs tracing my cheeks, my jaw, then my bottom lip. “We can fight. We can yell. We can take space or talk until we’re hoarse. But I won’t walk away. Not from you.”

I loop my arms around his neck, pulling him close.

“I’ll always fight for us. Do you hear me? That’s a promise,” he says quietly.

“Are you sure?” I whisper.

He lets out a low laugh, more disbelief than humor. “One thousand percent.”

I sniffle. “I’ll give you one more chance for an out?—”

“Not taking it.”

“Are you—” I can’t get my next rebuttal out because his thumb presses over my lips.

“I love you.”

Who knew three little words could wreck me so completely?

“I’ll love you on your good days. On your bad ones. And all the days in between.”

I cry harder, my body shaking with it.

“I’m a mess,” I mumble. “I’m… broken?—”

“You’re perfect .”

“You’re delusional,” I say through a watery laugh. But I lean into him anyway. Because maybe being loved by Dominic Fox isn’t a delusion at all.

He smiles, tucking my hair behind my ear. “It’s fitting that you’d fight me, even over my love for you.”

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against his. His breath is slow and steady. And mine starts to match it.

“I love you, too,” I whisper.

His hand stills on my cheek. “Yeah?”

I nod, easing back to meet his gaze. Something in his expression—relief, maybe—makes me feel less alone in this overwhelming want .

My chest aches, but not in the anxious way that makes me want to run.

This ache is different. This is one I want to hold on to.

I wake up warmer than I’ve felt in days.

Blinking into the dark, I find the night sky outside the windows instead of the morning light I’d expected.

The heat makes sense when I realize I’m wrapped up in Dom. All of him. His chest pressed to my back, legs tangled with mine, one arm draped heavy over my waist. Calling myself the little spoon would be generous; I’m a teaspoon at best.

“You’re awake.” His voice rumbles in my ear.

“Have you been up?”

“For a while.”

“What time is it?” I manage to flip over when his hold on me loosens.

He checks his watch. “Almost nine.”

Somehow, wasting another day in bed feels less guilt-inducing when I’m sharing it with him. After our bath, we agreed to lie down just for a bit, which turned into cuddling… which apparently turned into a very long nap. He actually needed the rest. But maybe I did, too.

His hand drifts down my side, gripping my hip. “How’re you feeling?”

“A bit better, actually. I think crying helped.”

“Good.”

“Yeah…” I hesitate, my fingers tracing the curve of his shoulder. I shouldn’t bring this up now, not when everything feels so right, but I don’t know how much longer I can carry the question. The one that’s been playing on my mind since I left Hawaii slips out. “Why were you with her?”

His brows pull together. “With who?”

“Emma. I came back to talk to you, and I saw you hug her…” I force the words out. “Then you both went into your room.”

“You came back?” he asks, then shakes his head. “We’ll come back to that. Emma showed up just as I was leaving to find you. I hated the way I handled our fight?—”

“Me too,” I whisper.

“I ran into her at the door, and she hugged me before I realized what was happening. After that, I ended things with her. I needed to come to you with everything cleaned up. I needed to tell you it’s just us.

For you to see the proof. I didn’t know if that was why you left… if you doubted where we stood.”

I stroke his wrist, the knot in my chest loosening a little more. “How did she take it?”

“Surprisingly well. I think she might have something going on with Bodhi.”

“Hmm. I can see that.”

“Yeah, maybe. I still think the guy’s kind of a douche, but as long as he makes her happy.” He gives a little shrug.

“So… you came back?” he repeats, like he needs my reassurance just as much as I needed his.

I nod. “I’m sorry I ran… the first time and the second. I just… didn’t know what else to do. Running is my default when things get hard. It’s a difficult habit to break, I guess. But I don’t want to run anymore. Not from you.”

He presses his forehead to mine.

“I’ll try?—”

He exhales a quiet laugh. “We know how much you love to try.”

“Only for you.” I smile.

His lips are inches from mine, and I can’t help but close the gap. Our kiss starts soft and sweet, but it doesn’t stay that way. His fingers tangle in my hair, and my hands trail down and over the prominent bulge behind the fabric of his shorts.

His breath is warm against my mouth as he rasps, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I shift closer. “Positive.”

His hand slips beneath my shirt.

“I need you.” And it’s not just his touch I’m aching for.

He shifts us, guiding me until I’m straddling his hips. One hand anchors on his chest while the other traces from his jaw to the strong line of his throat.

Clothes disappear in pieces, and I attempt to catalog the countless tattoos inked into his skin. I’ll need a lifetime to uncover the story behind each one.

But my gaze catches on something new. A patch of freshly shaven skin, saturated with black ink right over his sternum.

I drag my finger across it. “When did you get this?”

He doesn’t glance down. “When I was stuck waiting for the plane in Hawaii.”

My lips twitch. “Tattoo artists make room calls during tropical storms?”