“Look,” I say softly as I step in closer. “Let’s talk about this later.”
“It’s a simple yes or no answer, Willow.”
I cringe, knowing how this is going to sound. “Then, for right now, it’s a ‘no,’ but I really would like to talk about this some—”
“I have to go,” he says, starting to turn away from me. He has obligations down on the ice. There’s going to be an awards ceremony and press interviews.
“We’ll talk about it tonight,” I call after him, but he doesn’t look back. He moves through the box with purpose, ignoring other well-wishers who try to nab him to offer congratulations. They seem stunned by his brush-offs, but he’s out the door and gone.
“Are you okay?” Regan asks, appearing at my side.
“Did you hear that?” I say.
“I heard him ask you to marry him,” she murmurs. “So did your parents for that matter.”
I crane my neck to look back at them, and they’re watching me with worried eyes. They might not have heard the entire conversation, but by the way Dominik just strode out of here, it’s clear I didn’t give him the answer he wanted.
“He caught me off guard,” I say, trying to excuse my lame-ass response to his proposal. I mean… I stand firm in my feelings on the matter—it’s way too soon—but I suppose I could have handled it better.
Rather than getting that deer-in-the-headlights expression and pulling back from him, I could have kept it a bit more lighthearted and teasing. I could have laughed, hugged, or kissed him. Promised him the idea had merit, but that it would be better suited for a more private discussion. Perhaps in bed with champagne and strawberries.
Instead, I acted like his offer of marriage was the most abhorrent thing I could imagine.
I handled it awfully.
But we’ll work it out. He’s on his way to bask in the glory of victory now. He’ll be in a better mood later and maybe on the way home from the arena, I’ll do dirty things to him in the limousine he’d arranged for us tonight.
It will be fine.
I’m sure of it.CHAPTER 24DominikRolling my wrist, I give a quick flip of my hand and the yo-yo extends smoothly down the string.
Reaches the bottom, spins for a moment, then starts climbing back up. When it reaches the top, I perform the same motion again.
I do this as I pace back and forth across my living area, unable to settle down. Tonight’s been the most emotionally charged evening of my entire life.
My team pulled out a spectacular win to launch us into the Cup finals. The fucking high in that moment was incredible.
I proposed to my girlfriend, convinced she was feeling the same for me that I was for her. She turned me down flat, and I came to the realization I didn’t know anything when it came to Willow Monahan. Fuck her and her risk aversion.
I left her in the owner’s box, and I didn’t look back. As I made the journey down to the ice, surrounded by team executives and two State troopers, I told myself over and over again to put her out of my mind. Now was my time to celebrate with my team and bask in all the glory that came from a hard-fought battle.
But I couldn’t.
Couldn’t fucking put Willow out of my head.
My entire body seemed to vibrate with this low hum of anger, tempered only by an internal hollowness over how quickly I’d fallen from such a high.
Not once during all the times I’d replayed that moment when I’d asked her to marry me and saw that horrible look on her face did I regret asking. I’m not an overly impulsive guy, but I do listen to my gut.
And my gut was telling me to go for it. I took the jubilation, gathered that energy, and hoped to fuck I portrayed it in just the right way that she couldn’t say no.
Without any doubts, I knew I was in love with Willow, and I was ready to commit my life to hers. Thus, I’ll never regret asking her.
I do find fault with myself for failing to read her correctly. Truly, I thought she felt the same. It was all there… her bringing her family into our circle and the way she stood by my side as a partner when I invited the team over. The way we make love and the way we fuck. Two vastly different things, but both filled with trust and deep intimacy that has never felt this way to me before.
Our conversations. We can talk for hours, and she knows me better than anyone.
I thought I knew her better than anyone, but that’s something I’ll continue to castigate myself over.
I continue to flip the yo-yo as I pace the length of the room, wondering where in the hell I go from here. My grandpa taught me how to master a yo-yo in the brief time I lived with him following my parents’ deaths. When I went off into foster care, it was the one object I managed to maintain possession of. Things tended to get stolen in foster or group homes, and I was small and easily preyed on when I first arrived. But I could always keep the yo-yo in my pocket and I’d learned to pull it out, mindlessly flipping it when I needed to think.