Page 9 of Hooked On Them

As the conversation shifted to safer topics like the construction progress for the community center, I couldn’t help but steal glances at Dominic. He’d gone back to brooding over his plate like nothing had happened, but something had definitely shifted.

But that didn’t mean I was going to go any easier on him. If anything, knowing he respected my coaching made me want to push him harder.

Chapter4

Penalties Avoided

Dominic

“Family connections can open a lot of doors.”

They could also close them.

I’d spent my entire career ignoring that fact, but tonight, it finally clicked. And the worst part? I had no one to blame but myself. I threw my father’s name around like a shield, using it to deflect criticism, to justify my choices, and to silence doubts, my own included.

It worked. Until it didn’t.

Because when you spend years dodging hard truths, eventually, they catch up to you.

The comment was still bothering me, and it had been nearly an hour since that asshole at dinner said it to Nora. Dinner had ended, the foundation had given its speeches about the kids the community center would impact, and I hadn’t heard a damn word of any of it.

I nursed my third whiskey of the night, knowing I was already over my self-imposed limit before game day. The ice in my glass clinked accusingly with each restless tap of my finger, like a tiny hockey puck hitting the boards of my conscience. It was too bad the burn in my throat wasn’t doing anything to dull the uncomfortable revelations swimming around in my head.

“Really? Whiskey?” Garrett’s voice carried that big brother tone that made me want to punch him on principle. “You do realize you have a game tomorrow, right?” He appeared beside me like a sobriety guardian angel with disapproving eyes.

“Thanks for the reminder. I almost forgot about the career I’ve dedicated my entire life to.” The words came out with more bite than expected, but I didn’t bother to walk them back.

“Whoa.” Garrett held up his hands in mock surrender, sliding onto the barstool next to me. “Just giving you shit. But seriously, what’s going on?”

“Having a quarter-life crisis. No big deal.” The understatement of the century, right up there with hockey players occasionally losing teeth and locker rooms sometimes smelling funny.

Garrett studied me, the teasing edge fading from his face. “Is this about your game? Or...” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Something else?”

“What? No.” I cut him off before he could go full therapist mode. The last thing I needed was another heart-to-heart with my brother about our childhood trauma. “It’s not that. It’s...” I waved my hand vaguely, searching for words that wouldn’t make me sound like I’d lost my mind. “Complicated.”

He nodded, somehow completely understanding what I meant. “Career complicated or woman complicated?”

I exhaled through my nose, debating how much I wanted to admit. “Both.”

His lips twitched like he’d already solved the damn puzzle. “Nora.”

I scowled. “Don’t even get me started.”

Garrett had this annoying big brother superpower of reading me like I was a children’s book with extra-large print and pop-up pictures. “So, I’m right? You keep mean mugging her like she’s benched you tomorrow.”

“She can’t bench me,” I muttered, taking another sip of whiskey. My glass was almost empty, much like my reservoir of excuses. I really needed to think of something to distract him before he dug too deep.

His expression only grew more amused, and before I could shut him down, a familiar presence appeared beside us as if Garrett had summoned her.

Nora’s champagne glass was empty, and she looked like she’d been enjoying the night far more than I had. Her eyes sparkled with a gleam that came from expensive champagne and knowing exactly the effect she had on a room. “Gentlemen, looks like you’re having a fun conversation over here.”

Garrett grinned, eyes flicking between us. “We were talking about what a great addition to the coaching staff you are.”

“Really?” Nora’s gaze locked onto mine, her smile radiant and a touch wicked around the edges. The champagne had brought a flush to her cheeks that made her look softer. “I do appreciate you standing up for me with that asshat at the table.”

“Don’t mention it.” I tried to brush off the weird feeling that twisted in my gut. I focused on her empty champagne glass, which was easier than acknowledging how defending her had felt less like obligation and more like instinct. Besides, focusing on the glass meant I didn’t have to acknowledge how her presence seemed to shift my sense of gravity. “Need a refill?”

“More than you know.” She handed it to me, our fingers brushing in the process. That brief contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with static electricity and everything to do with problems I didn’t need.

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