His Weakness

Dominic’s POV

I swear to God, she’s gonna kill me one of these days.

I don’t even know what the hell’s wrong with me anymore. I’ve never been this sloppy. Never. Hockey’s the one place I don’t screw up. It’s the one place I can just move and hit and breathe and not think about anything. But ever since she started showing up… hell, even before that, even before she knew my name… she’s been in my head like some damn parasite I can’t get rid of.

And there she is now.

Right there. On the bleachers.

Sitting with her little friend Sara, laughing quietly about something. Her hair falling into her face when she looks down. I can see her lips from here, curved soft and pink, and my chest tightens up like an idiot.

I almost drop my stick.

“Dominic! Focus!” Coach is barking from the sidelines.

I grunt back something that might’ve been a “yeah” but probably wasn’t even a word. My teammates give me weird looks.

Pull it together. Pull it the hell together, Lakes. You don’t feel anything. You’ve never felt anything. You don’t get distracted. That’s the rule. That’s how you survive.

Except somehow with her…

I look over again, and she’s looking back at me now. Like she can feel me watching her. Her eyes catch mine. Big and wide and dark. And it hits me in the ribs, how much I want to… hell, I don’t even know what I want. I just know it makes my hands shake on the stick and my throat dry out like sandpaper.

The puck drops again and we’re scrimmaging. I force my eyes off her and throw myself into the play. Hard. I’m skating so fast I barely feel the burn in my legs. Some kid from the left wing slams into me — nothing I can’t handle — but then someone else cuts me off, and my head’s still halfway over there where she’s sitting. I misstep. My skate catches wrong.

And the next thing I know I’m down.

It’s not just a fall. It’s a hit.

A bad one.

There’s a sharp crack as my shoulder smashes into the boards, and a jagged white-hot pain shoots through me.

“Dom! Dom!” someone’s yelling. Hands on me, tugging at me.

I grit my teeth so hard it feels like they’ll crack too.

Goddammit. My arm’s useless. My ribs feel like they’ve caved in. It’s bad. I can feel the bones grinding.

But I can also feel them… moving. Already.

Knitting.

No.

No no no. Not now. Not here.

“Don’t move him!” someone shouts. “Get the first aid kit! Somebody call—”

“I’m fine,” I snap, but my voice comes out like a growl. My breath’s coming fast. I can already feel the bruising fading under my skin. It’s too fast. They’ll see it. They’ll know.

My heart’s hammering so loud it drowns out all the noise. The kids crowd closer. The coach is kneeling by my side. “Don’t you dare stand up, Lakes. Stay put. You’re hurt bad.”

I can’t.

I can’t let them see.

I try to push up. My hand’s shaking, but it holds. Someone grabs my arm to stop me and I almost snarl at them.

That’s when she’s there.

Her voice.

“I’ll take him.”

Everything stops for a second. Even me.

She’s leaning over me, hair spilling forward, her brow furrowed but her eyes steady. She puts her hand on my wrist — and her hand is trembling, but she still says it again. “I’ll take him to the nurse. Just — let me.”

The coach protests. “Selena, he needs—”

“He needs air,” she cuts him off, firm but still soft. “You guys are crowding him. Look at him. He just needs to walk it off. I’ll help him.”

Somehow… they all back off.

Maybe it’s the way she says it.

Maybe it’s just her.

She loops my good arm over her shoulders and pulls me up. She’s so damn small next to me but she doesn’t even flinch under my weight. She smells like something warm and sweet — vanilla maybe — and I try not to breathe it in like some creep but I can’t help it.

She leads me out of the rink.

And I don’t even fight her.

I can feel the skin under my jersey already smooth again. The ribs settling into place like nothing ever happened. It’s almost done. And if she hadn’t gotten me out of there in time…

Damn.

When we finally clear the double doors into the hallway, she lets me lean against the wall. She stands there for a second, her hand still clutching my sleeve, her chest rising and falling quick like she just ran a mile.

“You’re okay now?” she whispers finally.

I just stare at her.

Because no one — no one — has ever done that for me before.

“Yeah,” I manage after a second. My voice sounds rough.

She lets out a breath and leans back against the wall next to me, her shoulders slumping.

“What the hell was that?” she mutters, almost like she’s asking herself.

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know what to say.

I can still feel where her hand gripped mine when she pulled me up. My shoulder’s fine now. My ribs are fine. Everything’s fine. But my chest — my chest — still aches.

I glance down at her. She’s staring at the floor now, chewing on her lip like she’s trying to figure something out. She’s not even looking at me anymore.

That bothers me.

More than it should.

“Selena,” I say quietly.

She finally looks up.

And it’s stupid. But for a second I forget the rink. The guys. The coach. The whole damn world.

Because all I can see are her eyes.

And all I can think is… she’s my weak spot.

And if I’m not careful, she’s gonna see right through me.

I swallow hard and push off the wall. “Thanks,” I say. It’s the best I can do.

She tilts her head at me, like she’s not sure what to make of me. “You scared me back there, you know?”

I almost tell her the truth.

That she scares me a hell of a lot more.

But instead I just nod and look away.

Because that’s safer.

She walks me down the rest of the hall, still holding onto my arm like she doesn’t trust me not to fall over. Even though I don’t need it. Even though I feel fine now.

And when we step outside, the cold air bites at my skin and I realize I don’t want her to let go.

But she does.

Of course she does.

And I just stand there watching her walk away, her hair catching in the wind, her shoulders stiff.

And for the first time in my life… I don’t want to be alone.

Not if it means being without her.