Page 60 of Puck, Marry, Kill

The reminder hurts. I have done that for too long, so long that I thought I was being mature and smart by not setting Tyler off, but I have given him too much control, for way longer than I should’ve.

Dominic lets go of my hand and reaches up, his hand going around the nape of my neck, where he massages the stress away. “I’m not fighting you on this. Or on anything. We’re not against each other here. I’m following your lead. You’re in control. So I won’t goif you don’t want me to. But don’t decide that based on Tyler. Decide based on you ... and me ... and us.”

And that’s what makes up my mind for me.

Dominic isn’t trying to substitute his authority for mine. He’s supporting me, something no one—and especially no man—in my life has ever done. His ability to stand quietly behind me, staunchly beside me, and protectively in front of me at any given time is reassuring in a way I can’t explain.

Safety.

Surprisingly, that’s it. This big feeling working through me actually can be summed up in one little word. Dominic makes me feel safe to rage, safe to fight, safe to disengage, safe to be happy, safe to be ... me. And that’s a precious treasure to a woman who has felt disposable her whole life.

“Let’s do it.”

This could not have gone worse if I’d imagined the absolute worst-case scenario. And to be clear, I did. Several times, in fact. Still, an actual fistfight with bloodshed and police might’ve been preferable to this.

But, because this is my life and Tyler will do anything he can to screw me over, here we are.

He no-showed at the park. At first, I thought he was doing his usual power move of being late, and I expected him to eventually roll in with Amber in tow, trying to rub her existence in my face (as if I care). But when I finally called Harley, asking if they were close by, Tyler had him put the call on speaker and said he’d meet me at Harley’s game.

The game that started at six thirty p.m. The game Harley is currently on the ice playing. The game where me, Dominic, Tyler, and of course Amber are sitting in the bleachers like we’re some happily blended coparenting group.

Except Tyler keeps sniping at me and Dominic with cutting remarks. Meanwhile, Dominic greeted Amber politely, shook Harley’s coach’s hand, saying he’d heard great things about him, offered to sign autographs for the kids, and has been generally completely chill. The only sign that he’s not being totally casual about all of this has been the honestly reassuring constant visual check-ins with me.

Oh, I know he’s not as cool, calm, and collected as he’s making himself out to be, but his restraint is attractive as hell, especially given that I’m dangerously close to breaking my own gray rock decree and responding to one of Tyler’s scathing comments. That will only serve his purposes, I remind myself.

“Why are you here? You’re not his dad.”

Completely ignoring Tyler, Dominic cheers as Harley moves the puck down the ice and attempts a shot on the net. “Good hustle!”

“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Tyler rumbles, pushing Dom’s shoulder. “You’re not his dad, so quit fucking acting like it.”

“Language,” one of the other moms chastises. But Tyler waves her off with a grunt about minding her own business.

“Neither are you,” Dominic says, casual as you please. His voice is smooth and calm, he might as well have said it’s going to be sunny tomorrow. But the words themselves are dynamite, and I inhale sharply. The fireworks show is starting.

My first instinct is to tell Dominic to let it go, that engaging with Tyler is what he wants. But then, for the first time in my whole life, I decide ... fuck it. I have sat back for years and let Tyler walk all over me in some misguided attempt to maintain peace with a man who doesn’t want peace. He wants power ... over me, over Harley, over everything.

I should fight this battle myself, and maybe one day, I’ll be able to. But for now, it’s enough that I don’t say a word to Dominic. I let him go to war for me. I feel nauseated and powerful, all at the same time, as my body and mind argue with each other about this decision.

“What?” Tyler seethes, outraged. “Yes, I am. She tell you that?”

Dominic turns his attention to Tyler, the first time he’s truly taken his eyes off the game since the puck dropped. “No. She never said that. She rarely talks about you to be honest. But a father wouldn’t use a child against his mother. A father wouldn’t ignore the very important game his son is playing in order to make childish comments about hisex-wife’s new friend.” Dominic pointedly looks back to the ice, his eyes finding Harley instantly. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”

Is he quoting motivational posters at a time like this?

No, I think he’s truly cheering the kids on, throwing out tidbits to encourage them while never coaching from the sideline.

Tyler shuts up temporarily, but inwardly, his anger’s growing like a volcano ready to erupt. I can still sense it just as acutely as I could when we were married. I don’t think that skill set ever goes away. Back then, I could hear his truck coming and know if he’d had a bad day or a good one, I could tell by his steps down the hall if he was looking for an argument, and I could feel his moods as accurately as I felt my own.

“You think you know?” he spits back after a moment. “You’re not even a dad.”

“Nope. But I have one. A great one, so I know it when I see it.” Dominic dramatically looks around. “All I see is a weak man who gets his rocks off trying to control a woman who already demonstrated that she’s strong enough to not only leave your sorry butt, but be better without you.”

Is that how Dominic sees me? I’m actually pretty sure that’s accurate, at least in his mind. And maybe in mine, too, I’m starting to realize.

“She didn’t . . . I left—”

Tyler tries to speak, but Dominic keeps talking right over him, flat and emotionless as if reciting the weather forecast. “And it pisses you off because it highlights that the only thing holding her back from greatness was the worthless anchor dragging her down—you.” A hint of a cocky smirk lifts one side of his lips. “You fumbled the best thing to ever happen to you. Trust me, I won’t make that mistake.”