Page 205 of The Blame Game

Tears pricked Dom’s eyes when he remembered teammates he’d lost touch with, friends he’d hidden so much of his life from.

He thought of every moment that had led him here and he was grateful for them all.

He’d made mistakes. Made a lot of them over the years.

But he had one last shot at a Cup.

Sure, he was forty years old. Maybe he was washed up like some of the fans complained and would never score another goal. He certainly had no expectation of ever being an MVP again.

But he was a part of this team.

Part of something greater.

And this time, the man Dom loved was watching the game in Dom’s apartment. But not alone. Shea was watching with Charlie and August and Antoni. With Elena and Birdie and Natasha and the other SAPs.

When the team returned to Toronto for games three and four, Shea would be in the stands, cheering for Dom. He’d wear his jersey and shout his name and if Dom did something notable on the ice, the cameras would know to focus in on Shea’s face, might even mention him in the broadcast.

Dom was private about his life, sure. But there was a difference between privacy and shame and he’d been ashamed before.

Ashamed of who he was, who he loved.

He caught a glimpse of someone in a green jersey, waving a rainbow flag. There was probably some fan out there somewhere wearing his jersey, waving a pride flag in support of him.

Fewer of them than there were for Dustin or Nico or Felix or Jonah or Matty, sure. But somewhere out there, someone who’d never met him was proud of him for coming out.

He’d spent years signing autographs and feeling like a fraud. He got asked for fewer of them now than he used to, but he had a feeling the next signing would feel very different.

As Dom skated laps, absently firing pucks toward the net, he scanned the crowd, wondering if he’d see more people in Fisher Cats jerseys waving rainbow flags.

He was unsurprised to see the usual collection of celebrities and wannabe celebs peppering the crowd, especially in the lower bowl.

Who the hell else could afford playoff tickets here?

Dom’s gaze skimmed over a few vaguely familiar faces before he blinked, returning to one like a magnet drawn to iron.

His chest went tight, the sucker-punch of feeling leaving him winded.

He knew those dark eyes and that smiling mouth and the way he threw his head back when he laughed.

Christian Patton.

He looked … younger than Dom remembered. Which was crazy because years had passed since they’d last seen each other. And yet, Dom had forgotten how young Christian had been when they met.

Twenty-two.

A decade older now, he still looked achingly young and fresh-faced.

It shifted the narrative in Dom’s head of Christian as someone worldly and experienced. Someone who’d known exactly what he was getting into when he and Dom got involved.

But maybe he hadn’t.

Now Dom wondered if it was naiveté that had made Christian unable to understand Dom’s fear of coming out. His inability to grasp how private Dom truly was.

Because it was hard to reconcile the guy sitting in the stands to the one who had cruelly threatened to out Dom.

Who’d demanded money to stay silent about their relationship.

Dom watched as Christian laughed and leaned his head on the shoulder of the guy next to him for a moment, a gesture of careless affection that Dom had always denied him.

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