Page 39 of The Blame Game

“If you were, um, dating the guy or whatever.”

“Oh.” A weird, shaky feeling rushed over Dom. “Well, it’s not … he’s my stylist. We’re friends.”

“Sure, yeah, I saw the press release. I just wanted you to know that we wouldn’t care.”

“Right,” Dom said slowly. “I assumed as much. Since like, half the fucking team is dating dudes.”

“Pretty sure it’s closer to a third,” Jordan said.

Dom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jesus, has no one ever heard of hyperbole?

“Well, fractions aside, I think it’s pretty obvious that the team is very laid back about people’s sexualities,” Dom pointed out. “Colton’s little hang-up about watching people make out aside.”

Jordan laughed. “To be fair, he goes after Tasha and me all the time. We went on vacation with him and Birdie over bye week and he was totally chirping us every time we got all lovey-dovey.”

Dom grinned. “Kid cracks me up.”

Not that sometimes Dom didn’t resent the hell out of Colton for being the guy he used to be. For having the role he’d used to have.

It wasn’t Colton’s fault. It was the nature of the game. But sometimes … sometimes it still stung like a bitch.

Dom reminded himself that envy was a normal thing. It was how he handled it that mattered.

“Yeah, he’s a hoot,” Jordan agreed. “Anyway, I wanted you to know.”

“Thanks, man,” Dom said, praying Jordan would stop talking and go away. “Appreciate the support, even though it’s unnecessary.”

“Right. See you tomorrow at practice.”

“See you, Jordy,” Dom said.

When Jordan finally, finally left the room, Dom rolled away from the ball and flopped onto the padded mats, staring up at the ceiling.

Jesus Christ. This team was too goddamn nice. Too accepting.

In some ways, it had almost been easier in LA. At the time, no one had been out in the league at all, homophobic slurs had still run rampant, and Dom hadn’t felt the pressure to be loud and proud about who he slept with.

Except for pressure from the guy he’d secretly been dating at the time. Ugh, but Dom didn’t want to think about Christian Patton now.

The team in LA had been filled with a bunch of guys who were married with wives and kids and Dom had never considered coming out.

The idea would have been ludicrous.

But now, guys across the league were open about everything and other than a few vocal minorities who complained about how people were ruining the sacred traditions of hockey—which, as far as Dom could tell, was generally a thinly veiled euphemism for homophobia and racism—everyone was trying to embrace the new culture of the NHL.

It was great for the sport, for the league, for every guy who’d been forced to hide but hadn’t wanted to.

But Dom? He wasn’t like them. He’d never felt like he needed to come out.

Why did everyone need to know everyone’s business? It wasn’t even about being gay. It was about privacy and having some part of his life that not everyone was involved in or had opinions on.

Even if he’d been straight, he’d swear he wouldn’t be the guy posting his personal life on social media and shit.

That wasn’t him. He had his public social media accounts where he dutifully posted the shit the team wanted him to post and he had some secret accounts that he used to follow former teammates and keep up on their lives, though he rarely shared anything there either.

The thought of talking publicly about his personal life and telling everyone what he felt and how he felt about it made Dom’s skin crawl. Just because it was good for other guys didn’t mean it was what Dom wanted or needed.

He liked his life the way it was. Why did everything have to change?

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