Page 57 of The Blame Game

He’d recovered quickly enough, but apparently Dustin had noticed.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dustin asked under his breath.

“Back’s bugging me. I’ll see Eddie in a bit,” he said shortly.

Dustin gave him a long, searching look, then nodded.

So Dom went through the usual song and dance with the trainer and team doc, finally admitting how bad it was and that he was feeling numbness and tingling too. Which meant it was more than a muscle issue. Nerves were involved.

He reluctantly agreed to get some testing done when they were back in Toronto.

On the bus back to the hotel, Dustin turned in his seat. “You want to go out to lunch? Nico, Jonah, Felix, and Matty and I are meeting up with some of the guys from Evanston.”

“Yeah? Who?” Dom asked, glancing up from his phone.

“Theriault, Walsh, O’Shea, and Underhill. Plus a couple of the retired guys.”

“Let me guess,” Dom said drily. “Murphy, Hartinger, and Lindholm?”

Dustin gave him a rueful grin. “You nailed it.”

“Yeah, no I’ll skip that,” Dom said in a low voice. “I’m not trying to be a dick but the last thing I need right now is to be photographed with that crew. They’re great guys and ordinarily I wouldn’t hesitate but …”

Dustin nodded, understanding.

Truly, it would be idiotic for Dom to be spotted out with a group of exclusively LGBTQ+ players. If it was more of a mixed group, that was one thing, but right now, he couldn’t risk it.

“Sorry, man.” Dom gave him a weak smile.

Dustin clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s all good.”

The day dragged.

Dom could hardly focus on the TV while he ate lunch in his hotel room alone, his head foggy from pain.

He got an ice pack from Eddie, who gave him a concerned look he brushed off. In his room again, he stripped down to his underwear and collapsed gratefully onto the bed.

He spotted the tin of salve where he’d left it on the nightstand this morning and rubbed some of it in.

Christ, this was getting bad.

He found his phone, thankful he’d tossed it on the bed when he arrived, and brought up the message from Shea he still hadn’t replied to.

He should. Shea didn’t deserve to be ignored, but although Dom typed out a few responses, he wound up deleting them all before he sent them.

He wasn’t okay but it felt like putting it all into words would somehow make it worse. He was afraid Shea would name the thing he feared.

But slowly the salve made his muscles unclench, the tension in him easing until he drifted off to sleep.

Dom awoke to pounding on his door.

He stumbled from the bed, yelping when a flash of pain spread down his thigh.

He fumbled to unlock the door, pulled it open, and squinted at Matty in confusion. “What?” he rasped, rubbing his face.

“Team’s doing dinner and games at that Italian place, remember?”

“Oh right,” Dom said. “Sorry, I almost forgot.”

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