Page 72 of The Blame Game

“Dom, I need you to give Dustin your phone right now,” Shea urged.

“Wanna talk to you,” Dom protested.

“I know you do. But give Dustin the phone for a minute. Just one little minute. We can talk more later.”

“Okay.” Dom mumbled, his voice growing more distant. “Here’s Shea. Wants to talk to you.”

“What’s going on?” Dustin demanded. “Who is this?”

“Hey, Dustin, it’s Shea Barnett. I’m worried about Dom. He got a muscle relaxant from the team doc along with two shots of alcohol from the minibar. I think he accidentally used them along with some CBD salve I gave him. The salve has THC in it and Dom didn’t realize how serious the interaction can be. Can you get the team doc and let him know? Also, he had a melatonin. Tell the doctor I’m concerned about the mixing of so many CNS depressants.”

“I will. I am confused though. I thought you were a stylist. And that your name was Sawyer.”

Shea huffed out a laugh despite the panic screaming in his gut. “I am. Sawyer is the name I go by when I do image consulting. But I also work as a physical therapist. I know what I’m talking about, I swear. You have to trust me.”

“Okay. This makes more sense.” Dustin sounded relieved. “But how serious is this? Do we need to take Dom to a hospital?”

“No, Shea’ll take care of me,” Dom slurred in the background. “He does that.”

“I don’t know that he needs a hospital, but your doc should be the one to make that call. Mostly, I’m worried about Dom being alone and his breathing stopping while he sleeps.”

“Shit.” Dustin sounded truly concerned now.

“Keep an eye on him, okay? It may not be as bad as I’m imagining but he’s … he doesn’t seem like himself right now and I don’t feel comfortable with him being alone tonight.”

“Hey? What’s going on?” another man rasped, his voice distant, like he wasn’t as close.

There was a rustling sound, and then Dustin’s voice came, sounding a little muffled. “Matty, go get the team doc. Dom is a little fucked up from some muscle relaxers right now and we need to make sure Doc Strickland checks him out.”

“Got it. Be right back.”

There was a rustling sound and Dustin said, “Sorry, Shea, I’ve gotta let you go. Dom’s upright but he’s kinda turning into a dead weight and I need both hands to get him into the room.”

“No, it’s fine. Just take care of him for me, please.”

The call abruptly ended and Shea put his head in his hands, his heart aching for Dom.

Physically, he’d probably be fine. Even if the worst happened and he stopped breathing, there were enough trained people around to keep him going until paramedics arrived.

But tomorrow, if Dom remembered any of it, he was going to regret everything he’d told Shea.

And all Shea could do was sit here, sick with worry, terrified for the man he loved.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dom blinked hazily, feeling like his head was stuffed with cotton. Matty was asleep beside him, mouth slack, snoring a little.

“The fuck?” Dom mumbled. Had they gone out drinking last night or something?

His mouth tasted vile and when he tried to remember what they’d done, he came up blank. He remembered talking to Zane Murphy, the end of the game, and then nothing.

Matty sat upright, cheek creased from the pillow. “Fuck! You’re okay.”

“Yeah.” Dom rubbed his face, wincing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you nearly fucking put yourself in an early grave, dude,” Matty snapped.

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

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