Page 76 of The Blame Game

“Yeah.”

“God, I’m sorry. I didn’t … I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

“No. It wasn’t that I minded you telling me. I was just concerned.”

“You believe me though, right? That I had no idea?” Dom turned back to look at him. It was important that Shea know that.

“About the interactions between everything you were using? Yeah. Most people have no clue. But you’ve gotta be careful. Even with over-the-counter stuff, it can get bad if you combine too many things. Hell, even stuff like cold medicine can be incredibly dangerous.”

“Because I …” Dom looked at the ceiling, licking his lips. “I’m not in a great place about my career right now. I’m not. We both know it. And this shit with the gossip sites, it’s not helping. Everything in my life feels very—very out of my control,” he admitted.

“I know that. And I know how much you hate that feeling.”

Dom winced, nodding. “But I don’t want to end it.”

“End your life or what we’re doing?”

Dom blinked. “Well, I meant end my life but also what we’re doing.”

“Because we could end our arrangement.” Shea glanced away. “If you think it’s better for you. For your mental health and your career … I don’t want to be someone who makes your life worse, Dom. I don’t.”

“I know that.” Dom stepped forward, letting his hands skim along Shea’s waist again. He wore a University of Toronto T-shirt and his skin was warm through the soft, thin fabric. “I don’t know what to do about my career or my back. And I definitely don’t know what to do about the stupid gossip. But what we have—what we do—it helps. I promise.”

God, the thought of that disappearing—Shea disappearing from his life—felt like a yawning pit opening up before him, nothing to cushion his fall.

“Good.” Shea let out a shuddering sigh, pulling Dom close again, resting their foreheads together. “Tell me if that changes, okay? Because I—you’ll have to be the one to tell me it’s done. I won’t—I won’t do it.”

Dom frowned, not understanding. “Yeah, okay,” he said slowly.

“I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours feeling sick about things,” Shea said. “Knowing that I did this to you—”

“How is this your fault?” Dom frowned, lifting his head to look him in the eye, belatedly noticing that he’d slid a hand under Shea’s shirt and was stroking the cut of his hip with his thumb.

Shea’s expression turned anguished. “I’m the one who gave you the salve. If I hadn’t—”

“I would have been in a lot more discomfort lately,” Dom assured him. “It was my choice to grab bottles from the minibar and down them. My choice to toss in a melatonin on top of it. And my choice to not tell Dr. Strickland about any of that before he gave me a sleeping pill. I fucked up, Shea, not you.”

“I should have warned you!” Shea protested.

Dom felt the sudden urge to press his lips to Shea’s to make him stop talking. To show him that he wasn’t mad.

But this wasn’t what he and Shea were like together. It had never been like that.

Then again, he’d never been in Shea’s bedroom before, or held him like this, staring into his eyes as he admitted that he was in a bad place in his life.

So maybe change—however loathed—was inevitable sometimes.

And maybe this didn’t feel like the worst change he could make.

“I think you did,” Dom said slowly. “I mean, that was last summer but I’m pretty sure you did tell me then.”

“Yeah but—”

Rather than press his mouth to Shea’s, Dom lifted a hand and brushed his thumb over Shea’s lips. He stopped talking and Dom noticed how gorgeous his lips were. So soft and pink against his brown stubble and tanned skin.

“There’s something else, Dom,” Shea whispered. “Something I should tell you. You—”

“Please. I don’t want to talk right now,” Dom cut him off, leaning in. “I want to feel you.”

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