CHAPTER NINE
“I saw it,” Dom said with a sigh as answered the phone call and packed his bags for the road trip the team was leaving on tomorrow.
He didn’t even have to say the JockGossip article part aloud. Kate would know exactly what he meant. It was, undoubtedly, why she’d called.
“Just wanted to be sure,” Kate replied with an equally tired-sounding sigh.
“So what do we do now?” he asked, frowning at the pile of clothes next to his suitcase.
“That’s entirely up to you. As of right now, it’s still pretty low-key. They’re speculating, trying to keep fan interest up, but they haven’t really dug in.”
“Should Shea and I go out again? But maybe have a few of the guys from the team join us? Would that help?”
“It might. Or they might use the pictures from that to write an article claiming that you’re introducing your boyfriend to the team.”
“Fuck!” Dom tossed his toiletry kit on the bed.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said softly. “I wish I had a better suggestion, Dom. I’m good but I can’t always predict how these things will go. It depends on what else is happening. How many big stories are happening at once.”
“What I wouldn’t give for Nico to have another sex scandal right now,” Dom grumbled, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress.
Kate made a pained noise. “I don’t think it’s so dire we should be hoping for that .”
“No, probably not,” Dom admitted with a sigh. “What about one of the young players doing something dumb?”
“I don’t see it happening. They’re all so well-behaved. You’ve done too good of a job mentoring them, I guess,” she teased.
He groused, “What happened to guys getting caught getting lap dances and shit?”
“Those days are over. Kids are savvier! They’ve grown up with social media their whole lives and are much, much better about keeping out of the public eye.”
“I know.” Dom stared out at the lights of the Toronto skyline, feeling exposed, his skin crawling with discomfort.
He got up and twitched the curtains shut, knowing that the sensation of strangers’ gazes on his skin was entirely in his head but unable to stop his reaction to it.
“Tell me what to do, Kate,” he begged. “I’m going nuts. It’s not exactly helping my play to be stressing out about this shit either!”
“I know that,” she said soothingly. “And I’m sorry. We can transition to one of the other options, if you’d like.”
“Well, we’re past denial at this point,” he said.
“Yes. And the other two options involve you coming out.”
“Fucking hell.” Dom dragged a hand through his hair.
“I am sorry.” Kate’s tone was genuine. “I truly am. I don’t want to pressure you into that.”
“I know, I know. And you’re not. I … I’m not sure what else to do .”
“Look, you’ve got a road trip coming up. Why don’t you focus on that for now?” she suggested. “Put all thoughts of JockGossip aside, get your head in the game, and think about the team . Don’t worry about what’s happening with Shea until you get back.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” He released a tired sigh. “I’ll do that.”
But as he set his packed bag by the door, showered, then got ready for bed, he couldn’t help but think that it was easier said than done.
The following afternoon, the team landed in Chicago following a turbulent flight.
Dom’s back ached as he stood, realizing how tightly he’d been clenched when he braced for the abrupt, bumpy landing.
“Well, I guess they don’t call it the windy city for nothing!” Matty said as they got off the plane, the wind whipping at their jackets.
“No, there’s more to it than that,” Felix hollered from the tarmac. “I think it’s because someone claimed that the people who live here are full of hot air or maybe it was the politicians. I don’t remember.”
Jonah made a retching noise, bent over, and Felix patted his back, holding out a bottle of water like the dutiful fiancé he was.
Dom winced.
Poor Jonah. He hated flying to begin with and turbulence always made it so much worse. He’d lost his parents in a plane crash as a child, so who could blame him?
“So, who’s chirping the opposing team about being full of hot air tonight?” Matty asked ten minutes later when they were on the bus, heading to the hotel.
Dom gave him a pointed look. “Bud, the team is called the Chicago Windstorm . I’m pretty sure they’ve heard it all before.”
“True.” But Matty’s grin didn’t fade.
“What has you in such a good mood?” Dom asked, amused.
“Antoni woke up early to say goodbye.” Matty’s waggling eyebrows were in full effect and despite Dom’s dour mood, he huffed out a laugh.
“Happy for you, man,” he said with a shake of his head. He should have known better than to ask.
Matty, deliriously in love and getting laid on the regular, was both delightful and obnoxious.
It was good for the team to have him in high spirits, because Matty in a good mood was always contagious, giving the team energy when it was sorely needed. Dom occasionally wanted to smother him with a pillow to have a moment of quiet, but he was glad for his friend.
Happy Matty was infinitely better than Sad Matty.
Dom wished his own sex life was going as well.
He and Shea had been relegated to phone sex, even when they were both in Toronto.
It was the smart choice, with so many eyes on them, but it was enough to make Dom want to lose his goddamn mind.
His back hurt, half the city was talking about him, and he hadn’t had anything but phone sex in weeks.
No wonder he’d been playing like shit lately.
“Hey, Mom,” Shea said, frowning as he answered her call that night following dinner. “What’s the occasion?”
“Oh, I don’t need to have an occasion to call my son, do I?” she teased.
“Of course not,” he assured her, though for a very long time, she had only called on holidays and his birthday. “How are you?”
“Good! We’re offering a new class at the studio that I am very excited about.”
Shea loaded the dishwasher while he listened to his mom talk about the yoga and Pilates studio she ran and the wine and painting party she and her friends had gone to last week.
“I’m glad you had fun,” he said when she was done.
He suddenly imagined inviting Dom to do a paint n’ sip and had to a muffle a laugh. The thought of Dom willingly doing that was about as likely as Dom going down on one knee and proposing to Shea or saying he was sick of playing hockey.
“What about you?” she asked. “How have you been?”
“Oh, pretty good. I had a fun birthday,” Shea answered, since he hadn’t talked to her since then.
He told her about the courtside tickets from Travis, the comedy show, and the axe throwing.
“Since when do you go axe throwing?” she asked with a laugh.
“Don’t ask.” He loaded a sheet tray into the dishwasher. The axe throwing had been Kate’s idea.
“It was more fun than I expected though,” he admitted.
“You went with friends?”
“Yeah. A few guys I know.”
“Oh nice. How’s Audra doing?” she asked. It was an innocent enough question but there was a certain lilt to her voice that he recognized. “Have you spent much time together lately?”
“Mom, we’re not dating!” he reminded her.
“I know, I know, but maybe you should .”
“She’s a good friend, that’s all.”
And sure, for a short while in undergrad he’d thought about it, but she’d made it abundantly clear that she was only interested in friendship. And, frankly, he was convinced that even if they did date, she’d eat him alive.
Which was not what he was going for in a relationship. No, he preferred the grumpy, emotionally constipated type, apparently.
Shea rolled his eyes at himself and stuffed a dishwashing pod into the little compartment as if it would somehow wash away that thought.
“I’m not trying to pressure you,” she said. “I just wondered if you were dating anyone.”
“Just focused on work right now.”
‘Bro dates’ with Dom were not dating. Although, they’d enjoyed the comedy show more than either of them had expected.
It had been the type of humor Shea liked, clever observational stuff delivered with a dry, deadpan tone and none of the jokes so many comedians relied on that were lazy, punching-down cracks about minorities and women.
Shea had never seen Dom laugh so much. Look so relaxed.
The axe throwing had been surprisingly fun as well. Shea and Dom had gotten competitive about it and Shea was convinced that if they hadn’t agreed that it was too risky being seen going home together, it would have led to some explosive sex after.
As it was, Ethan had wound up beating them both in the end. Dom had been a little huffy, though gracious as he shook Ethan’s hand.
“Shea? Your father wants to talk to you.”
“Um, sure,” he said, pressing Start on the dishwasher and wandering over to the living area where it would be quieter.
“Since when are you calling yourself Sawyer?” his dad asked.
“Uhh, what ?” Shea managed.
“Someone I work with sent me some links talking about you hanging out with Olson. I know you have friends on various pro teams but they kept calling you Sawyer . The first time, I told him it must be a misprint but then it happened again.”
“Right. No, it’s not a misprint,” Shea managed. “You know I worked as a stylist to put myself through school.”
His dad grunted.
He’d made it abundantly clear how little he thought of Shea’s choices but between what his parents had invested in his hockey and being seen by various specialists who weren’t covered by the national health plan, they’d been struggling for money by the time Shea had called it quits on his hockey career.
He’d needed to pay for his schooling somehow.
“Sawyer is the name I used for that line of work,” he explained. “There was a Shay—with a y—working there when I started and I wanted to keep things simple.”
Though everything was the absolute opposite of simple at the moment as his two worlds kept slowly creeping closer and closer together.
“Huh,” his dad said. “Well, I wasn’t sure. These sites never get their facts right. Olson’s no more gay than you are.”
Shea tensed. “Well, we all know they don’t care what info they put out into the world,” he said tightly.
“You’re not, right?”
“Gay?” Shea asked, flabbergasted because his father had never asked him that before.
“Yeah.”
“No, I’m not gay,” Shea said, which was true but maybe not entirely the truth.
He was something but he hadn’t nailed down exactly what that something was. And frankly, he didn’t know that he cared to. He’d had sex with people who paid him for it and he was in love with Dom. That was complicated enough without trying to put a stupid label on it.
“Didn’t think so,” his dad said gruffly.
“Why?” Shea asked. “Would it matter?”
His father fell silent and Shea’s heart ached because he already regretted asking the question.
“I’ve got nothing against gay people,” he finally said.
“Yeah, I know that, Dad.” Shea had never seen either of his parents act in a bigoted way about the LGBTQ+ community, either to their face or behind closed doors.
“Just can’t imagine you being that way,” he continued.
Shea winced.
Ooof .
That was its own version of fucked up.
Shea could only imagine how his dad would take the news that his son worked as an escort. Because yeah, that would be an ugly conversation.
“Yeah, well,” Shea said lamely because he wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Anyway, just wanted to clear that up,” his dad said gruffly.
“Right.” Shea pulled in a deep breath. “Well, I should—I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“Sure thing. Here’s your mother.”
“What was that all about?” she asked a moment later.
“I don’t know. Ask Dad,” he snapped. “He’s the one who—”
He stopped and forced himself to take another few slow, deep breaths.
“Shea?”
“He was asking about some stupid online article,” Shea said. “Nothing important.”
“Because we’d love you if you were gay. You know that, right?”
“You might,” he said. “I’m not so sure about Dad.”
“Sweetheart …”
“I’m not gay. I’m not dating Audra either. Like I said, I’m focused on work right now.”
“Of course,” she said, sounding confused and worried. “You know you can talk to us about anything though, right?”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said tiredly. “I appreciate it.”
And he did. The sentiment was nice but he wasn’t sure he believed it. Especially with his dad.
And as much as his mom tried to keep the peace between them, he remembered what it had been like during the screaming fights they’d had, the way she’d begged his dad to calm down and listen, but never told him he was acting like an unreasonable asshole.
She’d quietly supported him but never done anything to back him up against his dad.
“I should go,” he said. “Work tomorrow, you know?”
“Okay. We’re so proud of you for how hard you’ve worked to get where you are.”
Are you? he wondered, stumbling through an awkward goodbye before ending the call.
Because he knew the life he led wasn’t the one they’d expected him to have.
And they didn’t know the half of it.
Later that night, waiting for the media to come in, Dom shifted in his stall, gritting his teeth against the flare of pain in his back.
“You don’t have to take questions tonight,” Dustin said in a low voice, tucking his hair under his cap.
“Yeah, I do,” Dom said shortly.
Dustin nodded, squeezed his shoulder, then walked over to his stall.
They’d lost to the Chicago Windstorm.
It was especially galling because they were a mediocre team and Dom was the one who’d fucked them over.
He wasn’t the only one who’d played poorly tonight but he knew how bad he’d been. How many defensive zone breakdowns there’d been.
And exactly how many of them had started with him.
Anton Makarov was a terrific goaltender but he’d had an off night tonight. Gilly, their coach, had pulled him after he let in three goals in under ten minutes.
Their young backup, Jesse Webber, had replaced him in net and done his best to keep them in the game.
Dom’s absolutely horrific play had made it impossible though. Even a Vezina-winning goaltender like La Bouche couldn’t have saved them tonight.
The media flooded in and Dom took a deep breath, bracing himself for the questions.
The first was from a guy who Dom couldn’t stand.
“Do you have anything to say about your performance tonight?” he asked, frowning at Dom. “You played under nine minutes tonight and ended the game with a minus-four plus/minus percentage.”
He held his phone out to record Dom’s answer.
“I had an off night,” he admitted. “I take full responsibility for it. I should have played better and I’m not happy with my performance.”
“Does your recent drop in production have anything to do with the rumors that you’re dating someone?”
Dom took a deep, slow breath. “I have no interest in discussing any rumors about my personal life. I do my absolute best to keep it private and away from the rink. Tonight has nothing to do with that.”
No, it had more to do with whatever the fuck was going on with his back. He’d fumbled the puck at one point because there had been a sudden numbness in his left quad that had made him stumble and lose control.
He’d shot wide, the puck ricocheting off the boards and right into range of a Chicago defenseman’s stick.
Dom slogged through the remainder of the questions and by the time he was done, his back throbbed so much he felt sick.
He went into the trainers’ room, allowing himself to be poked, prodded, and manipulated.
“Any new symptoms?” Eddie asked.
“No.”
Should he tell Eddie about the numbness? Probably. Was he going to? Absolutely fucking not.
When Shea texted him that night, asking how he was feeling, Dom swiped out of the app, trying to ignore the flare of guilt that settled low in his stomach.
He wasn’t sure if he could lie to Shea about how bad he was feeling and he definitely knew that if Shea told him to see the team doc and admit everything, he’d probably do it.
He pulled a little plastic case with earplugs out, then cursed when he dropped one on the floor. It bounced on the carpet, then rolled under the bed.
It couldn’t have gone far. Hotel beds weren’t designed to allow it to, but the thought of getting on his hands and knees and searching for it suddenly seemed too exhausting to contemplate.
Instead, he rummaged in an inner pocket for the spare pair he kept tucked inside. His fingers brushed a small metal tin.
Frowning, he pulled it out. The orange logo on the front triggered a memory. It was something Shea had given him at the end of their disastrous playoff run last year.
It was a salve for pain and he’d used it a few times on a strained hamstring before he’d tucked it in his suitcase when he flew to Europe to spend a few weeks enjoying Italy, Greece, and Croatia.
It suddenly occurred to him that he probably shouldn’t have flown with it. In addition to some other healing herbs it had CBD oil that contained a small amount of THC. Not enough to get him high or anything, just enough to contain the medicinal properties.
But something that customs agents might not have liked if they’d found.
He winced at the thought.
And to think he’d been flying around Europe and all of North America without realizing it was in there.
He remembered Shea offering it, looking like he was expecting Dom to refuse it. But Dom had been willing to try anything that would offer him some relief.
It had worked pretty well before, so, with a shrug, Dom set the tin down.
He stripped off his tee, tugged his boxer briefs a little lower, then twisted off the lid, rubbing his fingertips against the salve. It was firm but softened with the warmth of his skin.
He rubbed some on his lower back and left glute, wishing Shea was here to give him a full massage.
When he’d rubbed it in the best he could, he dragged his underwear up and got in bed.
As he lay on his side, a pillow between his knees to take some of the pressure off, he studied the tin, feeling oddly sentimental about it.
He shouldn’t have ignored Shea’s earlier question. He should have answered it.
He patted the bed for his phone but it was nowhere in sight and he glanced over to see it on the dresser near his suitcase.
He swore but he was too comfortable to get up and do anything about it, so he clicked out the light.
He closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply, the muscles of his back gradually beginning to unclench. He thought of Shea’s strong hands, carefully working his tight muscles, and he suddenly wished he had Shea’s warmth in the bed beside him, Shea’s hand smoothing over his hip and his lips against the back of Dom’s shoulder.
They’d never slept like that before but Dom could picture it. Could feel it so vividly it felt like a memory.
Tin of salve still clutched in his fingers, he felt the last of the tension slip away and he slept.
Deeply, dreamlessly.