Page 214 of The Blame Game

So Shea hopped onto the float with some of the players and SAPs.

It had been a whirlwind since their win.

Shea had been there when Matty and Nico had sprayed Dom with Champagne and Dom had grabbed a bottle and poured it over Colton’s head, laughingly pushing him into the spotlight.

Shea had let Dom drunkenly drag him into a storage closet in LA’s arena and kiss him senseless, then drop to his knees and suck Shea’s cock.

He’d heard Dom’s voice go hoarse from all of the screaming as they returned to Toronto.

He’d watched the team, drunk out of their minds as they moved from bar to bar, but still thinking of ways to include Felix, despite the fact that he was a year and a half into his sobriety and hadn’t tasted a drop of alcohol.

Shea had gone to work, only to be sent home by his boss.

“Go,” Vinny had said, laughing. “This is a once in a lifetime thing. Celebrate with your boyfriend!”

So he’d let himself get swept along with the celebrations and now, he watched proudly as the float moved along the parade route, the Cup being passed from player to player, listening to the crowds roar every time someone lifted it into the air.

He watched Dom give a speech, moving and eloquent, despite the countless drinks that had gone down his throat.

And he’d thought that, well, even if he’d never win a Cup for himself, even if he’d never gotten the chance to play pro hockey, tasting a little bit of Dom’s joy was enough.

“Congrats, man.” Travis Rogers held out a hand after the parade was over, one of many Toronto celebrities who had come to the celebration.

Dom shook. “Thanks. Sorry to hear about your loss.”

Travis shrugged at the mention of the Titans getting knocked out of their playoffs. “You win some, you lose some.”

Dom wondered if it was his imagination or if Travis’ gaze flicked over to Shea who was deep in conversation with Charlie about something.

But before Dom could wonder long, he was swept away by his teammates as they streamed away from the parade, piling into cars driven by sober people, thank God.

“Where are we going now?” he asked, listing against Matty’s shoulder as someone—Jonah—crammed in beside him.

“Party at Pat’s!”

“Fuck. I thought we already did that.” The days were kind of blurring together but he would swear he remembered puking in their GM’s bushes at one point.

“Nah, that was the last Cup win, dude.” Matty smiled a little drunkenly.

“Hey. We’re lucky, you know?” Dom said thickly.

Matty nodded and kissed his hair. “We sure are, bud.”

Later that night, Dom peeled away from the crowd drunkenly singing karaoke around the pool, waving Shea off when he shot him a worried look.

He’d been thinking all day about doing this and he’d finally worked up the courage to follow through.

He found a quiet corner of the yard, away from the worst of the noise and shakily called the number. It was either very late in France or very early but he was a little too drunk to do the math.

“Bonjour. Qui est-ce?” A woman’s voice answered after several rings.

“Mom?” he whispered.

“Dominique?” Her voice filled with hope. “C’est si bon d’entendre ta voix. Comme tu m’as manqué.”

“Slow down, slow down,” he begged, though he’d caught little fragments of what she’d said. That it was good to hear his voice. That she’d missed him. But he was so rusty now. “Je n’ai pas parlé français depuis des années, Maman.”

“I am sorry,” she said, sounding like she was laughing and crying at once. “I never thought I’d hear from you again.”

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