Page 13 of The Blame Game

Fine, let Dom blow up his fucking career. What did Shea care?

Well, no, that wasn’t true.

Shea wished it was, but guilt lay heavy in his stomach as Dom spoke briefly to the concierge, then rode the elevator to the eleventh floor.

Once inside the condo, Shea looked around but Dom jerked his head. “Bedroom and bathroom’s this way. We should shower first.”

As they stopped in the bedroom, Shea looked longingly at the enormous bed but he knew Dom was right. He reeked of smoke and needed to get clean before he crawled under the covers.

“Seriously. What are we doing here, Dom?” he asked again, unable to let it go. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Someone needs to keep an eye on you.” He unbuttoned his shirt with short, jerky motions, dropping it on the hardwood floor.

“I have a roommate. Audra—”

“Would be worried if you came home at four in the morning smelling like smoke.” He unfastened his belt.

Shea shook his head. Well yeah, probably, but still …

“Why did you stick around in the first place?” Shea rasped. “Why risk your career? What if someone got photos of us? What if someone starts digging into how we know each other?”

“You’re an idiot,” Dom spat, dropping his trousers on the floor.

“Oh, I’m the idiot for worrying about your career?” he shot back.

“No, you’re an idiot for risking your life for my phone and wallet!” Dom shouted. “What the fuck, Sawyer—Shea—whoever the hell you are!”

Shea blinked, wondering if he was reading this right. Was Dom pissed about not knowing his real name?

“My name is Shea,” he said softly. “Shea Michael Barnett. I used Sawyer to keep a little separation between my careers.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Dom said, peeling off his underwear.

“So why are you pissed?”

“I’m pissed because you could have died tonight!”

Shea swallowed hard, remembering how he’d gotten halfway down the hall to the stairwell before he thought of Dom’s things, wondering if they would burn up completely or if they would only be a little charred but recognizable.

Wondering if it would lead to questions about why he was there.

Shea had ducked back into the apartment, feeling the heat of the fire steadily creeping closer as he dug through Dom’s overcoat pockets.

“I was trying to protect you,” he admitted. “I thought that’s what you’d want.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dom snapped. “I’m a selfish asshole at times but I’m not selfish enough to let a man kill himself to keep my secret.”

“I’m sorry,” Shea said, swallowing, his throat raw. “I—I didn’t realize how bad the fire was. How fast it was moving.”

It had flared hotter with the door open, the oxygen feeding it, and Shea had barely gotten a grip on the wallet and phone when a firefighter yanked him away, shouting his name and that he needed to get the hell out.

“I can’t believe you were that fucking reckless.”

Shea opened his mouth to protest but all that came out was a cough. He coughed again and again, body wracked with the spasms, and Dom settled a hand on his back.

“Hey, you should use the inhaler they gave you,” Dom said more gently. “And then take a nice hot, steamy shower.”

Shea fumbled for the inhaler in his pocket, sucking the medicine down until his coughing fit subsided and he could breathe again.

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