Page 17 of The Blame Game

“Well, the apartment I was in caught fire last night. And I got about five hours sleep after, so no, it’s not the best morning I’ve ever had.”

Kate nodded, cradling her cup of coffee. “Fair enough.”

“But I’m guessing you were asking how I feel about being ‘outed’?” He sighed, shrugging. “At this point, I have no idea. What exactly did they say?”

She pulled up something on her phone, then passed it over.

Dom read the headline.

Fiery Rescue: Fisher Cats Player Heating Up the Sheets with Handsome Stranger?

He made a face. “Jesus, who comes up with these headlines?”

“Some underpaid freelance writer, or, at this point, probably an AI program.”

“Sounds about right.” Dom shook his head and continued reading.

Following an apartment fire at the High Park Towers building in Liberty Village last night, Toronto Fisher Cats player Dominic Olson was spotted with an unidentified man.

The building fire was contained to the fifth floor where—according to firefighters from Toronto Fire Station 346—it began in one of the condo’s kitchens.

Thankfully, only minor injuries were reported.

After being treated by paramedics, Olson escorted the unknown man to a black SUV and helped him inside before getting in himself.

Although they left the scene of the fire together, their destination is also unknown.

Traded to Toronto from the Los Angeles Suns, Olson was a major player in the Sun’s 2013 Stanley Cup win.

But it appears father time has begun to catch up with the aging forward. Much maligned by the team’s fans in recent years, it’s become obvious that Olson is no longer the superstar he once was and he is no longer centering one of the team’s top two lines.

But what exactly was Olson doing at High Park Towers in the wee hours of the morning with a strange man?

“Just friends,” or something more?

Though Olson has been notoriously tight-lipped about his personal life, rarely choosing to attend events with a plus one, we all know the old adage: where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

Dom resisted the urge to throw Kate’s phone across the room.

Fucking assholes. Like half the city’s fucking fans, they hid behind their keyboards and talked shit about players without having a clue what it was like to live under that level of scrutiny.

“Honestly,” Dom said, handing the phone back to Kate, “this pisses me off but it’s not as serious as I thought it might be. It’s certainly less salacious than the time I had a drink with that female model and they swore up and down we were engaged.”

“Which time?” Kate asked drily.

Dom managed a small laugh. “Fair point.”

She grew serious, leaning forward to look him in the eye. “I’m concerned for you. I know you want to keep your sexuality under wraps and this is the first time they’ve had any hints about you being anything but straight. The fact that your stylist is here in your apartment now isn’t going to help the situation.”

“I know.” Dom sighed. “It was probably a bad choice but I … the fire started in the apartment we were in. He was exposed to it longer than I was and coughing a lot. The paramedics said someone needed to keep an eye on him overnight and get him to the hospital if it worsened.”

“Plus, I’d imagine he couldn’t exactly sleep in his apartment if there’s fire damage there.”

“Ahh, yeah. That’s not his apartment.” Dom fought the urge to fidget as Kate’s gaze went sharp. “He doesn’t live there.”

“No?” She raised her eyebrows. “Then who does?”

“No one.”

---