Page 213 of The Blame Game

Dom’s head was still spinning when he finally spotted Shea picking his way carefully across the ice to get to him.

He looked happy and like he’d been crying and Dom was pretty sure his face was a little wet too.

Especially after Colton’s hug.

“You fucking did it.”

Dom threw his arms around Shea, needing him close. “We did it,” Dom said thickly.

Shea drew back, reaching up to brush his thumb across Dom’s jaw. “What did you say to Colton? You told him something on the bench.”

Dom laughed. Of course Shea had noticed. “I told him—I told him to stop going for low glove and try high blocker. He’d been shooting low glove all series and he’s good enough he can get away with it most of the time but LA’s goalie is too good. Too dialed in. So I told Colton to switch it up. I wasn’t sure if he’d listen but he did and, fuck, it worked.”

Dom laughed again, feeling giddy.

“It worked, baby,” Shea said, and the look in his eyes made Dom lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw, despite the cameras everywhere.

He buried his head against Shea’s neck and held on a moment, knowing he was gross and disgusting and grateful that Shea wouldn’t care.

“I can’t believe it ended like this,” he whispered after a moment, lifting his head to look Shea in the eye again. “I thought … I was prepared if we lost. I would have been happy if I’d ended my career on a game seven loss in the Final but this is … it’s fucking unbelievable.”

“You guys deserved it,” Shea said fiercely. “You played so fucking hard.”

Dom glanced around, dazed as he watched his teammates celebrating with the people they loved.

“Good thing too,” he said, looking at Shea again. “Or I was never going to get a chance to meet your family.”

Laughing, Shea pressed a kiss to his forehead. “God, I love you.”

Dom let out a shuddering sigh. “I love you too. Christ, Shea …”

“I know.” Shea stepped back, trailing a hand down Dom’s arm and gripping his fingers before he let go. “I know. But there’s time for that later. Go … you should be with your team right now. Enjoy every last second of it.”

“Thank you,” Dom whispered, still half in disbelief that this was happening.

He took one last look at Shea, beaming proudly, wanting to burn it into his memory before he skated to join his teammates.

Yet later, as guys left the ice, being herded toward the visitors’ dressing room where they’d be showered in beer and Champagne, Dom hesitated.

Lingering by the door, he bent and pressed his lips to the ice, emotion spilling over and nearly choking him as it hit him that he’d never step on the ice as a player again.

But it wasn’t sadness he felt. How could he be sad with the embarrassment of riches in his life?

He’d accomplished all of his dreams—more than he’d ever imagined. He had three Stanley Cups and more individual trophies and medals than he knew what to do with.

He had a man he loved and a future to look forward to.

He had a shot at getting to know his family again and a team who meant everything to him.

Thank you, Dom whispered silently, hoping the hockey gods could hear him. Thank you for another chance to get it right. Thank you for everything you’ve given me.

CHAPTER FORTY

Dom had been drunk for the better part of the past five days.

Shea should probably be disgusted because he’d had far more beer and far fewer showers than he should have since their Cup win in LA, but all he could do was smile at Dom as he held out a hand.

“C’mon,” he shouted. “I want you to join me!”

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