Page 222 of The Blame Game

Shea smiled, pressing his lips to Dom’s hair.

Like many of the celebrations that Dom had taken part in lately, his Cup Day passed quickly.

They took the Cup from the condo to Shea’s work, where Shea’s boss, Vince, shook Dom’s hand and praised him effusively before posing for about eighty-five pictures with the trophy.

Vince might not have been happy to learn about Shea’s former career as an escort but since it hadn’t gone public, he’d softened.

And today’s celebration had swept away any lingering issues.

“God, he’s always going to be the Golden Boy here now, isn’t he?” Myles asked in a disgusted tone as they watched Vince show the Cup off to the patients and staff, one arm slung companionably around Shea’s shoulders, like he was the one who’d won it.

Dom laughed. “Yeah. Probably.”

“Well, he’s a lucky asshole,” Myles said with sigh. “But you be good to him, you hear? I may be jealous that he gets all of the attention, but he’s a great guy. He deserves to be happy.”

“I’ll do my best,” Dom assured him.

Myles grinned. “Well, I mean, your best is apparently three Cups so … I guess that’s alright.”

They laughed, but since Reggie was looking a little antsy about the time because they were due to leave for their next stop soon, Dom excused himself, then stepped forward to pose for a few pictures and sign a few autographs.

With a hired driver behind the wheel, the ride to London was pleasantly boring and Dom spent most of it sitting with his hand wrapped around Shea’s as they spoke quietly about nothing of any real importance.

It felt peaceful.

Dom felt like he’d been going non-stop for weeks and he was looking forward to things quieting down for a while.

When they stopped in front of a modest brick house, Dom was glad to get out and stretch.

Though, thankfully, his back felt fine.

Dom glanced over at Reggie as he unloaded the Cup’s case from the back of the SUV, clearly intending to carry it into Shea’s parents’ house that way.

Dom froze, an idea forming in his head.

He stopped Reggie with a motion of his hand, then glanced over at Shea. “Do you want to carry it in? Just the Cup. No case.”

Shea looked stunned. “Would that be okay?”

“Sure,” Dom said with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly win anything myself,” Shea pointed out.

“You helped me get back to my team,” Dom said simply. “You helped me be in a position to play my best and support Colton. I couldn’t have done it without you and this is the least I can do to show you how much that means to me.”

Shea nodded and reached out, brushing his lips against Dom’s temple before he stepped away.

His hands were reverent when he touched the Cup, carefully gripping it by the bowl and base. He lifted it, but only chest high as was appropriate for someone who hadn’t won it, and carried it up the walk while Dom hung back.

Someone must have been waiting by the door because it opened and a woman—blondish and only a bit older than Shea—came flying out.

It took Dom a moment to realize she was in a wheelchair and that it was Shea’s sister, Emma.

“Oh my God, Shea,” she whispered when he crouched down, carefully balancing the Cup on his knee to show it to her. “I can’t believe …”

“I know.” He grinned. “I brought home my boyfriend.”

She snorted, a few tears trickling down her cheeks as she gently touched the metal. “Yeah, that too.”

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