Page 223 of The Blame Game

A moment later, Shea’s parents stepped outside too and when Shea’s dad hugged him and the Cup, Emma glanced toward the driveway and smiled at Dom.

‘Thank you’, she mouthed and he nodded. It was the least he could do.

Dom didn’t know what most people did when they brought home their boyfriend to meet their family for the first time but as it turned out, carting along the Stanley Cup wasn’t a bad icebreaker.

He immediately liked Shea’s sister and her partner, Alex.

It was easy enough to talk hockey with Shea’s father and his mother kept trying to feed Dom and talk to him about Pilates so Dom passed a pleasant afternoon and evening in their backyard with his family and their neighbors and friends.

He signed some autographs and posed for some pictures and all in all, it was an enjoyable way to spend the day.

The last thing he’d wanted was a huge celebration.

Dom drank sparingly this time and he was clear-headed when he carried the Cup up the stairs to the guest bedroom later that evening.

Reggie looked a little put out when Dom insisted that the Cup was staying with him and Shea and not in its case in the spare room he was sleeping in, but Dom looked him straight in the eye.

“It’s my last chance to enjoy this.”

“No dropping, denting, or otherwise damaging it. And if you get anything on it, you clean it up,” Reggie said, his tone threatening.

Dom raised an eyebrow, wondering if there were any stories behind that comment, then decided there probably were and he was better off not knowing about any of them.

He shut the door behind him, set the trophy on the dresser, then wrapped his tired arms around Shea. Fuck, he was actually a little sore from carrying the thirty-five-pound hunk of metal around all day.

But what a sweet pain.

“Love you,” Dom whispered and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was talking to his boyfriend or to the trophy and decided it didn’t matter.

He loved them both.

Shea sighed, sinking against him, but there was something melancholy about it.

“This could’ve been me, maybe,” he whispered.

He ran his fingertips across the metal where Dom’s name was etched from the Fisher Cats’ win in ‘21 and when he turned his head to look at Dom, the naked, aching longing and sorrow in his eyes made Dom’s heart clench.

“I know,” Dom whispered. He wrapped his arms around Shea’s waist, pressing his lips to his shoulder. “And I’m not going to pretend it’s the same because I know it isn’t, but I couldn’t have done my part this time without you.”

“It’s not the same,” Shea said, his voice still soft and a little raw. “But I appreciate you saying that.”

“I mean it,” Dom assured him.

“I know. That’s why I appreciate it.” Shea turned in his arms, brushing their lips together. “And I love you too.”

Shea was quiet as they got ready for bed and Dom imagined if he’d been in Shea’s shoes it would feel a little bittersweet.

So when they crawled into bed, he pulled Shea close, wanting to offer him comfort.

Shea kissed him, softly at first, but it grew deeper after a while. When Dom slid a hand across Shea’s stomach, intending to let it wander lower, Shea tensed and pulled back, shaking his head. “Not tonight. I …”

“Okay,” Dom said easily, because if Shea wasn’t in the mood, he wasn’t in the mood. Maybe he felt uncomfortable having sex in his parents’ house. Maybe he was still sad about the fact that he’d never had a chance to play in the NHL.

In the end, it didn’t matter why unless Shea wanted to talk about it.

Rather than press the matter, Dom gently wrapped his arm around Shea and kissed his cheek. “Love you. Sleep well.”

Shea sighed, the last of the tension leaving his body. “Love you too, baby.”

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