Page 24 of The Blame Game

Shea took a moment to glance around, curious to learn more about Dom. He’d been too out of it last night to take any notice of the condo.

He liked what he saw. It was a large open floor plan design with contemporary décor. Bright white walls mingled with warm wood floors and leather couches—the whole place sleek, stylish, and beautiful to look at.

Like Dom.

Shea loved the place but it didn’t feel much like Dom’s home. It didn’t tell Shea a thing about the man behind the public façade.

Other than a framed photograph of the team following their 2021 Stanley Cup win, there was nothing of his personal life displayed. No family photos. No trip memorabilia. No junk spread out on the coffee table hinting at what he did in his free time.

It was as impersonal as the apartments the stylists used for their appointments with clients.

Shea got the impression that hockey was Dom’s entire life.

The thought made him sad.

Shea could hear the rise and fall of Dom’s voice in the background, speaking too quietly to hear the words, although the authority in his tone came through as he paced, phone pressed to his ear, anxiety written all over his face.

Shea winced when it hit him that it was a game day and he’d definitely thrown off Dom’s routine.

Shit.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Sooo, who’s the mystery man?” Jordan teased as Dom walked toward his stall, game sticks clutched in his hand.

“No one.” Dom reached for his tape, wincing when his tone came out sharper than he’d intended.

“Hey, uh, sorry, man.” Jordan sounded surprised. “Didn’t mean to, um, bring up something you don’t want to talk about or anything.”

“It’s fine. Just need to focus.” Dom’s gaze never left his stick as he deftly wrapped the tape around the blade, then ripped it from the roll.

Jordan said something else but Dom tuned him out.

He was a nice kid. A good goal scorer and a great teammate. But Dom couldn’t listen to other people’s chatter while he prepped for a game. He needed time to sink into himself, feel centered and ready to play.

He was exhausted and being exhausted led to sloppiness. Which led to stupid mistakes he couldn’t afford.

His coach, the media, and the fanbase were all already up his ass over every mistake he made.

Dom squinted at the tape, eyeing it. No, that was all wrong. He ripped it off the blade, tossing the wad aside, then started again.

The stick was the same brand he’d used throughout his career.

He liked their products and had a good endorsement deal with them.

This model in particular had a perfect open curve, great for lifting the puck to clear the zone or shoot high when he was in close to the net.

It was great for tipping and deflecting as well and although his role on the team had massively changed in the past two seasons, his stick and blade ultimately hadn’t.

He’d tried changing everything last season to get his offense going too.

He’d tested out different models of sticks with varying blades and curves until he thought he was going to drive their equipment guy, Doug, crazy. But Dom always came back to this one.

Fine, call him old school. Stubborn. Stuck in his ways. He liked his routines.

But ultimately, Dom had realized the problem wasn’t his equipment. It was him.

He could still see and think the game at the same speed. His body couldn’t keep up with what he wanted it to do.

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