Page 64 of The Blame Game

“Walk with me for a minute, Olson,” Michael Gilbert said as Dom left the visitors’ locker room after practice.

Dom raised an eyebrow at his coach. “Sure.”

After they’d walked a few hundred yards into one of the side hallways, Gilly cleared his throat. “You’re not in the lineup tonight.”

Dom bit back the urge to swear. He’d known this was coming, but he still hated it. “Why?”

“Because your play has been shit lately, you’re distracted, and Dr. Strickland has concerns about your back. Right now, with the way you’re playing, you’re a liability to this team.”

Dom opened his mouth to protest but what could he say? He was. He’d made more stupid errors in the past few weeks than he could count.

“Yes, Gilly,” he said tightly.

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but get it on straight, Olson. Whether it’s your personal life or an injury, you need to get it figured out, you hear me?”

“Yes, Gilly.”

“Good. And if it is an injury, you do what the goddamned doc says, understood?”

“Understood.”

“And keep your fucking name off the gossip sites!”

With that, Dom was dismissed, and he walked to the team bus to return to the hotel, heavy-hearted, his back and thigh aching, and a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He had lunch with the team, took his usual pre-game nap, then dressed in a suit to go to the arena. Every movement was agony, pain radiating down his hip and thigh and making him lightheaded.

Dustin and Matty shot him sympathetic smiles when they saw he wasn’t in the lineup and a few other guys stopped to see how he was doing and how long he might be out.

“Just a back thing,” he said vaguely. “I’ll know more when we’re back in Toronto.”

He stewed as he watched the team play from the press box, wishing he could be down on the ice. The seats in the box were more comfortable than sitting on the bench, but he still hated it, still wanted to be down there helping his team.

Although that was the problem, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t be helping them. In fact, he might play so poorly he cost them a win.

During the first intermission, Dom got up to stretch his legs. He turned a corner and came face to face with Zane Murphy.

“Hey. Good to see you, Olson.”

“Hey.” Dom held out a hand to shake. “Good to see you too, Murphy.”

Dom wouldn’t say he’d ever been close to the former River Otters captain but they’d played on the same team at an All-Star Game a while back and competed against each other at a previous Olympics.

They were friendly in the way that many NHL guys were, with common life experiences that made for an easy shorthand in their interactions.

“Mind if I walk with you?” Murphy asked.

Dom studied his face.

He was a good-looking guy, with dark brown hair and some of the most vibrant blue eyes Dom had ever seen. They were hidden behind glasses now and the new look suited him, gave him an air of maturity and gravity, despite the fact that he was still younger than Dom.

He was dressed in a suit and looked polished, every inch the successful NHL executive he’d be someday.

“Yeah, you’re welcome to join me,” Dom said.

“So, how’ve you been?” Dom asked as they fell into step. “You’re working in the head office here, yeah?”

“Yes.” Murphy smiled.

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