CHAPTER ELEVEN

"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.

"Aiming for GM someday, right?" Dom asked. He'd heard that rumor floating around a few times.

"For a start. But we'll see. Whatever I do, I intend to change hockey culture."

The flex of Murphy's jaw and the steely note in his voice made Dom's eyebrows rise at his passion for the subject.

"I think you and La Bouche did quite a bit already," Dom pointed out.

Noah Boucher's coming out had broken the NHL open and Zane Murphy's relationship with his teammate, Ryan Hartinger, had set the tone for what was to come in the league.

"We did," Murphy said. "But it's not enough."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Increasing the presence of LGBTQ+, minority, and women's voices in head offices, on benches, and on rosters."

Dom whistled under his breath. "You don't aim small."

"You don't win the Stanley Cup by aiming for the Prince of Wales trophy," Murphy pointed out.

Dom nodded. "Fair enough." It was only a step along the way.

"What about you? This is your final season, right? Any plans for retirement?"

Dom's stomach twisted at the question. "No plans," he said. "I'm not sure what I want to do."

"Do you think you'll stay in Toronto?"

Dom hesitated. Truthfully, he'd never thought about it. Thinking about his future after hockey made it feel too real. "Probably," he said.

He couldn't imagine being anywhere else. He thought of moving, ending things with Shea, and he felt dread crawl into the pit of his stomach, a sudden, heavy weight.

"Any thoughts of head office positions?" Murphy asked.

"Ahh, no," Dom said. "I'd never …"

He let the words sink in. "Why? You think I should?" he asked, glancing over at Murphy. Was Murphy head-hunting him for a position in Evanston or was this something else?

"Everyone in the league speaks highly of your hockey knowledge and your leadership in Toronto's locker room."

"I've only been trying to keep the younger players out of trouble," he protested.

He dodged around a couple of kids running by, a sudden tingling sensation streaking down the side of his leg. He bit his tongue to keep from swearing.

"Hey, that's important." Zane huffed out a laugh. "We all know what a shitshow my locker room was at the end there."

Dom winced.

In Murphy's final season, a portion of the team and Wade Cannon—the agent Dustin and Murphy shared—had exposed Evanston player Jack Malone as an abuser. He'd been beating his wife and it also came out that he'd harassed various women within the organization, all of it covered up by a corrupt owner and GM.

Thankfully, things in Evanston were running more smoothly with new leadership. The owners of Prescott Helmets had bought the team, but it had still been quite the nightmare for the organization and the league for a while.

"Malone is in prison now though, right?" Dom asked.

"Yes. And hopefully he'll stay there for a damn long time."

"What a piece of shit he turned out to be," Dom said quietly.

"Yes." Murphy nodded. "I'm not sure I'll ever quite forgive myself for not realizing what was happening right under my nose."

"People are good at hiding who they really are," Dom said, staring at the carpet in front of him.

"That's true," Murphy said slowly. "Both the good and the bad, I think."

"Maybe."

"There have been some big changes for you guys the past couple of seasons too, huh?" Murphy said after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah, definitely," Dom agreed. "Shifting from being coached by Casey to Gilly has been … interesting."

Murphy laughed softly. "I would imagine. Although I meant more the number of teammates you have coming out."

"Yeah, we have a good culture around that though. The guys who wanted to come out have always known they could if they chose to."

"No issues in the locker room?"

Dom shook his head. "Nah. I mean, the usual petty bullshit and the occasional guy with his head up his ass"—namely Dom himself being a dick to Matty about Antoni, though it hadn't been about Matty coming out—"but overall, it's been pretty smooth. I think we've had a few AHL prospects who weren't so happy with it but they know by now that if they want a spot on the roster, they should play nice."

"Sure, that makes sense," Murphy said. "I think Evanston is pretty similar."

They spoke a little more about the team, how Evanston was trying to rebuild their roster, what a great addition Shane Hurst had been to the team, and how long it would be before Evanston was a solid Cup contender again.

By the time the second period was about to start, they'd made a couple of loops around the arena, and Murphy paused. "Well, I'll let you head back in, but thanks for chatting with me."

"Sure," Dom said, still a little confused about what the purpose of the conversation had been.

Murphy shrugged, smiling, as if he could read Dom's uncertainty.

"I like to touch base with players when I get a chance. See if anyone needs to connect with resources that can help them."

"Do you look out for the whole league?" Dom asked, amused by the idea. It was like Dustin, but on steroids.

"As much as I'm able. Sometimes the transition to retirement is hard or people need someone to talk to. Besides, I was an NHLPA rep like Fowler. I guess I have a hard time letting that go now that I'm retired."

"Sure, makes sense. We've got it covered in Toronto though," Dom assured him.

He had one nosy captain; he didn't need another former captain worrying about him.

Murphy pulled a pen out and scribbled something on the back of a business card. "So, my work number is on the front and my personal number is on the back. If you ever want to reach out to talk about anything, I'm available. Retirement, your future career, or anything else , you reach out to whichever number you want. Whatever feels most comfortable."

"Thanks?" Dom said, taking it and trying to work out what Murphy was telling him. They were having a spoken conversation and an unspoken one and he wasn't sure what the unspoken one was about.

But whether it was the pain making his thoughts hazy and difficult to focus on or something else, he wasn't sure.

Murphy clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You've got a great team, so I know you have people to talk to there. But I'm here if you ever need to speak to someone outside of that. About anything ."

"Thanks." Dom said goodbye robotically, shaking Murphy's hand and wishing him well.

But as he watched the remainder of the game, he felt like some part of himself remained frozen, his hand clasped in Murphy's, trying to find the words to say thank you for something he didn't even fully understand.