CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Shea stuck the salad in the refrigerator, then turned to check on Dom. He was still pacing in front of the wall of windows overlooking Lake Ontario.
The past few weeks since his surgery had flown by and although Shea knew Dom was desperate to get back on the ice, he'd been a model—if a little grumpy—patient. He was diligent about his PT and tolerated the restrictions. He didn't like them, but he endured them with little more than some muttered grumbles.
He'd thrown himself into the art history course with a vengeance and while he'd needed help with studying and memorization techniques, he'd been plenty open to suggestions and willing to ask for help.
Shea was incredibly proud of him.
But as much as Dom was chafing to get back on the ice, Shea didn't think that was why Dom was so anxious this evening.
He walked over and wrapped his arms around Dom's waist, pressing his cheek to his hair. "Hey, are you okay?"
"No." Dom threaded their fingers together and pulled Shea's arms tighter around him. "Should we have met my dad for dinner at a restaurant rather than having him come here?"
"You wanted privacy to talk to him," Shea reminded him.
Dom slumped against his chest. "True."
"Hey," Shea said softly. "I know how fucking scary this is. Maybe not to the same degree, but I've been where you are. I know how anxious I got the first time I saw my parents after years of estrangement. Just remember, if it goes badly, we'll ask him to leave."
"True." Dom dragged in a deep breath and Shea could feel the tension leave his body as he let the air out slowly. "Thank you."
"I've got your back," he whispered and Dom turned in his arms.
"I know that. Shea … I honestly don't know how I would have made it through the past few months without you. And I don't mean the PR stuff or the surgery. Everything. I couldn't have—"
"You could have," Shea told him. "But I am glad you let me be here for you, Dom. I—I care about you so much."
"I care about you too." Dom brushed their lips together. "And I wish I was better at saying that."
"Hey," Shea said, smoothing his hair off his face. "I knew what I was getting into. I know why none of this comes easy for you. I can be patient."
"Yeah, but …" Dom swallowed. "I want—"
Dom's phone buzzed in his pocket.
"Fuck! That's probably him. We'll talk more later?"
"Yeah." Shea pressed his lips to Dom's forehead and let them linger. "I'll be here. Whenever you need me."
Dom's throat felt thick as he rode the elevator to the first floor.
At first, when Dom had broached the idea of inviting his father over for dinner, Shea had asked if he should leave. He'd offered to go do something with one of his friends while Dom talked to his father.
But Dom had immediately rejected that idea. He'd wanted Shea there. A little bit as a buffer and as emotional support, but mostly because he wanted his father to meet Shea.
And that said everything about how Dom felt about Shea, didn't it?
Dom sighed. For weeks, he'd wanted to tell Shea that, wanted to talk about what this all meant. He'd planned to wait until after the season was over. After the PR shit was over.
But since Dom's surgery, he'd felt Shea looking at him sometimes, like he was waiting for Dom to say something. And when he didn't, he'd turned away and looked almost sad.
The last thing Dom wanted was to hurt Shea in any way.
He believed Shea when he said that he could be patient. That he understood Dom. But that didn't mean Dom was doing enough for him. That didn't mean Shea didn't deserve more of him.
So although Dom would have liked to keep on the way they were going without ever saying the words aloud, he knew he needed to tell him how he felt. Needed to tell Shea that he was everything Dom needed and wanted. That Dom's life was better with him in it.
And Dom's only regret was that it had taken a PR disaster to get them to this point.
He couldn't wait any longer. He needed to step up and be the man Shea deserved.
Dom had talked about it all with Ronnie at his latest therapy session and his first step was facing his father head-on and dealing with his entire fucked-up family situation.
He couldn't keep ignoring it.
The elevator dinged and when the doors parted, they revealed a handsome, silver-haired man pacing the lobby. He glanced up and the look of relief on his face said everything.
He'd missed Dom.
And Dom's throat went thick because it hit him how much he'd missed his father too. As angry as he'd been, as complicated as their relationship was, Dom had missed him.
Kurt Olson hadn't changed a whole lot. He was still fit and muscular and had a small limp from an ankle injury that had never healed quite right.
He stilled as Dom approached.
"Dom," he said hesitantly, reaching out, then letting his hand fall to his side.
"Dad. You look well." Though there were a lot more lines on his face than the last time Dom had seen him.
Kurt smiled. "You too. You look more like your mother every year."
How would you know? Dom thought. You haven't seen either of us in twenty years.
But saying that aloud wouldn't help. "How was the drive here?" he asked instead, turning toward the elevators.
"Oh, fine," Kurt replied. "Traffic wasn't bad until I hit Toronto."
They made awkward small talk on the ride up to the eleventh floor, then down the corridor to the condo.
Shea was in the kitchen, arranging some of the appetizers. He had cooked most of the dinner while Dom had used his rather limited skills to help. Dessert was from their favorite bakery.
Shea looked like he belonged there and Dom was hit with the sudden thought that he never wanted Shea to leave. He wanted to ask Shea to move in for good. Stay forever. Never leave him.
Shea turned to face them, his gaze immediately going to Dom's face. Probably checking in to be sure he was okay.
"Dad." Dom cleared his throat. "Dad, this is my boyfriend, Shea Barnett. Shea, this is my father, Kurt Olson."
Shea smiled and held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."
"Call me Kurt, please."
"Would you like anything to drink?" Shea offered.
They settled on wine and Dom uncorked the bottle, grateful to have something to do. He poured glasses for the three of them, then drank half of his in a single gulp.
Shea stepped closer, brushing his hand along Dom's back in a gesture of support.
Dom leaned into the touch and wondered if it was too late to cancel the whole evening. He could hash out his past with his father or tell the man he loved how much he appreciated everything he had done for him. Everything he continued to do.
Between the two, it was a pretty easy choice.
But no, Dom had promised himself, Ronnie, and Shea that he could do this. And he would, even if it killed him.
Fucking therapy.
Dom was so tired of dealing with his feelings. It had been so much easier to ignore the damn things.
But ignoring them had led to him hurting Christian, hurting his friends, and remaining estranged from his family. If Dom had any hope of keeping Shea in his life, he had to keep trying.
"So, you're a stylist for an image consulting company?" Kurt asked Shea as they took seats on the living room sectional, appetizers spread out on the coffee table.
"I used to be, yes," Shea said, clearing his throat. "But I did that job to put myself through school. I'm a physiotherapist now."
Select Image Consulting had quietly let Shea go.
Shea had said it was no real loss, since he didn't need the money and since Dom was his only client, he could easily pick out clothes for Dom as long as Dom wanted him to continue, but it was definitely the end of an era for him.
It was one more reason Dom knew he needed to have a conversation with Shea about their future. About how he felt and what he wanted.
"How'd you get into physiotherapy?" Kurt asked. "You used to be a hockey player, right?"
Shea nodded and told him about his injuries and recovery.
While they talked, Dom watched them interact.
There was no point in Dom's life at which he'd ever expected to find himself in this situation.
From the moment he'd realized he didn't like girls the way his teammates did, to the day he'd hired Shea, the thought of Kurt Olson making polite conversation with the man Dom was openly living with seemed unfathomable.
Hell, it had seemed unfathomable a few months ago.
But this felt right .
When Shea laughed at something his father said and patted Dom's thigh, Dom reached out and threaded their fingers together.
He did it staring into his father's eyes, daring him to say something. Daring him to make a big deal of it.
But all he did was smile a little and keep talking.
Dom didn't know what the fuck to make of that.
He'd grown up to slurs being thrown around casually by Kurt and his teammates. All of the men Dom had looked up to had said them. Hell, Dom had said them. He'd had to, fearing that if he didn't, they'd realize he was exactly like the people they mocked.
And then Dom wondered how many teammates of his had been hiding something too, terrified and ashamed of who they were.
Hiding who they were. Who they loved.
Dom had grown up embarrassed and afraid of anyone finding out he was gay, all while his own goddamn father had fucked men and cheated on his wife with them and there were so many levels of fucked up there that Dom couldn't breathe for a moment.
"Baby?" Shea said, cupping his cheek.
Dom blinked.
Shea stood over him and his father was in the kitchen, pouring himself another glass of wine. Probably trying to give them a moment of privacy.
"Yeah?" Dom said hoarsely.
"You okay?"
Dom cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh, just got lost in my thoughts for a minute there."
"Okay." Shea didn't look entirely convinced but he held out a hand. "Dinner's out of the oven. Are you ready to eat?"
"Sure," Dom said, letting Shea pull him to his feet. He left his barely touched appetizer plate on the coffee table but grabbed his wineglass.
He had a feeling he was going to need it tonight.
Kurt Olson was charming.
It didn't surprise Shea, because Dom could be very charming when he tried but Kurt was more personable and seemed less closed-off.
He was good at making Shea laugh and had complimented him several times on his cooking.
Shea wasn't sure if he liked him.
Partly because Dom seemed very off .
His cheeks were flushed—possibly from the wine—and he laughed and joked as they all traded stories. Kurt regaled them with tales of his days in the NHL and Dom did too but there was something forced about it.
Something weird .
Dom's eyes were bright and his laughter came easily, but it took Shea a while to understand why it felt wrong.
He finally realized it was because this was the Dom that the public saw.
Not the Dom he was when the two of them were alone or who Dom was with his team and the SAPs. He'd seemed more relaxed and natural in Audra and Shea's kitchen when he barely knew her.
Dom was putting on a show right now and Shea's heart ached that Dom felt so disconnected from his father that he felt he had to.
For what it was worth, Kurt's desire to reconnect with his son seemed genuine. Shea didn't think there were any ulterior motives there.
After the moment in the living room where Dom had gone silent and still, his gaze totally blank and distant, Shea had been ready to call the whole thing off. To ask Kurt to leave and never come back.
He'd started to, but Kurt had cut him off, frowning worriedly at his son as he quietly said, ‘I just want a chance to explain. Not for my sake, but for Dom's,' so Shea had closed his mouth and nodded.
He didn't know what would come of tonight or where father and son would go from here. But if there was a chance this would help Dom in any way, Shea didn't want to deny him that.
And if Dom didn't want to see his father again, he wouldn't have to. Shea would support whatever choice he made.
"So your recovery is going well?" Kurt pressed.
"Yes." Dom took another sip of wine. "They were able to treat the aneurysm and I should be cleared for play in a few weeks."
"That's great. The team is in a solid spot right now."
"Yeah." A genuine smile crossed Dom's face. "Yeah, it's a good group."
"How do you like playing for Gilly?"
Dom snorted. "We have a little bit of a love-hate relationship."
"Because he benched you?"
"No." Dom scoffed. "Because he was taking shit out on the team that he shouldn't have."
By the time dinner was over, the conversation segued into talk about the team's power play and what the lineup would look like as they headed into the post-season.
Toronto had snagged a playoff spot early and they were in a solid position now.
Shea fell silent after a while, watching father and son debate the merits of various power play strategies.
Kurt was in favor of a 1-2-2 strategy—not a big surprised since it had been popular in his era—while Dom argued that Toronto's 1-3-1 was more effective.
While Shea cut slices of cake, he watched them use salt and pepper shakers and flatware to set up their power plays and debate their point.
As Shea watched them, heads bent together as they moved pieces around and argued, Shea got a flash of what their relationship must have been like when they were younger.
Shea could see the matching stubbornness in both their jaws as they debated, but there was laughter too and little flashes of real connection.
He could see that they were both trying, both wanting to bridge that divide. Shea hoped, for Dom's sake, that they were able to accomplish that.
Maybe Kurt was right. Maybe Dom did need this.