Page 4 of The Waiting Game

Jonah raised a single black eyebrow. “What do you think? Looking for you.”

“You don’t have to check up on me.” Felix pushed with his foot, making the hammock sway, though he made no move to get out of it.

“‘Course I do.” Jonah crossed his arms over his chest.

“I don’t need a keeper! I promise, I don’t have any bottles of booze

stashed up here if that’s what you’re worried about,” Felix snarled.

That came out much harsher than he intended and he opened his mouth to apologize for snapping at his best friend, but Jonah just rolled his eyes.

“Never thought you did.” He pushed at Felix’s hip, making the hammock sway more vigorously. “Shove over.”

Felix grumbled but did it, shifting to let Jonah sit next to him. Jonah kicked off his shoes, swinging his legs up next to Felix’s arm.

“Your feet stink,” Felix muttered.

Jonah poked at his cheek with his socked toes. “Do not. I showered after the game.”

“Doesn’t mean your feet don’t stink.”

They squabbled for a minute before they settled into a more comfortable position, gravity forcing them together so Jonah’s body was long and warm next to Felix’s.

“Tough game?” Jonah asked when the hammock began to slow to a gentle sway.

“You tell me. You’re the one turning into a bruiser.”

Jonah snorted. “Something like that.”

Their hockey team, the Toronto Fisher Cats, had barely squeaked in a win tonight and Jonah’s time in the penalty box certainly hadn’t helped the situation.

“You don’t have to keep fighting my battles, you know.”

Jonah tucked his hands under his head, his white dress shirt straining across his biceps. “Well, someone’s got to. You shouldn’t have to take that shit.”

“I appreciate you having my back but you’re taking a bunch of unnecessary penalties,” Felix pointed out. “Which the team doesn’t fucking need. We don’t have the PK unit this year to handle that shit.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Jonah shifted to rub a hand across his face. “It’s a mess. This team is a mess this season. I seriously doubt we’ll even make it into a wild card spot this year.”

“Well …”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself.” Jonah sat up, making the hammock sway dangerously again.

“Well, I was the one who fucking had to do a ninety-day program and left us short a D-man.”

“It wasn’t your fault any more than it was Nico’s fault he had a brain tumor.”

“He didn’t get drunk and then get in his fucking car,” Felix pointed out.

“No, but he ignored the symptoms for like six fucking months.”

“Like I ignored the problems in my life until they blew up in my face,” Felix muttered.

Jonah made an annoyed sound. “Look, I’m not trying to lay blame on you or Nico. What I’m saying is shit happens.”

“This shit shouldn’t have happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t have. But this is where we are now. We’re barely clinging to a wild card spot this year. But no one blames you, man.”

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