Page 13 of Friendzone Hockey
“How could I believe that about Dad? Dad’s, well, scary sometimes, honestly, but he’s also the guy who saves tired honeybees.”
Trav does. I’ve never learned so much about our dwindling bee population. He’s run into the bar numerous times, yelling for someone to get him sugar water, stat. He feeds it to the struggling Apis mellifera—learned that from Travis—until the little creature flies away to hopefully live out the rest of its best honey-gathering life.
“You were a kid. We’re still kids.”
He nods. “I’m telling myself that until I know it’s true, but I’m not there yet, and I feel like a dick.” He swirls his empty glass. “Another one, bartender?”
I take the empty glass and get to work on another virgin paloma.
“I’m angry, too, and I lash out. He doesn’t deserve that. He should have a better son.”
“Maybe he could.” I pretend to think about it.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to say shit like that.”
“What am I supposed to say, hmm?” I lift a brow. Waiting.
“That … that he loves me no matter what. That he’ll forgive me. That there’s nothing I can do to make him not want me.”
“Mhm. And how do you know that?” It’s one thing to say something, but finding evidence of a claim is the real power.
“Because he’s helicopter parenting an eighteen-year-old. Because it must fucking suck to share a one-bedroom apartment with your grown-up son, but he’s putting up with it anyway. No, scratch that, he’s not just putting up with it, he refuses to let me leave.”
“There you go.”
His jaw drops. “How did you do that? You sure you’re not an undercover therapist my dad hired to sneak therapy into me? I think I actually believe what I just said.”
“I think somewhere inside of you, you know I won’t let you believe a lie, even if it’s a nice lie.”
“Yeah.” He fiddles with his hands.
“And that thought’s gonna return, Dashie, but now you have a new story to replace the old one with. That’s your homework. When that awful thought creeps in, remind yourself of the truth.”
“I’ll do it, but did you just call me Dashie?” He raises a brow.
“I … I, uh …” Fuck. It’s hot in here. Why’s it so fucking hot in here? “Isn’t that what your dad and Dirk call you?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
Why is he noticing shit like that when I do it? Fuck, though. I’m so busted. It’s still a term of endearment. Was that okay?
“I give nicknames to everyone,” I add for good measure.
“Sure, you do.”
“I do.” He’s not buying it, and not only will I be fired, but Trav is gonna put my head on a pike outside as a warning to anyone who inadvertently flirts with his son.
Dash takes mercy on me, turning his attention away from my slip. “I know my dad’s over there watching us. You think he’d mind if I hugged him?”
“I think it would make his damn day.”
“He doesn’t seem like the hugging kind of guy, and I … I kinda need…”
I still have imprints from his fingers digging into my shirt the other day. Dash is touched-starved as fuck.
“He’ll be elated, Dash.”
“M’kay.”
