Page 73 of Friendzone Hockey
Chapter
Fifteen
THEN
Third Off-Season - August Con’t
Stacey
Your loyalty is with him first and me second.
There are a great many things I can’t get out of my head, but that one’s a fucking earworm. It eats at me, corroding away all the reasons I claimed to need Travis for in the first place.
I’m closing the bar, and I pour some scotch for me and Travis. The good stuff. He’s always fine with me having a little of the good stuff.
“Uh-oh. What’s this?” he says, walking into the bar from the kitchen.
“It’s good. It’s … look, I know I’m no expert, but it’s been over three years. Dash has been,” I search for a word, “stable.”
“Until he’s not.”
That bites. It’s not promising. I flounder for what to say. “Just like the rest of us, Trav.”
He thinks about that.
“The rest of us haven’t been through what he’s been through.”
“That’s true. We’ve been through other things, though.”
“I hope you’re not implying that what my son went through exists in any realm close to the rest of us.”
“I’d never, Travis,” I say, carefully. Travis is a level-headed guy unless it’s to do with Dash. Then he’s touchy as fuck. “I’m just trying to say?—”
“What are you trying to say?” There’s the slightest undertone of threat there. Only a bit. He’s worked up and once he calms down, he’ll be apologizing. I didn’t expect that this conversation was gonna be easy.
“Dash doesn’t like me coming to you about him when it’s … personal. I can’t do it anymore.” There, I said it. But it costs me. My jittery body joins forces with anxiety. Please say I haven’t just ruined my relationship with Travis. The man’s no longer just my boss or Dash’s dad. He’s become somewhat of a father figure to me. I don’t know what I’d do if he rejected me.
I desperately don’t want that, but Dash comes first. Period. I’m a fucking ass for not seeing that before and no way will I ever let him think he’s not my top priority. I’ve reached the other end of the spectrum somehow—I’m not his mentor anymore, we’re friends. Best friends. Dash tried to get that through my thick skull before, I was too stubborn to listen.
Everything Travis wants to say runs across his face, but he doesn’t say any of it. What I haven’t said explicitly registers: I can’t be Dash’s faux counselor anymore. It worked when we weren’t friends.
“Then he’s going to a professional of some kind, even if I have to make him.”
As if on cue, Dash walks into the bar from the kitchen. He’s got his backpack with him, ready to go home.
Home with me.
He looks between us. “What’s going on?”
Travis’s glare doesn’t leave me. “You’re going to a counselor, Dash. Once a week until they’re satisfied. Hell, until I’m satisfied, too.”
I wait for the explosion. It doesn’t come. His eyes flick between us as if he’s catching up on the conversation we had.
“Sure, Dad. But can I make a request?”
He hums his approval.
“Once the counselor says I’m okay, can we end the conservatorship?”
