Page 9 of Friendzone Hockey
Jack Leslie is my brother’s bestie. I’m friends with him too, but not like Casey is. And I love Jack to death, but knowing it would be Casey and Jack dragging him to a pool hall doesn’t bring me comfort.
“Seventy-five percent of the trouble you get into is with Jack. No.”
But Casey’s right. Dirk and Travis are a bit suffocating. I might not know the details, but Dash needs room to breathe from those two.
There’s yelling to my right. Dash storms into the empty restaurant from the kitchen, brow furrowed, body as tense as a coiled spring. Travis isn’t too far behind.
He keeps his voice low. “Get back upstairs.”
“No,” Dash bites back through grit teeth like it’s taking all his willpower to restrain himself.
“Don’t make me carry you.”
That’s when Dash knows it’s game over for him. The gorgeous anger blazing in his eyes blinks from existence, replaced by sagging limbs and a deflated posture. What’s going through his head?
“How long, Dad? How long’s that gonna work unless you tie me up, or chain me to something? You gonna do what he did?”
Whathedid. I’ve learned his name. Robin. Robin better hope that I never find him.
Travis hesitates. That’s enough to give anyone pause. So, I don’t know what possesses me. Just that things run through my mind. Things like Dash leaving for good, things like his mom’s ex-boyfriend coming for him, things like never seeing the sun again.
Before sense and logic can prevail, I’ve got Dash over my shoulder. I’m bigger than he is, and I’m a seasoned hockey player, so it’s not hard. Fists slam my back. I ignore them. Even climbing the stairs is easy, with the fear that he’s gonna run pumping through my veins.
I toss him onto Travis’s couch. It might also be Dash’s bed. Sunlight’s trying to bust through the broken blinds. There’s a lot of wood—the floors, the cupboards, the worn coffee table. The only sign of life in this place is the sofa where Dash’s belongings are strewn. Unless Travis is a Nickelback fan, which I doubt.
Crossing my arms, I stand over Dash, daring him to bolt.
“I wasn’t … I wasn’t actually gonna do it.” I raise a brow. He looks at his hands. “Fine, I was, but I just need a little space and no one’s giving it to me because they all think I’ll break apart.”
He says that last part louder, eyeing the space behind me. Travis and Dirk have come up the stairs, waiting like wolves, ready to pounce.
“I told you, go to one therapy session a week, just one, and I’ll let up,” Travis says.
I turn toward Dash. His lower lip trembles and his hands move everywhere, unable to settle—rubbing his arm, into his other palm, over his thighs.
“I’ve tried it. They make me talk about things I’m not ready to talk about. They want me on medication that makes me feel dizzy—I can’t play hockey like that—and I just … I don’t fucking want to, okay?”
I grip my chest where it hurts. How did I become the mediator? I’d protect him from the world if I could.
Maybe I can.
“Would you talk to me? When you’re ready, of course. I’m not a professional, but I’m good at listening without judgment.”
I’ve heard of people who can’t open up to therapists. Dash might be like that. If that’s the case, I’m better than nothing.
“Is that okay with you, Dad?” Dash says. The “dad” has tone behind it that I can’t make sense of. Dash is almost nineteen. Almost considered an adult in Canada. And Travis isn’t the strict parent kind of guy.
I turn to Travis, seeing if I can read him, but I get nothing. “It’s fine with me. Stacey’s good salt.”
“Bet you wish you had a son like him, huh?” Dash says. And while I can hear the mild bitter notes, behind it is a cavern of need—the need for reassurance. Dash might be angry with his dad for reasons I can’t fathom, but he needs to know his dad loves him.
“Stacey’s alright, but I already got one, and I wouldn’t trade him for anything,” Travis says in that earnest voice of his that could make a vat of tar grow feelings.
Dash’s eyes well up, and he puts his hands over his face. “I hate … can everyone just leave me alone for a fucking minute?”
Here it is. The crack. And it’s a big fucking crack. One large enough for him to slip through.
He can’t be left alone. I get it now. Why Travis and Dirk shadow him.
