Page 102 of Friendzone Hockey
I wrap my arms around him, trapping him against me, just in case he gets the outlandish idea that he’s going anywhere.
“Same as them, when I’m thirty.” Though I have my sights on much sooner.
“So, I’ll be twenty-nine. Works for me.” He makes himself comfortable, shimmying his ass into the sand, leaning his head onto my shoulder. His hair tickles my neck and the underside of my chin.
I run gentle fingers through his hair. I know it’s a silly thing, planning your back up, but I’m not ready to stop talking about it yet. “Other terms?”
“Matching tattoos.”
Wasn’t expecting that.
“Are wethatcouple?” I ask.
“We sure fucking are. If you’re mine, everybody’s gonna know it from here to the moon.” He closes his eyes, and I try to recover from the bolt of lightning that just went through me. Is he being for real? “What are your terms?”
That he never leaves my sight, but I know that’s unrealistic.
“We don’t leave the other—even if it’s just to walk into the store for five minutes—without saying I love you.”
“It’s funny that you think I’d let you walk into a store without me, Alderchuck. If you marry me, you do it knowing exactly how needy I am. Say goodbye to your independence.”
“Never needed my independence anyway. But what if I’m playing for Vancouver—so I can buy you unlimited fancy coffees—and you’re playing for Kelowna?”
I love it. I love talking about this so much. My heart swells with the most hope it’s ever had.
“I-I don’t know.” His breath hitches. “I’ve been thinking about it since this morning. Remember when you left me that one season?”
“I didn’t leave you. I went to play hockey.”
“Potato, potahto. That was hard, but now we’re…”
“We’re what?”
“Best friends. It would be worse. I’m not sure I could function without you anymore.”
He couldn’t function without me? No. It’s not supposed to be like that. He’s better now. All healed up with maybe a few battle scars like Casey said. “You don’t mean that, Dashie.”
He’s quiet. Might even be pretending not to hear me. I pause the stroking I was doing in his hair.
“Dash.”
“I mean it, Stace, but it’s not as dire as you’re making it sound. Can we please forget what I said? I want to go back to daydreaming.”
I huff a sigh and resume combing my fingers through his hair. I can’t forget it, though. And it’s not even because I’m worried about him, well, not only because. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that, but it is the first time I’ve liked it.
Loved it.
I love that he needs me.
And that’s a lot for me to unpack.
The night spins off into more beer, barbecued kabobs, and laughter. The twinkling stars make for a mystical backdrop to a fireworks show that succeeds—once again—to strike the five of us with awe. But even with summertime magic swirling around us and through us, a little prickle crawls inside me, too. I recognize what it is.
Change.
Change is upon us.
A whisper tells me that our moments like this, just the five of us, are ending. We’re in the midst of the last ones.
