Page 103 of Friendzone Hockey
It’s one of the best nights of my life, but as it leaves, merging into the twilight before the dawn that will become tomorrow, I can’t help the constricting sadness around my heart. I can’t help already missing this era of our lives.
The next night as we’re winding down from dinner, I get the news via a text.
“Holy shit. Coach Cannon had a heart attack. He’s gone.” I stare at the words on my phone. If I stare long enough, they’ll rearrange themselves to say something else. Or maybe the rest of the message still hasn’t come through. It’s an awful prank. It’s gotta be.
“Fuck, Stace. I’m so sorry,” Dash says when I break the news to all of them. I don’t think I’ll ever forget this moment. The kitchen window’s open, letting the night air prickle my arm hairs, lifting our weird curtains with the space cowboys on them.
All the lights in the house must be on. It’s too bright in here, but it’s not bright enough to combat the darkness, threatening to snuff me out.
“He was your coach, too,” I say softly. In a voice I don’t recognize.
Everyone exchanges a look. It’s about me.
“What?”
“Can I take this, guys? I feel like I should take this,” Dash says. I don’t have time to figure out what that means. Dash takes me by the biceps and drags me to my room. I let him guide me onto the bed. I look around, but I’m not seeing anything. Apparently, I don’t need to. Dash sees through me. Dash sees me. “He became a mentor to you.”
I nod. At least, I think I do. I’m telling my head to nod, but I can’t feel anything. A hand pushes against my chest. I fall into the puffy duvet like I’m Alice falling into Wonderland. I landwith a muted thud. “It’s not like I knew him better than anyone else.”
Fingers dip under the cuff of my socks, igniting tingles, peeling them off. Dash doesn’t think socks should be worn in bed.
“Otherwise, how do you slide them against the sheets?” he’d said. “Or over someone.”
Thinking about the suggestive look on his face when he said that has me reaching for him.
There’s a chuckle. “Just a second, big guy.”
He tries to drag me up the bed by pushing under my armpits. I don’t budge. Instead, I grip his shirt and pull him on top of me.
And close my eyes.
It’s as if he knows he should be quiet. He doesn’t say a word, letting my hand slide over his cotton T-shirt, stopping when I find what I’m looking for.
Thump! Thump!
Heartbeat. Dash’s heartbeat. The heartbeat of my world.
It thrums under my hand, and I can breathe again. My eyes sting behind my eyelids.
“Aw, Stace. I hate seeing you like this,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no. No sorries. I can handle it.” He puts his hand over the one I have on top of his heart. “C’mon. Tell me about it. I won’t tell a soul.”
“I looked up to him,” I admit as if it’s some great secret. It’s about all I can say while a hundred memories of Coach play out for me. “He shouldn’t have died so young.”
“Agreed. It’s not right.”
I don’t say anything after that, but I don’t need to. Dash gets it. He gets me. He lets me cry and he lets me keep my hand where it is.
I’m not myself for the rest of the summer. I put my plans to do anything with Dash on hold—I don’t want to start anything with him while I’m feeling like this. I urge him to go out with the others even when I’m not interested. Sometimes he stays, but other times he doesn’t. I pick up extra shifts and work through my grief. Dash and I get into stupid fights about nothing—we call them nothing fights at the house—and I ask for space because I don’t have the energy to fight with him. He doesn’t listen, of course. Dash can be a real brat when he has a mind to be. He likes picking fights sometimes. It’s his way of testing that the people in his life are gonna stick around. But this has a different flavor.
Almost like, well, almost like he’s worried I’m checking out.Is this how it started with his mom?
He’s sitting at the kitchen island, pretending to eat a muffin, eyes flicking to me every now and then. I forced myself to come out here. What I really wanna do is rot on my bed, scrolling for dopamine, but it’s my only day off, and it’s best I make an appearance before the crew stages an intervention.
I’ll be fine. I will.
