Page 114 of Friendzone Hockey
“I know what happened to you. When you were younger.”
The floor falls out from under me. I stop breathing for a full three heartbeats. I would have rather found out he was a serial killer.
“How do you know that?” I grit my teeth.
Syd runs hands through his permanently bedraggled hair, and it somehow makes him even hotter than he was.
He’s a liar, but he’s a hot liar.
“It’s not just you. I have all my bedmates checked out before I get serious with them.”
“Just how many bedmates do you have?” Fuck. Fucking rich people. Because this is so a rich people thing to do. Us lesser folk can’t afford to have the people we wanna date investigated; we have to rely on whatever we can find on the internet.
“None since we’ve been serious, Dash. I swear. Nobody but you in a long time. I meant what I said when I told you I haven’t been this crazy about someone in years.”
“This is so fucked up.” But Syd’s lucky I’m somewhat desensitized to this kind of thing because of Rhett. He had someone follow Jack in secret because he wanted to keep him safe. He tried to do the same with Logan until Logan told him if he didn’t get rid of his silent entourage, he’d carve his nuts off with a spoon.
I suspect Rhett didn’t listen, but none of us have proof.
“I don’t know everything, clearly, or I would never have bought you those roses. Fuck, I promise, no roses will ever enter our home, never again.”
Our home. Right. Because married people live together. The thought of it still gets my stomach heaving. But Rhett and Logan don’t live together. Not technically. I kinda hoped I’d work out a deal like that.
“If I’m being completely honest, I hoped you’d tell me yourself,” he says.
“I didn’t want you to treat me differently.”
“Why would I do that? I know you’ve been to therapy, so I assume you’ve found a way to move past it?”
I didn’t tell him about the therapy thing. What else does he know about me?
“Wh-What if I still have some shitty residue? Then would you treat me differently?”
Syd’s quiet as he considers that. “Do you?”
The answer’s yes, isn’t it? Awesome. “Never mind. Got it.” I chug the delicious tea that he probably brought in bougie Yaletown or something.
He leans closer. “I love you, Dash, and I didn’t know what to do for you in the car. I almost …” He pauses, eyes watching me carefully. “I almost called Stacey.”
It pains him to say Stacey’s name. Guess he figures something’s up with us too.
“Okay, fair. You’d be worried about me all the time. Got it. Good thing my internal scars are all healed up.” I drink more coffee and hope he doesn’t ask any more questions.
“Dash,” he says. “I know that can’t be true. You had a panic attack about roses. You were muttering and mumbling. It took me a few tries to get your attention.”
I check my arms without thinking about it. No scratches. No bite marks. My body sags with relief.
“That hasn’t happened in a long time.” I must seem so crazy to him. I hold his gaze steady, but he doesn’t need to say anything for me to know how long ago the last time was, is irrelevant to him.
“I don’t plan on treating you any differently than my fiancé, and as your concerned fiancé, I’m hoping you’ll consider taking a few days off work, stay with me, maybe tell me a little bit—enough so I don’t make the mistake of picking up a floral arrangement that makes me want to kick my own ass?”
“I would, I mean, I will, but I have a confession of my own and you might not want me here after I tell you.”
He shakes his head. “There’s nothing you could say or do that would make me not want you here. Let’s save further confessions for another day. C’mon, call your dad. Tell him you’d like a few days off.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that what originally was a suggestion has evolved into a gentle order. It’s my brat natureto rally against that, but I tamp down on it. I rarely show that side to Syd. He’s not a big fan. Besides, I’m just too tired. Panic attacks take it out of you.
Only problem is, Dad’s gonna ask why. If I tell Dad the truth, he’ll be here to pick me up himself. Doing what Syd’s asking’s gonna require a lie.
