Page 14 of Friendzone Hockey
I lean against the counter on the bar well side and watch. Dash patters over to his dad, running hands through his hair, rubbing a hand over his wrist—all self-soothing gestures.
C’mon, Travis. Take the hint. Take the hint and hug your boy.
As if I willed it into being, Travis opens his arms, Dash slips into them, the instant relief plain in his saggy limbs. Travis holds him in a vice grip, and our gazes meet across the empty bar.
Later, Travis gives my brother and me a raise.
Chapter
Two
NOW
Dash
There’s a bright yellow Hummer in our driveway. Even if you were wearing a blindfold in the fog, you’d still see it from space. Is there fog in space? Anyway, you’d see it. Maybe it’s Sutter’s. He’s the only one I can think of who’d own one, let alone have the fucking audacity to own one while living in the city. No one drives Hummers in the city because there’s nowhere to park vehicles this big, and they’re terrible on gas. But Casey and Sutter should be long gone to camp by now, so whose is it?
Guess I’m about to find out.
That I can actually get into the house without knocking confirms that Casey and Sutter got out of here like they were supposed to. Sutter insisted we needed what he calls inside locks. We all knew it was because he didn’t feel safe leaving Casey here with one standard door lock, so we let him do it. Casey deserves to have someone dote on him like that. But itmeans having someone let you in when the others are home, even when you have your key with you.
Inside, the house is quiet. The light in the kitchen’s on and what the…? Did an army of toddlers raid the place? Open bags of chips and cookies are everywhere. Chairs are strewn sideways and upside down. The damn tap’s running.
My kicks crunch over crumbs on my way to the sink. I turn it off and listen. There’s a loud bang-crash from Stacey’s room. As far as I know, Stacey’s not here … or is he? Oh, god. Are we being robbed?
We keep a bat by the fridge, which Sutter lined with barbed wire no matter how many times Casey and I told him how unnecessary that was since there isn’t going to be a zombie apocalypse, and he’s not Neegan from the Walking Dead. Now I’m kinda glad for his foresight.
Creeping down the hallway, I’m the definition of stealth. There’s another crash-bang, this time it’s followed by laughter.
I don’t know that laugh.
“That’s it, sweetheart, put it in his hole, nice and slow.”
But fuck, I know that voice. I’d know it anywhere, half dead.
Stacey. Did he just call someone sweetheart? It’s not that Stacey only calls me sweetheart, but if he’s gonna call one of us sweetheart, it’s usually me. He never calls outsiders sweetheart.
Never.
So, does that mean he’s with one of us? Clearly, he’s with two people. A stranger and maybe one of us. Dirk’s the only possibility. Is Dirk hooking up with Stacey right now?
A not-so-unfamiliar feeling creeps over me. Stacey is one of my best friends. In the seven years we’ve been friends, we’ve become close in ways I’m not with the others, and I want him to be happy. Meet someone meant for him in every way—like I have with Syd. But I get, I dunno, would it be called protective? A tad possessive? My back gets up, okay? My defense system rocketsto high alert, and I watch his potential lovers with acuity, even though I couldn’t tell you what I was looking for.
I need to approve whoever it is. Stacey deserves someone special.
He's special.
But anyway, if he is hooking up with Dirk and calling him sweetheart, I shouldn’t have anything to worry about. I’m just surprised is all.
But.
But.
Fuck.
The idea that it could be Dirk in there, getting called sweetheart while doing unspeakable things to Stacey layers the familiar feeling with?—
Okay, fine.
