Page 32 of Friendzone Hockey
And I haven’t asked. I could tell that was a no-go topic. He’s more willing to talk about Robin than his mom, and he won’t talk about Robin much, even after a year of us doing our thing—me prying, and him sharing what he’s ready to.
Dash rubs his arm. Soothing—he’s soothing himself. I wanna do it for him. He bites his lip.
“I did the same thing. Put it all off. I wished someone coulda done something like this for me.”
I wish I coulda been the one to do it for him. “Did you keep any of her clothes?”
His head tilts to the ground, the longer pieces of his hair fall across his eyes. I reach out and curl the hair behind his left ear without thinking about it. Pink blooms across his cheeks and he steps back.
Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have done that.
“I did,” he says with sour notes. Does he regret it? I wanna know so badly. Wanna know everything about him, if I’m honest. It feels wrong for another second to go by without us knowing absolutely everything about the other.
What would Mom do?
This is the closest I’ve gotten to the heart of him, and it’s not close enough. I want more of him, deeper connection, closer, closer, nothing between us. His past is a dark barrier separating us. It’s what always will. At some point, I’ll know everything, but it won’t matter. I’m a mentor, I can’t be anything other than a friend.
“Do you like old movies?” I ask.
“Love them.”
“What do you say to a smorgasbord of snacks and an Indiana Jones marathon?”
Ialready know Dash’s favorite movie is the same as mine—Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and that he likes to add gummy bears and M&Ms to his popcorn. I also know Nickelback’s his favorite band, and that he prefers tea to coffee, but he’ll drink coffee and would sell his soul for a good Frappuccino.
But halfway through July, I learn he sleeps with the lights on.
It’s my first real peek into the darkness. My first solid piece of evidence that Dash is someone different when he’s with me and that maybe I haven’t been vigilant enough. It’s the first time icy tingles wash over me, and I understand why Travis is downright controlling at times with Dash.
Because why? Why does he need the lights on? He didn’t want to talk about why.
I said I was fine to donate Mom’s clothes, but it’s two weeks before I do anything about it. Dash is meal prepping, scooping rice into each glass container he’s laid onto the counter. It’s not just me and Dash with a lot in common, it’s the four of us—and Jack—and we’ve intertwined our lives. We’ve pooled our money for meals and take turns putting them together. It’s Dash’s turn in the rotation.
I grab Casey’s hat off the kitchen island and spin it backward, my sun-bleached locks fall to my shoulders. I should cut it, at least a little.
“You wanna come somewhere with me?” I ask on a whim. I hadn’t planned on inviting anyone.
He smiles. Bites his lip. Blinks. Have his lashes always been that long? Dash tilts his head and his pretty brown eyes read my soul. “Love to. Just gotta dump the chicken and peppers in. Oh, and Casey’s mac ‘n’ cheese, or he’ll hunt me down.”
Yeah, we don’t run out of KD in this house. Thank fuck Costco has it on special once a month and we can buy it by the truckload.
“I can load up the car while you do that.”
“No,don’t. Wait for me?”
I might never be able to tell him no.
Somehow, he knows what I’m up to. In the garage, he beelines for the black garbage bags that have been sitting for weeks, waiting to move on from their first life. We load them into the trunk of the car. It’s an anti-climactic venture. They go from the trunk into Value Village’s back storage, atop piles of other people’s donations. The end. But a weight lifts. This is what Mom would have wanted done with her clothes. Maybe they weren’t much, but she loved them. She would have wanted someone else to enjoy them.
I drive with the window down on the way home, with the first full smile I’ve smiled since Mom died.
“I never asked you. What did you keep of your mom’s?”
He doesn’t respond. My eyes flick in his direction. “Shit, Dash. I’m sorry.”
His eyes have glassed over, and he’s batting away the wetness. “No, it’s fine,” he says, his throat clogged with tears. “I actually … well, I wanna tell you. Maybe pull over at the park, though?”
Definitely. His wish is my fucking command. My heart’s racing. I might as well be outrunning a tiger for all it knows.
