Page 34 of Friendzone Hockey
“It’s hard not to be trapped by that voice,” I say.
He nods. “I believed a lot more stuff Robin said, too. He’d been saying stuff for years. It didn’t start right away. I thought he was a good guy.”
“That makes sense, Dash. It’s like the metaphor about the frog. If you put it in boiling water, it’ll jump out right away, but if the water starts tepid, brought to a boil slowly, he’ll be cooked to death.”
“Uh-huh. It’s really scary, Stace, because…”
“You stopped trusting yourself,” I finish for him.
“Exactly,” he whispers. “I can’t trust anything I think or feel. It’s been better since I met you.”
I smile.
“But it lurks in the background.” He opens his eyes. I’m suddenly aware of how close we are, foreheads still touching. It’s easy to fall into step with Dash.
I jump away, letting go of his swing gently. “Travis said that Robin’s in jail now, awaiting trial,” I say, mostly to calm myself down.
“Yep. All locked away.” He sniffles.
Locked away, but not forgotten.
“For now,” he adds.
“You don’t think they’ll keep him there?”
Dash shrugs. “The lawyers think we have enough evidence, but ultimately, it’s up to the judge and jury.”
Therefore, it’s on his mind. “Do you journal?” I ask him.
“I’ve tried. I have a bunch of little journals I’ve started and stopped.”
“What if I held you to one? Would you be alright with that?”
I finally get a smile from him. It’s watery, but it’s better than the last heart-wrenching ten minutes.
“You giving me homework, Doctor Alderchuck?”
It’s a good thing he said that. Fuck. I need to remember my damn place. I’m here to help him, not get fucking close to him.
“I plan to. Like you said, it’s important what you put after the word ‘I’. I’ll do it with you. We’ll put a lot of good shit after ‘I’ in our journals every night until we believe what we’ve written.”
But hearing all this—fuck me—I’m extra glad for my rules. Thankfully, Robin was unsuccessful, but it sounds like he was hardcore trying to groom Dash, control him. I’m not the predator Robin is, but it’s shades of gray given our situation.
Dash doesn’t like anyone coming into his room, even Dirk has to knock and leave the door open when he’s admitted inside. I stand outside the door, fingering the soft cotton in my hands. Will this be welcomed or will it upset him? Fuck. I should have run this by Dirk, or even Casey, but this feels like something that’s just ours. I’ve had days to do this. Since the park. Instead, I lamented over the idea until I was compelled. Until my footsteps brought me here.
Tired of indecision, I knock with confidence.He’ll love it. I know he’ll love it.
“Dir—oh. Stacey.” He’s in a white tank top and checkered pajama pants. His dark hair’s sticking up all over the place. It’s noon, but we work odd hours at The Wicklow and take naps at will.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Nah, I had to get up soon. Dad wants me there at four.” Dash bounces between calling Travis Dad and Travis. I think he wantsto call him Dad, but he doesn’t think he has any right to at times. “What’s up?”
“I have a confession to make.”
I hand him the sweatshirt with my gut twisting. I don’t want to do anything to hurt him, I promised Travis I’d look after him …
“Miami Vice,” he reads. “This is a Miami Vice sweatshirt.”
