Page 90 of Friendzone Hockey
A renewed burst of hate for Robin surfaces. He’s the wedge forever between us. Stacey won’t forsake his morals, and I wouldn’t want him to, even if I don’t agree that we fall within their definition anymore. If he knew how much I still need him, how much I’m irrevocably tied to him like the lost puppy that followed him home all those years ago, he’d be backing off anyway. I promise you that.
It’s as it should be. I need to grow the fuck up and move the fuck on.
“You were right earlier, Stace. Syd’s not gonna like our kind of friendship one bit. Things will have to change, but I think we can still make this work. I don’t wanna lose you either. I liked being Mr. Alderchuck for a day.”
He nods. “It wouldn’t have worked out anyway.”
That’s enough to wrinkle my nose. “Why do you figure?” I don’t know why I’m so defensive.
“Our friendship spark is strong, and we have to admit it’s more than a typical friendship, I think it’s sometimes fooled me into thinking we could be more than that. But spark doesn’t mean it’s enough of a spark to be anything in the relationship realm. I suspect if we had tried, it would have been something that fizzled out quickly. Don’t you agree?”
Why can’t I help but feel he’s doing it again? Downplaying us because he wants me to have what I want.
But even if he is, all my feelings are too much of a jumbled mess to unravel in a few minutes. For all I know, we never had spark, and I’m just a raging narcissist who liked the attentionStacey gave me. Stacey was the attention I could trust. I could dive into it, knowing I was safe.
Taking my hand away, I use it to rub over my knuckles, self-soothing, trying to erase the past from my body without his help for once.
“You thinking about Robin?”
“Now there’s a name I could do without ever hearing again.”
“Sorry, but I haven’t seen you do that in a long while.” He points toward my hands.
“Not Robin exactly, but remnants from that time. You know I’m as over it as I’ll ever be. I was thinking that I was sorry for letting you give me all your attention. You could have been giving it to someone else.”
“Let me?” he says, raising a brow. “Did you just meet me, Dash Nolan? I know I can be a bit of a tender heart with you, but I’ve always been a man fiercely of his own mind. If my attention was on you that’s where I wanted it to be.”
I get another one of those delicious shivers. Has his voice always been able to reach that low of an octave? My breathing gets all funny again.
Stacey saying we don’t have spark? He’s fucking kidding himself. We would have lit up the whole world with our spark.
We arrive at The Wicklow, and Stacey kills the engine, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Stay there,” he says.
“Whaaa…?”
He’s out, scaling the massive truck and kicking the driver-side door shut with his foot. There’s a loud skid-thud above me,and he appears on the passenger side, opening my door. He extends his hand.
I take it, letting him pull me out of the vehicle, doing a double take. “Did you just climb over the truck to open my door?”
“Yup. You’re Mr. Alderchuck for the day. I open the door for my husband.”
The corners of my lips twitch as I fight a smile. I don’t want to love that as much as I do. He doesn’t let go of my hand once he has it, leading me into the restaurant. Guess The Alderchucks hold hands. Fine by me. I lace my fingers with his for a better grip just in case he thinks he’s letting go.
Dad’s in his office. He’s not alone. Dirk’s there, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. Um, weird.
“This a family meeting?” I ask.
“Sorta,” Dad says. He’s wearing the torn jeans that annoy the fuck outta Dirk. He says it should be illegal for anyone past forty to wear stuff like that. He’s also in a tank top that’s damp with sweat, showing off all his tattoos. Was he working today?
We sit in the brown leather chairs in front of the desk, hands still clasped. Dad slides a paper toward us, one with three tell-tale folds. It must’ve come from a skinny envelope. Stacey snatches it before I do as if it’s a viper come to bite me.
“Stace!” I tug my hand away, making a feeble attempt to rip it from his hands. I don’t want to risk ripping the paper, so I sulk while he reads, his face growing darker and darker all the time.
“No. What the fuck? How?” he says.
“Can somebody tell me what’s going on?”
They confer between the three of them, and Dad nods toward Stacey.
