Page 103 of Forbidden Hockey
“How much longer is this damn hockey season gonna last?” It feels like a thousand years.
He’s still blinking, staring in disbelief. “Too long.”
I’d better get used to it, though. This is our future. “I have more Maxwell bullshit to tell you, but this has to wait until you’re home. I’m not keeping it from you, but I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. And it’s something I think, well, I think I have to ask you not to tell Dash—yet.”
How’s he gonna feel about that? He’s been best friends with my son for most of his life, we’ve only been dating for half a minute.
“Trav, you know I love Dash with all my heart, but if we’re doing this, we’re doing this on the right foot. You’re my partner, and you come first. That doesn’t mean I’m spilling all Dash’s secrets to you, but the stuff between us stays sacred.”
I nod. “When you’re back, then.”
“Fuck, it can’t be good.”
“It’s not.” I sigh. “But it can wait till then.”
Dirk turns his head, and that’s when I see the giant bruise on the side of his face. It’s dark purple, fresh; it sweeps over the swell of his jaw. I reach for him, wanting to soothe it, but remember there’s a screen between us.
“Another one, baby?” I dunno that I’ll ever get used to him getting beat to shit in hockey games. “Has it always been this much?”
He winces. “Well, not for me, no.”
“Dirk.”
“Just, let me handle it, okay?”
I let out a rough bark of laughter. “Yeah, no. That’s never gonna fly, pretty boy.”
He huffs. “Okay, fine, but before you flip out?—”
“I’m not gonna flip out,” I say with a tight jaw, because whatever he’s about to say is probably gonna be a cause for flipping out.
“We all used to rally around Dash, so he’d take fewer hits, because Stacey was less murder-y that way. I kinda promised to keep it up, mostly because Dash isn’t used to taking the hits with all the protection he got, but it’s been harder with just me. Maverick’s actually stepped up and … Trav? Are you still listening?”
I am, but my mouth’s dried up. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Stop protecting my son? But if I don’t, I’m saying it’s okay for Dirk to use his body as a crash pad. I run a frustrated hand through what’s left of my hair. The conversation I just had with Dash is fresh, and this new bit of information adds to all the ways he’s struggling this season.
My first instinct is to march over to Kelowna and drag Dash home. “Do I need to come get my son?”
“What? No. Nooooo way, Trav. Don’t do that. Fuck, he’d be so mad.”
Old me wouldn’t give a fuck. The only real fatherly instinct I have is protection, and that instinct’s screaming at me. Maybe I fucked up before, but I’ll be damned if I will again.
But.
But.
Fucking Maxwell. I don’t wanna be like him and ruin my relationship with my son.
“He’s okay, Trav. I’ll admit that he’s giving melancholy king—Jack’s phrase, not mine, but it fits—but nothing bad will happen to him. Not on my watch, okay?”
It’s an internal battle of wills to force a nod, but I do. By the sounds of it, he’s being looked after, not just by Dirk either,though I bet Dirk’s handling the brunt of it. Their group’s been separated, but they have a family group chat to stay connected.
“I know he’s your special lion cub, Trav,” Dirk says lightly, the corners of his mouth quirking. “But he’s tough as nails. He’ll get through this.”
“So tough you have to protect him on the ice, eh?” It feels like trading Dirk’s safety for Dash’s. I don’t fucking like that.
“I’m not made of glass either, Trav,” he bites out. “But, okay. Maybe I’ve stepped up because I’m watching it go down, and it’s affecting me a bit. Or maybe it’s because he didn’t know how much Stacey protected his ass, and I don’t wanna tell him, and make him sadder.”
It’s probably a bit of both.
