Page 130 of Forbidden Hockey
The young woman chewing bubble gum behind the counter looks me up and down exactly how she should—like I’m an escaped zoo animal who needs to be captured and returned to my pen.
“For what? This is City Hall, and you’ve got choices, bud—anywhere from getting a license for your pet to filing complaints about graffiti.”
“I want to get married.”
She looks around, checking behind me to see if I’m hiding a person back there. “Aren’t you missing something? Unless you’re trying to marry your pet—can’t help you with that one. You’d need?—”
“God, no. He’s … here. In another room. Can we?”
I see it in her eyes, the moment she takes pity on me. What does my face look like? Guess it doesn’t help that I’m in a suit. It looks like I planned this.
She checks her computer, shaking her head. “Sorry, bud. We don’t have anything until October. Want me to put you on the list?”
“October? Then how did the Alderchuck wedding get in at the last fucking minute?” I grit my teeth, my cheeks heat with nonsensical rage.
There’s more typing. She squints at the screen. “I … yeah. This is unusual. Someone must be sleeping with the mayor,” she jokes. My stomach turns. I know way too much about our damn mayor. “Um, sorry. Inappropriate. Seriously, though. That’s unusual. It must have just been their day. You know? Kismet. Written in the stars-level kinda shit.”
Yeah.
Their day.
Fuck, why am I doing this shit on their day? I’m a fucking dick. But isn’t it the same for me and Trav? Aren’t we written in the stars, too?
“It’s fine. I’ll—we’ll—come back.” She probably thinks I’m hallucinating my groom by this point.
She shrugs, and I turn away.What’s wrong with me?
Not looking where I’m going, I crash into— “Sorry, man.”
“Saw you slip out,” Mercy says in that heavy, world-worn voice of his. “Thought it best if I came after you.”
I run a hand through my hair. I didn’t plan for this—getting caught while I’m being insane. What do I tell him?
Mercy puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not here to make you tell me your secrets, but I’ll listen, no judgment, if you want me to. Just want to make sure you’re alright.”
What kind of magic does this man possess? Instant calm. Makes sense, though. The man has, like, a bazillion adopted kids. Everything about him screams “Dad” except for the way he looks—sharp jaw and rugged stubble, the kind of dangerous, masculine architecture that demands you fall in line. Proof? The man gets Jack Leslie to at least appear tamed once in a while.
“I, um …” I scrub a hand over my face. “Trav. Him and I are…” I can’t get it out.
Mercy’s hand squeezes where it rests on my shoulder. “Got it,” he says. “It’s okay. Hey, look at me, Dirk.”
I’d been staring at the ground, wondering what’s become of my life. I pan up, meet his cornflower blue eyes, and shake my head.
“If you get it, can you explain it to me? Nothing seems to be working. Shouldn’t falling in love be kismet?” I use the counter lady’s word. It’s a word that’s gonna haunt me.
“Does he feel the same way about you?”
I smile, thinking about the way Trav cocks a brow at me right before he’s about to kiss me. “Yeah.”
“Then you’ve got a good place to start.”
“You’re not gonna judge us for the age difference? And yeah, I know you and Jack have an age gap, too, but not like ours.”
Sometimes I wish we weren’t so many years apart, but only because of the part where people judge us. The rest of the time, I love it. I love that Trav’s so much older than me. I’ve never jived this way with a guy my own age.
“No, because it’s Trav. C’mon.” Mercy leads me out to the courtyard, stopping at the concession to buy me a bottle of water. I loosen my tie and take a sip. He pats the concrete bench beside him, and I sit as he stares at the fountain that’s struggling to spew water from the top. It’s a sad fucking fountain, reflecting my damn mood. “I’m gonna ask Jack to marry me.”
“You are? Wow, that’s … he’ll be so fucking happy.”
