Page 7 of Friendzone Hockey
I let her plants die. I let her stuff rot in here. I let dust cover everything, worried that one pass with any kind of cleaning solution would wipe whatever was left of her away.
Her forgetting things broke my heart, but her not being here broke me.
I’m walking, just walking, over polished wooden floors I’ve traveled more times a night than I’ve had high-sticking penalties, when I see the sun for the first time. You’re not supposed to look directly at the sun, but I do, my head snapping in the direction, and I walk into the damn wall.
He—the sun—smiles, which does nothing to dim shit, let me tell you, and he’s holding back a laugh for my benefit.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, throbbing pain shooting down the side of my face. The snicker that breaks from the peanut gallery belongs to my twin brother who has zero mercy for me.
It’s already too late. I’ve been staring at him for longer than is socially acceptable. I have to introduce myself. Most of my shifts at The Wicklow, the pub-style restaurant where I work summers at, have been long and rough. Not much time for a lot of sleep—that’s what I’ll blame my clumsiness on.
“H-Hi, I’m …” My tongue doesn’t work anymore. Is this what tongue-tied is? When your tongue thickens in your mouth, and your brain goes on holiday? I wouldn’t know because it’s never happened to me before. I’m a guy who knows what he wants and speaks with crisp, clear, authority. I don’t do this.
He’s got dark brown hair. You’d think the sun would be blond, but not in this case, and I wanna run my fingers through those soft-looking tresses. His eyes are brown. Just brown. But they’re deep, and they suck me in. There’s a shyness to them and a vulnerability so raw it makes my chest ache. Where the hell am I, again?
He clears his throat. “Dash Nolan,” he says.
That brings me back to earth. Nolan.Boss’sson. Knowing it’s one thing, though. I didn’t work here till the last year of high school, and he wasn’t around the restaurant when I started working here. Don’t know why.
“Stacey Alderchuck.” There. Said things. I smile widely, proud of myself. I’m still staring, unable to move. Face still throbs like a son of a bitch.
Then a swirl of things happens all at once: the world pauses and pulses, he rubs the back of his neck, I beam in his direction.
An annoying throat clears from behind me.
“Stace? You gonna make my drinks sometime today? I’ve got fucking customers yelling their faces off at me,” Casey says.
Right. I’m the bartender today. I seem to remember something about that. “Will you be around?”
I get a smile and a little nod.
While I make drinks, Travis exits the double-swinging kitchen door. I can’t believe that man has a son Dash’s age. I know Travis had him young and all, but they could be brothers. He sets his dour gaze on Dash, Dash’s face falls.
Travis Nolan is a reformed badass. He used to hotwire cars and do lines of coke off every surface imaginable, or so he’s said. He won’t touch drugs now, but he’ll have a few beers now and then. I’ve rarely seen him over-imbibe. But as much as he’s calmed his life down, he’s still intimidating as fuck.
Travis gestures with his thumb for Dash to head upstairs. That’s where his apartment is. As far as I know, it’s a one-bedroom and not all that big.
“I thought you were running errands?” he says.
“Had to get something from the office.”
Dash’s eyes flick to me, apologetic, before he scampers away. Travis sits at my bar top. I pour him a soda.
“You got something stronger, bartender?”
I raise a brow. Does he mean that?
Travis nods. “Johnnie Walker, neat. Kids’ll drive you to drink, Stacey. Did you do this with your mom?”
No, but I wasn’t your typical kid, and she wasn’t a typical mom. I shake my head. “No, sir.” I slide the tumbler across thebar top, its sharp odor staining the air. Jeez that stuff might as well be paint thinner.
His silence says everything. His anger’s a living, breathing thing, pouring into the air.
“Everything okay, Trav?”
“No.” He rubs a hand over his face and downs the scotch in one go.
Dirk walks by. He’s been here for a few months now. “Want me to talk to him?” he offers. He puts a hand on Travis’s shoulder. Wonder if Dirk knows Travis doesn’t let just anyone touch him?
