Page 51 of Stick It
“That’s what I thought.” He nods knowingly. “Come on.” He gestures toward the door. “Take a night off with me.”
“But—” I protest, lingering on the threshold.
“One night, Carter.” His voice is firm, brokering no argument as he turns to look at me over his shoulder. “If you really need to dissect the game, we can do it while we kill some zombies.”
Honestly, that doesn’t sound half bad.
Especially if I imagine Lucas’s ugly mug on every zombie and get to take him out over and over again.
Huh, this night might actually be shaping up to be pretty decent.
16
DYLAN
“Wow.Steady there, Menace, you nearly took me out!”
I chuckle as I turn my character on the screen so I’m no longer shootingatJax butwithhim, as we take on a hoard of zombies.
“Sorry about that, got a little carried away.”
“You think?” he teases. “I should have known you’d be just as violent in a video game as you are on the ice.”
Is it weird that I take that as a compliment? Maybe, but oh well. I still like the way he said that—with admiration. Like he’s impressed.
I’m curled into the corner of the sofa, feet tucked under me and a controller in my hands as I furiously tap buttons, killing any zombie—and apparently Jax—who comes near me in the game. The rapid-fire pops of headshots and the gory splatters on the screen are strangely satisfying.
Jax is beside me, his legs stretched out, his posture more relaxed than I’ve ever seen. This really is his way to turn off and just chill.
And I can understand why. I’m fully unwound from the game earlier, the tension melting away as we fight our waythrough the digital apocalypse. Over the past hour of working side by side, a strange camaraderie has formed between us—one I hadn’t expected. One you’d think would form on the ice where working together actually makes a real-life difference. But that also comes with a hell of a lot more strings, more challenges than a simple video game where it doesn’t truly matter whether you make it to the beginning of a new post-apocalyptic era or get eaten alive by flesh-consuming zombies.
“Oh God, there’s a whole army of them,” I groan as a fresh wave of zombies appears over the hill, racing down it toward us.
We shoot manically into the crowd, but we’re soon overrun. “I’m dead,” Jax states, as blood drips down his side of the screen.
“Ugh, me too.” I toss my controller onto the table, flopping back on the sofa with a groan.
“Want a drink?” Jax asks, getting to his feet.
“Sure. Whatever is in the fridge.”
“Anything to eat?” he calls from the kitchen.
“I’m good.”
He returns with two cans of fizzy drinks, handing one over to me before taking a sip of the other and setting it on the coffee table. We’re silent for a moment. Truthfully, other than the occasional comment or critique about our loss tonight, we haven’t talked much since we got home, both of us too intent on the video game. But Jax isn’t much of a talker anyway, and I find I actually enjoy just sitting in the silence with him. I always thought it would feel strange, awkward, but not with him.
Instead, it’s…comforting. Knowing we’re both processing our emotions about tonight’s game in our own way, but together. It makes me feel not so…alone.
I’ve always just gone back to my dorm after a game, knowing everyone else was out celebrating or commiserating. I’d climb into my comfiest set of pajamas and call my dad up and rehash the game until well into the night.
Pain lances through my chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to do that with. No one else has ever cared enough to listen, but Jax does. He pauses the game or lets the zombies override us, uncaring if we die as he gives me his entire focus while I dissect this play or that.
He suggests critiques or points out things I missed. It’s a real conversation—a true meeting of the minds.
It reminds me of the chats I used to have with my dad.
“Hey.” He nudges my shoulder. “Where did you go?”
