Page 74 of Forbidden Hockey
The condo is too quiet. I thought I’d crave the silence—no Casey casserole disasters, no Jack taking the place apart because he can’t find his fucking hat—but the silence is too loud. Fuck me, I miss the chaos. I miss Stacey’s nagging for us to pick up after ourselves, and I even miss the relationship drama that’s been going on since last season. It was driving me up the wall, but now that everything’s so fucking quiet, I want it.
I also miss Trav. It’s not just my dick missing him either; it’s the scrape of his rough finger pads being gentle over my cheek or catching him staring at me from across the restaurant. Now, there’s just an aching hole in my chest. Is this what falling in love is? Can’t stop thinking about him, food’s fucking bland, and sleep is a restless battle? Because that’s me in a nutshell.
“Who’re you texting?” I ask. Dash is propped on the couch beside me, one knee up, thumb scrolling. I nudge his foot.
“Stace,” he says, lips twisted, tossing his phone aside.
My instincts beg me to abduct Stacey and Dash, put them in a cabin in the woods together as a form of intervention, and make them work things out, buuuuut I probably shouldn’t do that to a guy who was literally abducted.
See? I can be reasonable.
But watching him like this is its own kind of ache. He used to be a chaotic ball of messy sunshine and cat claws, now he’s glued to his phone when he’s not on the ice, hanging off whatever Alderchuck says to him next. And he’s quiet. Never really here, always in his head.
Dash’s eyes flutter, but he forcefully opens them.
“Get your ass in bed, Dashie. We’re having a much-needed nap.” I’m not a dominant type. I can turn it on because I can be switch-y, but it exhausts me.
“But—” His words cut off when he sees the look in my eyes. “Yeah, okay, Dirky.”
He scampers off to his bedroom, and I pull out my phone.
Me
Are we boyfriends?
I get a strange flush just typing that. Holy fuck.
Trav
What kind of a question is this? Again, how the hell did I get demoted from husband to boyfriend?
I can’t help smiling. A big bad wolfish ex-biker sending a broken heart emoji is fucking next-level precious. I change his name from “Trav” to “Husband” in my phone, take a screenshot, and send it to him.
Me
Better?
Husband
A little. Husbands should sleep in their husbands’ beds, and my bed is notably missing the husband that’s supposed to sleep there.
There’s an odd, warm surge. Trav wants me to be the one in his bed. And the Husband thing, it’s a joke, but the underlying meaning isn’t.
Okay, so we’re in an official relationship. Does that mean I tell him about Dash? Or will Dash consider that a betrayal? How the fuck did Stacey maneuver being beholden to Trav and Dash at the same time? Could not have been easy.
It hits me. At some point, I’m going to have to betray Dash to Trav. Both for Dash’s sake and because Trav’s my man now. I’m responsible to him first. I know everyone deals with that stuff differently, but that’s the way I’d want it if things were the otherway around. I just don’t see how a relationship can work if your partner isn’t first.
It’s not bad, just typical Dash missing Stacey stuff. I’ve got a handle on it, so, for now, I’m gonna ride the high of knowing that Trav’s all mine.
Husband
Missing the hell out of you, pretty boy.
Me
You’re my breath, baby.
The puck slides to Dash just over the blue line.C’mon, c’mooon, Nolan. Shoot it. You’re wide open, man.But he hesitates, staring too long before flicking a half-hearted wrist shot that dribbles toward the goalie. Easy stick save.
