Page 157 of Forbidden Hockey
“Are you making me say it? Because you didn’t have one, Dirk.”
“Youwere my father figure, asshole.”
“Hey, watch your damn mouth when you’re talking to me.”
“See?” I throw up my hands, letting the tears fly. Didn’t he see himself that way? He often referred to himself as my parent and me as his kid. I thought the Dad thing was implied. Was it just me? Fuck, I’m a fucking delusional idiot.
Hunter scans the room, breathing through his nose like a bull, chest heaving, the sound tight with restraint. His dark gaze falls back to me. “Get your ass home, kid. We’ll talk in private. You. Stay the fuck away from him, or I’m coming back and I’m bringing friends.”
Hunt’s boots click across the wood, smearing blood.
They’ve somehow managed to talk Travis into sitting in one of the wooden restaurant chairs. He’s angry, face swollen, still full of fight. Crouching by Trav as Stacey hands him a bag of ice for his face, and I take his hand. He squeezes.
“I’m fine. Nothing a dirty scotch now and a couple of Advil in the morning can’t fix.”
I sniffle because apparently, I’m still crying. The silent kind that won’t stop, no matter how much I want it to. Warm, wet tears flood over my face. I lay my head in Trav’s lap, and he uses his free hand to run it through my hair.
“I’m sorry. I froze,” I say. And there’s that knot again. It seems to be recurrent, putting pressure on my chest, some kind of silent threat I don’t understand.
“It’s okay, baby,” Trav murmurs.
“Your mom,” Dash says, almost too quiet for me to hear him. “That day when she … she hit you.”
Right. I fucking forgot that he saw that shit—I prefer to forget. I hate that he saw one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. The moment I knew she hated me.
I tilt my head up, sharp as a knife. “Why are Nolans obsessed with my mom?” I snap. Between him and Travis.
“You had the same look on your face just now. I’ll never forget it, Dirk,” he whispers.
“I … I …” The words lock in my throat like they did earlier when I tried to talk about Hunter. “I’d better go, or he will come back here. The last thing we need is him bringing the Italian guys from his construction crew.”
That’s what he meant by “friends”.
Trav stands, and so do I.
“What are you doing?”
“Coming with you. If you think you’re going by yourself, you’re wrong.”
I scrub a hand over my face. I know the look he’s sporting, he’s not gonna budge on this one.
“Hunter’s not gonna hurt me, Trav,” I try.
He locks his jaw, letting the silence speak for him—he’s fucking coming, end of story.
“We’ll come, too,” Stacey says. He’s not asking either. “We’ll sit on Hunter’s porch while you go inside.”
“I’ll watch over Dad,” Dash promises. “I’ll make sure he stays on the porch.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Trav complains.
“Yeah, you do, Dad.” Dash gives Trav his own version of a stare-down. Fuck, I don’t need to see a Nolan battle over that. It’s the best deal I’m gonna get at this point with an overprotective boyfriend and equally overprotective friends.
“Yeah, c’mon then. Let’s clean up and get out of here. But we’re not taking the bike, we’ll take Stacey’s Hummer instead.”
I’d love to give Hunter a few days to cool off, but who am I kidding? He’s not cooling off about this. I’ve been prolonging the inevitable, and I’m out of time.
I use my key to get in and remove my shoes, so I don’t drag dirt all over Hunter’s clean floors. The cozy smell of bread hits my nostrils, and is that … cinnamon? Must be cinnamon rolls. And that shit has to rise, which means he had that going before he came looking for me.
