Page 78 of Forbidden Hockey
I roll my eyes, walking behind the bar to help myself to a pint of Canadian. I set my beer down, adjust my ballcap, and lean across the bar, slowly making my way back into his space. He takes a slow breath, filling up that barrel chest of his. I can feel the arousal swirling between us in the air. For a few long moments, I just inhale him, creeping my hand forward until our fingertips brush against each other’s. He toys with the tape around my fingers for a long while. My knuckles are bruised and battered to shit from the last game. I need to stop going at guys before their helmets are off. But if it hasn’t happened by now, it’ll probably never happen.
It’s a very us reunion after an achingly long time apart. No words because Trav and I can convey a lot without them, but also because sometimes words ruin shit.
“How was dinner with Stace and Dashie?” I finally ask, taking a sip of beer.
His fingers crawl further down mine until our hands latch. He rubs his thumb in a soft circle over the skin of my hand as if he’s simultaneously getting to know me again and verifying that I’m actually here.
“You sure they’re not together? Maybe they just don’t wanna tell us yet.”
“I’m sure.”
Being surrounded by idiots pushed me over the edge. Sutter and Casey are too stubborn for their own good, and I don’t really know what Stacey’s problem is, but he needs to get his shit together and take Dash from Syd. I won’t be like them, and I plan on laying it all out for Travis tonight.
Once upon a hockey season ago, I was like my friends, pining away for Travis, letting our age difference keep us apart. It’s … a lot. Twenty years. I get it. I get that people will judge us. But if they knew us, they’d know our souls were meant to meet and fall in love.
He grunts his disbelief. “Dash’s love life isn’t my business.”
“Like fuck it’s not.” I raise a brow, because yeah, I’m totally calling his ass on that one. Trav isn’t worried because the man in question is Stacey, who he’d already given his blessing to and then … nothing. Stacey did fucking nothing. If it were anyone else, he’d be getting stabby.
“I’ve stayed out of the Syd thing.”
“So staying up to date through me doesn’t count?” I didn’t give the details, only what I knew Dash would be comfortable with. He doesn’t mind me telling his dad enough to keep all his knives in their sheaths.
He sighs. “Fine. I sometimes make it my business, but Dash gets extra tetchy when I pry about Stacey, so I’m respecting his boundaries.”
He’s a good dad, but he’s questioning all his morals since fucking Maxwell stopped by on a stormy night. Alright, so it wasn’t actually stormy, but Elkington caused an internal storm for Trav, and if I ever come face-to-face with the asshole, he’s gonna hear it from me.
“Your turn,” he says.
I know what he means—my turn to spill about my dinner with Hunter. I groan, laying my head on his massive forearm.
“That bad?”
“Worse,” I say. “I barely got out of there. It was … kind of a fight.”
Fighting with Hunter isn’t new. He might have been my guardian growing up, but we were very much brothers, too, and we fight like that sometimes, though I avoid it at all costs.More so when we moved away from Mom—since my social life depended on me not lipping him off—but it still happened.
Trav frowns. “I don’t like coming between you and your brother.”
I was afraid he’d say that, but it’s our reality. Dinner with Hunt made me realize I might have to choose: Hunter or Travis. How am I supposed to make a fucking decision like that?
Ripping my hand away from him, I down my beer. My instincts scream at me to run from the invisible tiger, but I hold my ground, looking Trav dead in the eyes. If he wants me gone, he’ll need to find his balls and tell me.
But then I get lost staring at him. He’s so damn gorgeous. It’s a shame that Trav’s tattoos are covered under all that plaid, but I know them all by heart. His son’s birthday across his forearm, roses and thorn bushes swirl up his left wrist all the way over his shoulder. A super cool skull half buried in flowers over his right, and what I suspect is a tattoo that signals the brotherhood he used to be a member of.
He stands abruptly, pushing our glasses aside and patting the counter, a gesture I already know means, “Sit your ass here, now.”
I consider making him catch me, but find my body complying, catapulting above the counter, letting my ass hit, and sitting with my legs dangling off. Now that I’m properly looking at him, I catch things I didn’t before.
His eyes are red as if he hasn’t been sleeping, kinda reminding me of Dash. Is it possible he’s pining after me the way Dash does Stacey? A Nolan family trait? I could be so fucking lucky. His five o’clock shadow is more than a shadow, giving him a rougher appearance than usual.
But he’s touching me, just his arms around my torso, and that’s all that matters right now. Anything. I live for all of Trav’s touches.
We can’t go back in time. I can’t untell him how much I fucking want him. It took years to understand what the ache in my ribcage meant, but as soon as I did, he was it for me. I’ve been so afraid to tell him I love him because I’ve been afraid of this—the moment when he breaks my damn heart.
Is he gonna tell me he’s not doing this anymore because it’s what’s best for me?
Whatever. At least I’ll know I wasn’t a fucking coward.
