Friendzone Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #4)

Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

THEN

Third Off-Season - August Con’t

Stacey

Y our loyalty is with him first and me second.

There are a great many things I can’t get out of my head, but that one’s a fucking earworm. It eats at me, corroding away all the reasons I claimed to need Travis for in the first place.

I’m closing the bar, and I pour some scotch for me and Travis. The good stuff. He’s always fine with me having a little of the good stuff.

“Uh-oh. What’s this?” he says, walking into the bar from the kitchen.

“It’s good. It’s … look, I know I’m no expert, but it’s been over three years. Dash has been,” I search for a word, “stable.”

“Until he’s not.”

That bites. It’s not promising. I flounder for what to say. “Just like the rest of us, Trav.”

He thinks about that.

“The rest of us haven’t been through what he’s been through.”

“That’s true. We’ve been through other things, though.”

“I hope you’re not implying that what my son went through exists in any realm close to the rest of us.”

“I’d never, Travis,” I say, carefully. Travis is a level-headed guy unless it’s to do with Dash. Then he’s touchy as fuck. “I’m just trying to say?—”

“What are you trying to say?” There’s the slightest undertone of threat there. Only a bit. He’s worked up and once he calms down, he’ll be apologizing. I didn’t expect that this conversation was gonna be easy.

“Dash doesn’t like me coming to you about him when it’s … personal. I can’t do it anymore.” There, I said it. But it costs me. My jittery body joins forces with anxiety. Please say I haven’t just ruined my relationship with Travis. The man’s no longer just my boss or Dash’s dad. He’s become somewhat of a father figure to me. I don’t know what I’d do if he rejected me.

I desperately don’t want that, but Dash comes first. Period. I’m a fucking ass for not seeing that before and no way will I ever let him think he’s not my top priority. I’ve reached the other end of the spectrum somehow—I’m not his mentor anymore, we’re friends. Best friends. Dash tried to get that through my thick skull before, I was too stubborn to listen.

Everything Travis wants to say runs across his face, but he doesn’t say any of it. What I haven’t said explicitly registers: I can’t be Dash’s faux counselor anymore. It worked when we weren’t friends.

“Then he’s going to a professional of some kind, even if I have to make him.”

As if on cue, Dash walks into the bar from the kitchen. He’s got his backpack with him, ready to go home.

Home with me.

He looks between us. “What’s going on?”

Travis’s glare doesn’t leave me. “You’re going to a counselor, Dash. Once a week until they’re satisfied. Hell, until I’m satisfied, too.”

I wait for the explosion. It doesn’t come. His eyes flick between us as if he’s catching up on the conversation we had.

“Sure, Dad. But can I make a request?”

He hums his approval.

“Once the counselor says I’m okay, can we end the conservatorship?”

He nods. “Deal.” Travis is quiet after that. Don’t think he expected Dash to agree so easily. Neither did I. In a hundred years, I’d never have guessed that, considering how hard he’s been fighting the counselor thing.

“You ready, Alderchuck? I’m fucking hungry. I hope Casey ordered pizza.”

“What are you up to, Dash Nolan?” I say once we’re in the car.

“Not a thing.”

“Bullshit.”

“One of the bartenders wants to fuck me.” He licks his lips. The little brat’s thinking about it.

My hands curl around the steering wheel. The knuckles turn white. “Your dad said?—”

“My dad’s been fine with whatever so long as I see a counselor of some kind. He said that to me before I left for the season, but I refused then, too. If I’m seeing a counselor, he’ll be fine with it. One hour a week seems like a good bargain for that kind of freedom, don’t you think?”

“I do, which begs the question, why didn’t you do it in the first place?”

“Wasn’t ready then. Thanks to you, I can take this next step.”

Yeah, he seems real thankful. “What about the feelings you said you had for me?”

He shrugs. “I wanted to be with you for the wrong reasons. I have to find a way to accept that my feelings for you didn’t really exist.”

Can’t say that doesn’t sting, even if it’s for the best. “And suddenly you can trust a random bartender?”

“He’s not random. It’s Tony. Tony’s been working for my dad for at least three years. I know him, but more importantly, Dad knows him.”

And Dash doesn’t know his dad if he thinks that’s gonna be okay.

“Five bucks says Tony’s fired if Travis catches wind of this.”

“The only way he’d find out is if you told him.”

“I’m not gonna tell him this but, believe me, he will shoot the messenger.” Travis might save tired honeybees, but he will cut Tony’s nuts off without a fuck to give for touching his boy. Judging by Travis’s reaction tonight, he’s not ready.

“Guess we’ll see.”

“Five bucks,” I insist.

“You’re on.” We shake on it.

Four nights later, I’m in the kitchen of our shared home in Kitsilano, loading the dishwasher. Dash storms in and slams five dollars on the counter. I don’t mean to smirk, but I’m definitely smirking.

I hold my hands up. “I didn’t tell him, I swear.”

“He caught us flirting in the back near the lockers. Why are you laughing? Stop it.”

I can’t. “Nothing says ‘discreet’ like right in front of your dad’s office.”

“I thought he went up to the apartment!”

“Is Tony still alive?” I say in between hysterical laughter.

Dash slumps onto a stool at the kitchen island. “Barely. It was so embarrassing. Dad was out the door so fast. Tony might have a black eye.” He lays his head on the counter. “Ugh, what do I do, Stace?”

I rejoice quietly about overprotective dads and shrug.

“Why won’t you help me? What was wrong with Tony?”

“Don’t think it was anything to do with Tony.”

“My dad’s forcing me to be a Monk.”

I take pity on him. “Be a good little boy and get good grades from your counselor. I’m sure that’ll ease Trav’s mind.”

“Har, har.” He groans and there’s a pause. He raises his head. “And what about you? Will that ease your mind too?” Dash watches me carefully with his feelers out. There’s an obvious mood shift from playful to a bitter kind of hope.

I know what he wants to know. If he gets the “he’s okay” stamp of approval from a therapist, could that make us okay? I don’t know. I don’t know what makes me not a monster in this situation.

“I want whatever’s best for you, Dashie,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t like my answer. The disdain is carved onto his face as bold as an epitaph on a tombstone. As final as one, too.

“Who decides what’s best for me? Dad? The therapist? You?”

It’s easy to figure out where he’s going with this. Who he left out. The right answer’s supposed to be himself. Even if I said his dad, that would be better than what I want to say.

Me. I want to say me.

That’s the terrible, horrible truth. I want to decide what’s best for him, so I can keep him safe, never let anyone hurt him again. I’m worried he’ll fall prey to another Robin. I’m worried that because of the history with his mom, he’ll latch onto the first guy who gives him any positive scrap of attention.

I’m worried that guy is me.

Stacey’s Fourth Season With The Wildcats

T raining camp to kick off the start of my fourth hockey season (Dash’s third) that September, breathes life into all of us. Our bones ache more than our hearts for once, and we fall into an eat, train, eat some more, sleep, repeat cycle. I’m too tired for love or lust. Besides, who could compare to Dash? I’m so tired that my dick doesn’t last past a quick few tugs in the shower anyways.

I have the unfortunate experience of learning that Dirk and Casey are equally lazy about hooking up and help each other out like Jack and Casey used to before he began dating Rhett. I don’t need to hear about them, and our little found family needs way more boundaries

“What do you think about them hooking up like that?” I ask Dash one night after a large bowl of Kraft Dinner. My brother’s the KD maniac, but every once in a while, it hits the spot.

He shrugs. “Meh.”

“So, you really never had feelings for Dirk?”

“Ugh. You sound like my dad. He thought Dirk and I were boyfriends for the longest time until Dirk told him off about it.”

I raise a brow. “He told him off about it, eh?”

We burst with laughter because Dirk and Trav! We catch our breath just in time for Dirk and Casey to walk through the door, but that sets off our laughter again.

“I will never understand you two,” Casey says.

“Me neither.” Dirk puts his arm around Dash.

T urns out this is the season Dash has decided to test my fucking patience. I’m supposed to be running drills for coach, but instead, I’m staring after the big hockey brat who’s blatantly flirting with the goalie. There he is, leaned against his net, in his fucking crease. He should get a penalty for goaltender interference. I don’t care that we’re not playing a game.

Dash leans in, giving away smiles that don’t belong to the big, goofy goalie. Why do I get the feeling he’s doing it to antagonize me?

I shrug that sensation off. Even if that’s why he’s doing it, he can. He can use me. I can take it. For him, I’ll take anything. I want him to work through his shit in whatever way he needs to.

Later, Dash meanders through the condo door with his goalie. Of course he was successful. Who wouldn’t want Dash? All he has to do is bat his pretty long lashes. Someone’s gonna scoop him up real fast.

A body-wide cringe tightens my muscles. I force myself to relax. Isn’t this what I wanted? Dash well enough to work his way into a relationship? He’s been seeing a therapist twice a week via his laptop and she’s doing far more for him than I ever could. I always knew I was a poor substitute for real therapy, that I was the “better than nothing” option, but watching him change and bloom underlines that fact.

I’m glad he feels strong enough to do this, and I don’t want to ruin it for him no matter how much it kills me.

The goalie’s name is Riley Crawford, but his nickname is Gator. I don’t know why. Nothing about him screams alligator. He’s a big guy, wide across, too smiley. Reminds me a little of Hunter if Hunter ever smiled, but with more hair. He’s a big Canadian boy. Always wears a toque over his mess of hockey hair. Gator holds out his hand as if we’ve never met before. As if I haven’t been shooting pucks at him every practice, more of them aimed at his head since he and Dash started their whatever-the-fuck this is.

“Hey, bud,” he says, shaking my hand. I wish he wasn’t so damn nice. I should be grateful Dash picked such a nice guy. He could have picked some of the assholes my brother dates, and then I might be on the run from the law.

“Hey, man. Good job in practice today,” I say.

“It, uh, it cool that I’m here with Dash?”

“He’s not my dad, Gator,” Dash says. “You don’t have to ask him if you can date me. Or anything else.”

Gator runs a hand through his mess of dark hockey hair, knocking the toque off his head, scrunching it into one hand. “Yeah, I know. But you’re best friends … or something. I just felt like I should?—”

“C’mon.” Dash grabs his hand, dragging him toward the bedroom. With Gator facing the other way, Dash turns a glare on me. Stay away , it says. He thinks I’m being an overprotective best friend. No idea I’m jealous as fuck.

But seriously, Dash, the bedroom? Already? I don’t have a playbook for this. Exhaling hard enough to blow the hair out of my face, I storm over to the kitchen and pull out the ingredients to make Mom’s peanut butter cookies. People like cookies after sex, right? I’m supportive. I support my friend Dash in finding love and moving on with his life. That’s what a good friend does. If I bake cookies with my shirt off that’s nobody’s business but mine.

I leave my shirt hanging over a chair, tie my hair back, and get to work. I’m pulling the second batch out of the oven when the door to the condo opens. Casey and Dirk clamber through, eyes droopy and beer-hazed.

“Alright, cookies,” Casey says.

Unlike my brother who’s easily distracted by food, Dirk looks between shirtless me and the closed bedroom door. I pop an earbud out. I’ve got music on low—loud enough to drown out whatever’s happening in the bedroom, low enough to catch enough of my attention in case anyone needed me.

Dirk grabs a cookie from the pile of cooled ones. Casey’s already got one in each hand. He chews slowly, the quiet sinking in.

“What?” Casey says. “Did I miss something?”

“Dash has someone in the spare room,” Dirk surmises out loud.

“Ugh, can you two not?” Casey says, plopping onto the seat beside Dirk.

“Not what?” I ask.

“It always gets weird around here when you two decide to see people,” he says.

“It doesn’t.” He means me and Dash. But it’s fine. Dash and I have an understanding.

“You’re baking cookies shirtless on a Saturday, bro.”

I’m about to use my line about people being hungry after sex, and as a good friend, this is how I show my support. But the bedroom door clicks, creaking open, and I’m saved from that embarrassment.

Dash’s hair’s a mess. So is Gator’s. They’re both sporting goofy, satiated smiles, so I force one of my own.

“Whoa, you made cookies? Sweet,” Dash says. He drags Gator with him, snagging a couple. “Here, you gotta try these. Stace makes the best cookies.”

“He does, eh?” Gator says. “Does he always bake half-naked too?” he murmurs under his breath.

“Nope, only when—ow!”

Dirk elbows Casey in the ribs.

Gator ends up sticking around. He stays over at the condo when we’re in town for home games. Meanwhile, I’ve spent my entire month’s “extras” budget on butter and filled the condo with sugary confections that I don’t even eat. In the mornings, I make everyone breakfast after practice, which includes Gator now.

“More coffee, bud?” I ask him, putting my hosting etiquette to the test.

“Sure, bud.” He holds his mug out. I pour for him. He kisses Dash on the forehead.

I slam the coffee pot into the holder.

“Oops, sorry. Here, lemme get you some more bacon,” I say, rushing back to the safety of my stove.

“Fucking weird,” Casey says low enough that I’m the only one who can hear him. “Like I said.”

By the fifth week, I let my brain break the news to me. They’re serious. Maybe not boyfriends, but at least dating regularly. I don’t know what to do with myself. Baking’s not cutting it anymore. Even Casey can’t keep up with my level of cookie production, and they’re rotting on the counter like my heart.

Maybe it’s time I do the same and find a someone too? At least a someone for the night.

What’s the protocol in this situation? Fucked if I know.

As soon as it gets dark, I slide into my leather jacket. Maybe I spend too much time obsessing over Dash and not enough time moving on.

“You going anywhere fun? Can I come?” Dash’s voice stops me before I can get a foot out the door. Did he know what I was up to? Nah, he couldn’t have.

“Thought you were with Gator?” Do I sound as resentful as I feel? Probably, but I hope not. I don’t have a right to. I’m the one who keeps drawing a hard line between us.

“He went home about an hour ago. We’ve been a little too hot and heavy—if you know what I mean.” Unfortunately, I do. “We decided to take a break.”

“Are you over?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

He shakes his head. “But we’re not serious either.”

Sure doesn’t look that way, but I swallow the bitterness threatening to foam its way out of my mouth. He needs this. It’s good for him. But it’s also his first real relationship since everything that’s happened with Robin. We should check in.

“You can come with me, but we’re gonna talk about things,” I warn him. He’s got his therapist now, I’m not his official mentor anymore, but I still look after him. That’s the deal. It’ll always be the deal.

His brown eyes brighten. Don’t think I’ve seen them that bright in a while, come to think of it.

We head over to Rodney’s, Kelowna’s Oyster Bar and Pub, to catch the Vancouver Orcas game on the big screen. I order his favorites and mine. I take a cool sip of beer, letting the foam cover my upper lip before I lick it away.

“Alright, lemme have it,” he says.

I frown. “Have what?”

“I can tell you don’t like him. And honestly—because I promised you honesty—you’re the reason I told him to go home. Um, he doesn’t know that, though. I told him I wasn’t feeling well.”

Shit. A terrible sensation crawls into my stomach— relief , blooming like a brand-new fucking day.

And that’s so unfair.

“I never said I didn’t like him. I served him coffee and everything. Did you miss all the cookies? I’m the supportive best friend.” It’s my new role dammit. If I can’t be with him, I’ll be there for him in every other way possible.

Dash plays with the condensation on his glass, drawing little circles, avoiding my eyes. “You did all those things, but I know you too well. You don’t think he’s good enough.”

I have to do so much fucking better. “Dash, your choices can’t depend on me, okay? If Gator makes you happy, I want you to pursue things with him.” I mean it, too. I hate it, but I mean it.

“I kinda like him,” he admits. “And he’s made me realize you were right.”

“I was?”

“Yeah, dumbass. I was heartbroken and angry when you said we’d never be a thing.” He finally looks up and reaches for my hand, squeezing it. All that relief I was feeling? Yeah, that’s gone. I already know it’s something I don’t want to be right about before he says it. What dark-ass timeline did I stumble down? “I trust you an unfathomable amount. Dating’s helped me realize how much I don’t trust others. Because I trust you, I latched onto you—you would have been an easy solution, but probably not the right one.”

Breathe, Alderchuck. Just suck in some air. Slowly. I do, but every prickle of oxygen is a shard of glass embedding itself to the inside of my lungs. This is sheer fucking hell. Just because Dash moving on is right, doesn’t mean it’s easy.

I place my other hand over the top of our joined ones, sandwiching his palm between both of mine.

“You don’t trust him?”

He shivers. It’s not cold in here. “I don’t, and it has nothing to do with him not being a stand-up guy. He’s been nothing but kind. Gator’s probably one of the sweetest giants I know. It’s a me thing.”

“But Gator stayed over. You slept in the guest room alone with him.” It takes all my willpower not to grind my teeth.

“Which was a pretty big fucking deal in and of itself, but what he wanted was me staying at his place. Stace? There’s just no way I’m ready for that. And in case you need me to spell it out, the only reason I could sleep in a room alone with him, was because I knew you were a stone’s throw away. Let’s not kid ourselves, I’m a fucking mess.”

Robin. He did this. To my Dash. “You’re not a mess. You’re not a mess, Dash.” My voice lowers an octave, all the menace I have creeping in. “What the fuck, Dash? Have you stopped seeing your therapist?” I yank his arm, pulling him toward me. If I could breathe fire, I would be. I have to calm down, but I don’t know how. I’m falling off a cliff and there’s nothing to grab onto.

“Fuck, no. I see her every Tuesday and Thursday without fail.”

“Then how could you think that about yourself? You didn’t think that way before.” He didn’t think that way when I was mentoring him. I force myself to let him go before I crush his damn hand, letting pure Alderchuck anger course through me. “You’re seeing a different therapist. Effective immediately.”

“Fuck you, Stacey.”

I deserved that. “Be as mad as you want, it’s happening.” My mind’s spun off into wild places. I thought him dating was a sign he was doing better, but he’s worse. It’s my fault. I’ve never stopped being there for him, but I’ve distanced myself a little.

What were you thinking, Alderchuck? I know what I was fucking thinking. I was thinking that if I took myself out of an old role that maybe one day, over time, we’d have a chance at something more. That’s just … it’s never gonna happen. Even the idea of it’s done this to him.

I’m selfish. Selfish for even thinking it.

“Or what? You’ll tell my dad on me?”

I didn’t exactly say that I’d stop going to his dad, but I had planned on it, and I haven’t since that night I talked to Trav. But now …

“Please?” I try.

“Are you actually asking?”

I run fingers through my hair, tugging at the scalp. I’m not. If he says no, I’ll fucking make him myself. I don’t need his dad for that. He can’t. I can’t lose him. My heart pounds into my skull. It’s so loud. Can’t think. Can’t think …

“I’m not.”

The silence stretches on for an eternity. Volatile anger rips apart my insides. His foot taps underneath the table, jittering up his leg, to his fingers, his brown eyes dart all over the place. Then he shoves the sleeves of his hoodie up. It looks like he had a fight with a kitten and lost. Barely scabbed over scratches dart their way up his arms.

“Dash.” Tears well in my bottom lids. Those nightmares had stopped, but they’ve started again. And I know why, he stopped crawling in with me.

“She’s not a bad therapist. We’ve done some good things. I mean, a lot of it’s just stuff you’ve already said, but it’s helped me, nonetheless. The parts that don’t help so much are the parts where I rehash the past over and over. It makes it worse somehow. Like I’m recording a story so that my brain never forgets. But Stace? I want to forget. I want to delete it from my brain and record a new story. Is that bad?”

He’s looking to me for the answers because his compass is off kilter, but it’s got to come from him, even if it’s the smallest inkling of a something. I slide back into an old role. If this is what he needs from me, this is what I’ll be.

“If you don’t know the answer to that question right now, what question could you answer?” It’s the right thing to do, but tar spills over my insides, suffocating any breath of hope I might have had about us eventually getting to a place where—where we could what?

You were fooling yourself, Alderchuck.

Clearly, Dash needs me in ways beyond romance. Maybe this is why I came into his life. It’s a damn honor. I need to count myself lucky that I get to be the one to do this for him, not rue what I can’t have.

He swallows. “I can answer it. It’s not bad. I know it’s not. I want to move forward. I need a way forward. A brand-new fucking story. I need out of my head, Stace.”

I know what that’s like. Mom died and thoughts bombarded me. How would I make money? Would Casey and I starve? Would I ever know what it’s like to live without soul-crushing pain again? I made my brain shut up. I refused to give it an audience. I'd shove it back in when the sad would creep out from the darkness. Our survival depended on it.

“The thoughts won’t stop, but they stop when I’m with you.”

I love that, love that I can make the thoughts stop. He’s supposed to be able to do it on his own—I know that. But is it really so bad?

Yes. It is.

Tools. He needs tools he can employ on his own.

“Have you ever talked to your mom?” I ask.

“Um, maybe you missed this part, but?—”

“I talk to mine,” I blurt out.

He tilts his head. “You’ve never said that before.”

“I don’t want to make our discussions about me—they’re for you.”

His pretty brown eyes rake over me in a way that sends dread up my spine. “Stacey Aaron Alderchuck, you hypocritical asshole.”

“I’m not?—”

“Making me talk when you refuse to.”

“That’s not it. It’s different with me.”

He leans back. Sometimes, I wish he wasn’t so intelligent. Or maybe just that he couldn’t see through me like I’m glass. “Prove it. You talk to me, and I won’t complain about you making me switch therapists.”

Dash smiles. I might act tough, but the truth is, it’s him who can make me do whatever the fuck he wants, not the other way around. I’m trying to be the big bad wolf here, but if he’d cried about switching therapists, I would have crumbled. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.

I sigh. “Fine.”

“Say hello to Dr. Dash Nolan. I’m gonna grill you so hard,” he promises. But whatever was making him call himself a mess earlier has left him.

Fuck, I love seeing him with smiles, but was I his magic bullet again? I don’t see how I’ll ever have the answer to that. And if I can’t answer that question, if I can never be sure that he’s his own man and not one looking to me for all the answers to the universe, “us” is off the table. “Us” would be as wrong as what Robin was angling for.

“Alright, Doc. What’s my first assignment?”

He wraps his ankle around my foot under the table, and we’re still holding hands again. I sip my beer. I’m gonna need a lot of beer for this.

“Don’t worry, we’ll start easy. Didn’t you ever wanna know who your dad was?”

“How’s that easy?”

“I’m pokin’ at you. Seeing what you’ll answer. Same rule for you as you made for me, though. You don’t have to answer what you don’t want to.”

Except I don’t see the point in not telling him. If I’m gonna tell anyone, it’s gonna be Dash. “I’ll answer, but don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten about you. We’re gonna talk about what you said.”

The server drops by to check on us. “Aw, look at you two lovebirds. Can I get you another round?”

“Oh no, we’re not together,” Dash says. “Just friends— best friends.”

The server raises a brow.

“We’ll take another round,” I say so he can leave, and we don’t have to explain ourselves.

Dash shakes his head once he’s gone. “Wow. Judge-y McJudgerson. Seriously, that guy needs to read a room.”

My gaze falls to our joined hands, his foot squeezes my ankle tighter. Can’t say I blame the guy for jumping to conclusions. Has he really stopped seeing us this way?

I should probably let go, but I know what his face will look like if I do, so fuck that. Fuck that straight to hell. The only thing that matters, the only thing that will ever matter, is keeping Dash happy.

“Back to my dad. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. Mom never told us who he was, and it made her too fucking sad when we mentioned it, so we stopped.”

“I get that, but did you wonder? Tell me you were never curious.”

“I was curious, I’m still curious. But not enough to go looking.” It’s crossed my mind a few times that it might be possible with the DNA technology nowadays, but Mom didn’t want us to know. It was the one thing she didn’t want us to know.

“Okay, fair. Now for a hard question.”

“If that one was easy, what’s your definition of hard?”

“On a scale of zero to ten, how much do you miss her right now?”

I wait for the wave of crushing pain to come, but it doesn’t. If anything, it’s as if she’s right here with a smug I told you so in her eyes. Somehow, I can sense how much she loves Dash, too. If anything, I miss Dash—Dash who’s right here in front of me—more than I miss her. How is it possible to miss someone you’re clinging to as if he might evaporate at any moment?

“Right now, it’s a zero. But once in a while, if I open that pandora’s box, I can’t breathe.”

“Awww, Stace. Why don’t you open that box? That’s why it still hurts so bad, you know.”

“How do you figure?”

He takes a breath. “It was like that with my mom. I felt it all. All over. Cried until I was all used up. A purge. Once that was done, I could miss her again without nerve-frying paralysis. I could miss her in happy ways. I know you do the talking to her thing, but that’s not the same as missing her.”

“I don’t think I follow.”

“Know what? That’s your homework. Miss your mom for five minutes a day, even if you cry.”

“I think you’ve lost it, but I’ll do my homework, Doctor Nolan.”

“Good.” He ducks his head. He knows it’s his turn.

“Why are you a mess? I want hardcore proof, Nolan.”

He rolls his eyes. “Because on the inside, I feel like a puzzle spilled onto the floor. The pieces of me are everywhere. Every time I slot one into place, more rain from the sky, scattering the others further away from me. I’m always asking, who I am? Who is the real Dash Nolan?”

“Sweetheart, we’re not puzzles. We’re canvases. If you don’t like a puzzle piece, burn it and paint a new one.”

“Burn it,” he repeats.

“Yeah.”

“And paint a new one.”

“Paint a new one,” I confirm.

He nods. “Okay. I can do that. Maybe Gator can be a new puzzle piece.”

“He can be.” My jaw tightens, locking in my true feelings about that. But after tonight I’m surer than ever, if Dash can’t learn to trust anyone but me in a relationship, I’ll always wonder if I’m taking advantage of him. I need him to try. Gator could end up being his person, but it’s a risk I have to take.

“Then I’m painting a little alligator on a puzzle piece—in my mind only, I can’t paint for shit—and he can be hanging around the outside.”

“The outside of what?”

“My mind castle. Sorry, Gator, you’re in the moat for now,” he says, eyes closed, to an invisible Gator.

I laugh. “Where are the rest of us in this mind castle of yours?”

“Casey’s in the kitchen, of course. I see Dirk in charge of weapons, so he’s wherever you keep those in a castle. Jack’s the court jester so he enters my special chambers to make me laugh when I let him.”

“Your dad?”

“I’ve finally let him in there, too.”

“What about me? Do I ever get to enter? I can make you laugh, too.” He hasn’t mentioned me yet. He’s carefully not mentioned me.

“Ever get to enter? Stace, you never get to leave.”

“Never?”

“Never. I mean, it would be an asshole thing to do. You’re the architect. You built it for me, brick by brick.”