Friendzone Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #4)

Chapter 21

Chapter

Twenty-One

THEN

Off-Season Pre-Orcas

Stacey

I s it wrong to hope for their demise? At least they’re not exclusive, but Dash talks about him, a lot, and I can’t bring myself to make him stop. The difference between Old Stacey and New Stacey is that New Stacey’s stopped giving a fuck about holding back with Dash. Okay, maybe “stopped giving a fuck” is an exaggeration, but everything we started over the hockey season stays on the table, even though we’re back at our home in Vancouver now.

When he wants to sit in my lap, I let him. I’m available to him at all times of the day. My bed? He owns a whole side of it. For real. I know better than to try and take up my whole bed after the last time. He tried to crawl in after a shift, and when he saw me in the middle of the bed, he thought that meant I wanted the bed to myself. But he’s not Old Dash anymore. Old Dash would have quietly returned to his own room, New Dash woke me up, voice watery with tears and rejection, demanding to know why he wasn’t welcome anymore. I spent the rest of the night consoling him, convincing him that my bed was his bed, too. I make sure he’s busy for the day before I make plans. If he’s free, then I belong to him. To be honest, I’ve canceled plans to be with him.

No one needs to tell me how pathetic I am. Already know, and I don’t give a fuck. Don’t plan on stopping any time soon.

At this point, it’s kinda pissing me off that he doesn’t know, which isn’t fair. I should tell him if I want him to know, but it’s better I let this Syd thing run its course. After that, no waiting. I’ve given every damn signal there is.

Sutter bursts in through The Wicklow door, looking around like a starved dog in desperate need of food. He’s so obvious. No one wants a hook-up this obsessively.

“Casey’s not here,” I tell him.

“He at home?”

He is, but I shrug. Casey might not want him knowing.

“He’s not answering his cell phone. What if he choked on a Jolly Rancher?”

“Get out, Sutter.”

“Fine.” He struts out like he’s a Bond villain.

Dash bursts from the kitchen. He was cut from his section an hour ago, which means he wasn’t sat any more tables and once the tables he had were finished, he was done. Looks like he’s off now, changed into his black skinny jeans and a concert tee. He slides his gorgeous ass onto a seat at my bar top.

“Was that Sutter?”

“The one and only.”

“Casey’s off of him today,” he says, as if my brother quit carbs for the weekend—something he’d never do, right along with quitting Sutter’s dick. “He thinks it would be funny to direct Sutter to the Meyer house.”

“No.” Mercy has enough on his plate.

“You’re no fun. Jack said it would be fine.”

All I have to do is cross my arms.

“Alright, I’ll tell him not to. Would have been epic, though,” he mutters. “But anyway, Syd wants to talk to me about something later. What do you think it is? I’m stressing here. He knows I’m anxious as fuck. Everyone knows the phrase “we need to talk” sets my head spinning.”

Well, we do. Syd doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of Dash. Know who knows everything about Dash? Me. It’s me.

“Have a seat, sweetheart. Wanna tell me about it?”

He rests his head on my bar top as he does, circling his finger over the copper. “You still gonna play for Vancouver?”

That wasn’t a decision I made lightly. When I was offered to move up from the farm team I’ve played on with Dash for several seasons and play in the NHL, it wasn’t the happy moment I thought it would be. I was filled with so much conflict—I’d be leaving Dash. In the end, I took the contract as a just-in-case measure. Just in case Syd and Dash don’t last. Just in case he ends up with me by some miracle.

Just in case he’s still in love with me.

It’ll pay for a good future for us. I can make all his dreams come true. But the sacrifice gave me pause. It’s hard enough to manage one hockey schedule let alone two. It’s probably the only thing I’d rather talk about less than Syd.

“Thought you wanted to talk about Syd?”

“Not really. I mean, I do, but all I’m gonna do is come up with one totally illogical scenario after another, and it would all be speculation. Unlike our very real impending separation, that is, if you’re still going?”

“I’m still going.” And I’m fucking decisive when I say it, too. The life I could give him with NHL money is beyond measure. It’s happening, no matter how distraught I feel when I have to look into that face he’s giving me right now.

Fuck. His lip’s wobbling. You’re killing me, Dashie.

“Can I come with you?”

“What about your hockey career?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. But, like, if I wanted to, would you let me?”

It’s a test. Why’s he testing me?

I sigh. “It’s not a matter of letting you—you’re an adult, you can make your own decisions—but I would try to talk you out of it.”

It’s the wrong answer. I know it as soon as I’ve said it.

“That’s the same as not letting me, Stace.”

“It’s—”

He pops his head up, a hard expression in his eyes. “It’s the same to me.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Yeah, kinda. It’s like you don’t give a fuck that you’re leaving.”

He’s picking a fight, but what he’s really looking for is security. Leaving is hard for Dash. It might always be.

I lean over the bar top. It’s the slow lull of the day, but there are still a few patrons around. Don’t really care about them. I slide a hand across his face. It’s just me and him.

“I give so many fucks that I don’t want to go. I never want to be separated from you.”

Nothing I’ve said dims the tension between us. “There’s a ‘but’, Stace. I can feel it.”

“But I’m going.” I back away. “We need the money.” I mean for us—him and I, us—but I let him assume I mean me and my brother. I’ll elaborate when we’re together. Because we will be together. I’m going to buy him a house and fill it with all his favorites. First thing I’ll buy is one of those giant reading chairs he found on The Clock app, but we’ll use it to have movie marathons. I tried to buy him one just before the season’s end, but the best ones were five thousand dollars. And then I thought about Casey ruining it with mac and cheese fingers. It’s better if it goes in our own home, I just have to wait out fucking Syd.

He inhales a frustrated breath. “I get that, which is why I wouldn’t want you to give it up. Which is why I’d come with you.”

“How’s Syd gonna feel about that?” That just came out. I swear. As much as I want to be Syd right now, as much as each brick of my restraint has crumbled, if Dash wants a chance at love with him, how can I deny him that?

“Syd’s been in my life for five seconds, Stace.”

“You’re not quitting hockey because of me, Dash. That’s final.”

Dash grits his teeth, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring. Am I a bad person for enjoying this? Not the part where I have to tell him that we are separating for the season, but provoking that Dash fierceness I love so much. It took a while to bring that to the surface. He was so timid when we were first getting to know each other. But Dash isn’t a timid person when he’s comfortable around you. Every drop of his fire is a hard-won prize, and I exist for it. It gives me a rush.

I know how to handle him.

“Thought I was an adult who makes his own choices, huh?”

“Still, no, Dash.”

A couple of drink orders pop up on my bar screen. I leave to make them, keeping an eye on him. He doesn’t leave, only checks his phone a few times. When I’m finished with those drinks, I start my end-of-shift bar prep, cutting lemons and limes, restocking the bar fridge, and getting it ready for Dirk, who’s on after me. I wash my hands after I’m done and collect Dash from the bar top.

He’s gone from pouty to devastated.

I get him home and sit us on the porch swing, pulling his shoes off and removing his socks so I can massage his feet. I desperately need a shower after a six-hour shift, but he smells like a restaurant, too, so we’re fine for a minute.

“You’d resent me,” I tell him.

“Never.”

“Tell me what it looks like. You on the road with me.”

“I’d be your dedicated fan. At every game. Ready to give you massages off the ice.”

“When would you get to play hockey, hmm?” He’s quiet. “Remember when you told me how powerful it makes you feel? Has that stopped being true?”

“No.” He sighs. “I see where you’re going with this. Okay, it’s not gonna work, but I’m all hollow inside. You’re not gone, you’re right here, and I’m already missing you.”

I press my thumb into the sole of his foot, a relief-filled groan falls from those pouty lips of his.

“I feel the same way, sweetheart.”

“You were right about something else, too. We should never have spent as much time together as we do. It’s gonna ache so bad.”

I have nothing good to tell him. It will. It’s going to feel like someone’s tearing the skin from my body. Daily. “We’ll video chat every day. Not the same, I know, but I’ll be constant chatter in your ear, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And tell Syd,” I advise him. “Tell him what you need, Dash.”

“Ugh. I knew you might say that, but what if he doesn’t like what I need?”

“Then he doesn’t deserve to lick your smelly after-work feet.” I tickle them. It’s cheating, but I want a bit of that laughter I love. The laughter without restraint.

He kicks his feet, a big laugh breaking free. Alderchuck scores.

“I know,” he says, finally fucking smiling. “But that’s easy to say. The rejection is hard to swallow without thinking I’m the one with the problem.”

“If you’re willing to try, I’m right here for any aftermath.”

“I’ll try,” he says, wiggling his other foot to signal he’s ready to have that one massaged. Am I the definition of tragic for massaging his feet while he texts another man on my suggestion? Maybe. Don’t care. When I say I’ll do anything for him, I mean it.

But I’m not a saint. Part of me hopes Syd reveals himself as an insensitive prick or something. Sooner rather than later.

He sends off a text, and it’s not long before he gets an answer that plasters a new kind of smile on his face.

“Whoa. This is huge.” He hugs his phone.

“Well? What is it?”

“Syd’s thing he wanted to talk to me about was a surprise. I thought for sure he was breaking things off with me. He’s been distant as fuck. But what he’s been doing is traveling, buying real estate. He bought a condo in Vancouver and Kelowna. That’s, well, I don’t even have words. He apologized for getting distracted by the process and not touching base enough. He said he’ll call and text more often.”

I can articulate what Dash can’t. Syd gave him certainty. He made a huge fucking gesture. More than that, Syd’s been thinking about him. He’s been planning this for a while.

There’s a slam from within, the same sensation as being smashed into the boards by two hundred pounds of hockey pads and muscle, flying at a velocity of thirty kilometers per hour.

This.

This is the moment losing Dash begins, and there’s nothing I can do but watch. Worst of all, it’s my own damn fault.

September

I t’s a rainy Vancouver day when I have to leave Dash. Even the birds are quiet, the sky’s overcast with gloom. The pure scorn on his face for the fact I’m leaving—I swear, he’d burn down the league if he could. Dash follows me around till the last moment. Casey and I need to get our asses to the ferry terminal. Training camp’s in Victoria this year, and we’re about to miss the boat if we don’t get our shit together.

I’m supposed to be the strong one, but a gut-gnawing feeling’s taken root and it won’t let me move. There’s also the fact that Dash stole my car keys and won’t give them back.

“Dash.”

“I’ve changed my mind. You’re not going, I’m not going. We’re all quitting hockey.”

I’ve chased him through the house, and while I might be bigger, he’s faster. His chest rises and falls from across the kitchen island. Sweaty hair plastered against his forehead, and his bare toes press into the linoleum, ready to run.

“Dash,” I repeat, hoping that if I say it with more authority he’ll listen.

No deal.

“Fuck you, Alderchuck. You’re big and mean and just … mean!”

He’s beyond reason, and I don’t have any reasons to give him. Not good ones. His “quit hockey” idea sounds more appealing all the time. We wouldn’t be rich—I couldn’t buy him two condos like Syd can—but we’d be together.

Even together as friends is better than leaving him.

But I’m going.

“I’ll get an Uber.”

His eyes flick to where my phone is on the counter. He thrusts his hand toward it at the same time I do. I change course and grab his wrist instead. He’s trapped. He’s mine. I tug, pulling him across the island.

“Stacey! Let me go.”

“Give me my keys.”

“No!”

It only takes a swift motion to drag him the rest of the way despite his gallant kicking efforts. In a blink, he’s on his feet and I have him pushed against the wall, my hand wrapped over the one holding my keys hostage with the other planted beside his head.

My hair falls over my shoulder, almost touching him, and I must make for a grim silhouette.

Dash’s free hand punches my solid chest over and over. I can take a hit. I let him get it out. He dissolves into tears. “No, no, no. I can’t do it without you. Please. ”

He’s gasping, thrashing for air.

“Shh, c’mon, Dashie. Breathe with me, okay?” I release the hand that’s got my keys to place his free hand against my chest. I can’t … can’t leave him like this. His tears fucking kill me, but I maintain eye contact. “I won’t go. I’ll stay here with you. Or you can come with me. Whatever you wanna do, okay?”

The keys clang when they hit the floor. His chest shakes with tired laughter. He puts his arms out and I lift him, spinning him around, setting his ass on the kitchen island. Dash wipes at his tears.

“I shoulda cried sooner.”

His tears will always be my kryptonite.

“You have to go,” he says like we haven’t already been through this a few thousand times. The off-season was turmoil. Between his rocky relationship with Syd, and the impending season, we barely slept. “And I have to learn to live without you.”

“Hey now, no one said that.”

“This is bad, Stacey,” he says referring to his state. “I talked to Syd about it.”

He talked to Syd about us? Don’t know if I like that, but I’d be an asshole to ask him not to. “What did he say?”

“Mostly listened, but then he said I spend too much time with you.”

On the one hand, I can’t blame the guy. If I were Syd and my boyfriend—yep, they made it official—was spending as much time with me as Dash does, I’d have buried me in a hole somewhere by now.

But on the other hand, fuck that guy.

“You agree?”

“No. Yes. I mean, I like how much time we spend together, but this is too much—don’t say it’s not.”

It’s not. It’s so fucking not.

Okay, maybe we’re a little much, but we’re us and that’s nobody’s business. Fuck. Total disaster. And, yes, I regret not saying anything at the beginning of this whole Syd situation, but how was I supposed to know it was gonna last through the off-season? Dash’s relationships have never lasted. Ever. All evidence pointed to this being the same.

“We’re a lot,” I admit, “but I love us.”

“Me too.”

An eternity seems to pass before either of us speaks again.

“But even you’ve said it, Stace, in not so many words. I fought you on it as per usual, and now look, can’t even let you walk out the door.” His fingers claw into my shirt, ribcage shaking. He thinks I’m gonna disappear.

“What if I got a tattoo?” I think up on the spot. To Dash, permanence is everything. A tattoo’s pretty damn permanent. Every time he sees it, it’ll remind him that he’s imprinted on me forever.

“L-Like, what kind of tattoo?”

“Anything you want.”

Something flashes in his eyes. Something deep, dark, and possessive. And then it’s gone so fast, I have to question if it was there in the first place. The chill over my skin’s the only evidence that I’m not losing my mind.

“Wherever I want, too?”

“Whatever you want, wherever you want.”

Casey barges in the door. He’s soaked, head to toe. “You two need to wrap it the fuck up, or we’re gonna miss our ferry reservation.” He bends to retrieve the keys off the ground, slamming the door behind him.

“Think about what you want. I’ll text you as soon as we’re on the ferry, kay?”

He nods. I plant a kiss on his forehead. “Don’t you dare say goodbye. You know how much I fucking hate goodbye.”

“Never, Dashie. We never say goodbye.”

January

C algary in January is for the polar bears and penguins only. Seriously. I’m not planning to leave the hotel room other than for the game, but even looking at the snow from the window sends a shudder down my spine. Vancouverites aren’t snow people. The only exception being when we head up to Whistler-Blackcomb for a ski or snowboard day. Snow belongs on mountains, end of story.

“There you are. Come out with me tonight. I need to stick it to Sutter,” Casey says.

“Isn’t he your serious boyfriend now?” I can’t keep up with them. If they haven’t declared themselves official after the way they were at Christmas, someone needs to do it for them.

“What does our relationship status have to do with sticking it to Sutter? That never ends.” I think he’s honestly baffled that I thought it would end. “But while I do want to stick it to Sutter, I’m also your personal intervention. You don’t smile anymore, dude. Come out and quit being a cheerless motherfucker.”

Don’t I? Am I a cheerless motherfucker? Guess that tracks. My insides ached for a long time, so I turned down the thermostat on all emotions. I exist to play hockey now, and that’s it.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know you don’t want to talk about it but?—”

“I don’t.”

“Tell him. I’m begging you, Stacey. Tell him before it’s too late.”

“It already is.”

“It’s not.”

“They’re talking about getting a dog together during the off-season,” I say.

“You’re right, wow. Once they do that, they can never break up again.” He rolls his eyes.

“Point is, they’re serious. I’m not breaking up something serious.”

“Dash has a right to know how you feel. He’d want to know. Of all people, you should fucking know that.”

I do, which means that’s the point that lands. But it’s only a seed planted. Nothing sprouts. “You can’t be sure of that.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“How?”

A sly smile takes over his face. “Leave it to me, Stace.”

It’s written into my top five rules of life: Never leave it to Casey. Especially not when he smiles like a fox about to pounce. But I don’t have any fight in me. How much trouble can he get into with Dash when Dash is thousands of miles away?

T he game’s tonight, so no practice this morning. Gives me time to leisurely drink First Coffee. Casey’s up before me. Well, that’s never good. He’s demurely leaning over the counter, forearms down, occupied by the phone in his hands.

He’s smiling, chuckling. He’s chuckle-smiling. Wait, is that…?

“What are you doing with my phone?”

“I’m having the best chat with Dash right now.”

“From my fucking phone?” I’ll kill him.

Casey chooses to ignore the rage I’m blasting his way. “You’re right. Sorry. You’re having the best chat with Dash right now.”

“Case—”

“How have you never noticed how jealous he gets? It might be worse, or at least as much as, me and Sutter.”

He does? Since the damage has been done anyway … “Lemme see.”

“Just a sec. Aaaaand, sent. A nice picture of you and your fictional lay.”

“What?”

“Relax. It’s just a cropped picture of me and Sutter. Here.”

Dash and Fake Me have been chatting for a while. “You told him I hooked up with someone last night?” A fake someone. I haven’t seen anyone since my failed attempt with New Guy. It was a feeble attempt to get over Dash. Newsflash, it didn’t work.

“Yeah. How else was I supposed to make him jealous? Oh wait, aren’t you seeing New Guy?” he mutters to himself, not really looking for an answer. He’s whipped out his own phone and by that smile on his face, he just got a message from Sutter. That’s sure to distract him for a while. Sutter is my brother’s permanent distraction, his forever fidget spinner.

I use the opportunity to look at the damage he’s done, so I can figure out how to fix it. I can’t help my curiosity over what Dash might have said.

“Me”

Hey, Dashie, you up?

I don’t even talk like that.

Dash

Yeah, Stace.

“Me”

Been seeing someone, thought you should know.

Dash can’t think this is me. I’d never send Dash something like that out of the blue.

Dash

Who?

What the? How can he think this is me?

“Me”

Met him on Benduovr last time I was in Calgary. Been chatting. Saw him last night.

Ha! I never use that app. I only have an account because Dash made me one. Speaking of which, add a tally to the “no way does Dash ever get jealous of me” column. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t give a fuck if he’s making me Benduovr profiles.

Dash

Are you drunk?

“Me”

Yeah. From being up aaaaaallll night fucking.

Dash

Just tried to call you. Why aren’t you picking up?

“Me”

Too drunk.

F ucking Casey. It is interesting that he tried to call me, though. But it could have more to do with how unhinged I am in this conversation versus any fake hook ups.

Dash

What does he look like?

“Me”

He’s got a jawline like Kevin Bieksa. I was nibbling on it.

That’s when it happens. There. Right there. And it’s before I ever look at Dash’s next message. Alarm . The kind of arm-hair spiking alarm you might experience right before you’re attacked by a cougar. It’s a shot of adrenaline through my veins. It’s because I know—deep down—the shit I’m going to be in for something like that.

Dash and I have our playful Kevin Bieksa thing, but saying I’m nibbling on a man who’s just like Bieksa isn’t a game we ever play.

Fuck. I look to the ceiling before I check the next message that I know is gonna be bad.

Dash

That’s fine. Enjoy. Are we done here?

Yep, I’m in shit. But damn, Casey’s right. He’s jealous. It might not seem like much to anyone else, but that’s Dash for jealous as fuck.

Dash

Not seeing you type anything, Alderchuck. We’re definitely talking about this when you’re sober, but right now, I want nothing to do with you.

Yes, he does. I can tell what he’s doing there. “I” haven’t answered him as soon as he’d like—as soon as I usually do when we’re chatting—so he’s prodding. It’s the same as when he does things like dump out my suitcase or steal my car keys so I can’t leave.

Dash

I’m so mad at you. I don’t have a right to be, but I am.

Know what? I’ve decided on the tattoo.

That’s one way to stop all thoughts firing. I’ve been waiting for his tattoo choice since the beginning of the season. He hasn’t told me. Syd—rich-ass Syd—was there for him, flying to meet up with him wherever Dash was playing, taking my place. I was left to assume my gesture was no longer warranted.

Dash

Fucking Ask Dash on an angle, down the V of your pelvis.

I can hear the way he’d say those words. Every drip of venom, every lick of flames. They light my body on fire.

It’s not that I’ve never noticed the possessiveness. But that felt different. I’ve always interpreted Dash’s need to keep me to himself as his way of keeping himself safe.

The tattoo he wants isn’t just a tattoo. It’s a fucking brand. It says I belong to him and no one else. It’s a way to ensure it, too. Anyone I’d hook up with from here on out would see it. They’d ask about it. I’d be ruined for anyone else. Who wants to get serious with someone who’s got that kind of commitment with someone else?

It’s a literal instruction, and it’s fucking scary and hilarious at the same time. Maybe adorable too, but I’m sure I’m the only one that’s gonna find something like that adorable.

The next thing from “me” is the image Casey sent. At least he didn’t answer that tattoo request—demand—on my behalf.

My brother’s crop job is well thought out. It doesn’t show anything that might give away that it’s Sutter’s hand, curving over my brother’s ass, and the angle is such that Casey’s poutine tattoo can’t be seen.

But.

He missed something. I see it right away, and so does Dash.

Dash

Did you lose a mole, Alderchuck?

I have three moles, dotting my torso in an arc toward the bottom of my ribcage. Casey only has two.

Dash

Wrong shape. Wrong size. This has to be Casey.

Him knowing the image wasn’t me from such a small patch of skin might be even better than him getting jealous.

Dash

You’re a fucking dick, Case. For the record. This was beyond mean.

Okay, it’s been a while, Casey. I’m going to assume you were actually drunk and you’ve passed out.

I hated everything about this, just so you know. I’m gonna restart my morning. Stace, when you get this, please call?

And if you were wondering, I’m serious about the tattoo.

My face burns. I’m on fire. I feel owned. And he always has, he always will own my ass, but I’ve never felt it like this, like there’s an inferno crawling over my skin, bleeding over my limbs.

Casey’s right. There’s something. Not that it matters. All this has done is put me in an even tighter spot. But I can’t help feeling a sick pleasure, knowing he can’t cry to Syd about this. What’s he gonna say? I thought my best friend hooked up with someone else and it sent me into a jealous fit?

I peck out a message as fast as my fingers will type because Casey might have made this mess, but I’m gonna have to fix it.

Me

Casey got my phone. I’m turning the face ID off so he can’t get in next time. And I’ll punch him in the arm till he cries. I’ll make him let you punch him in the arm when we see you.

I’ll call you after I rip Casey a new asshole. And sweetheart? Yes. Absolutely fucking yes. Anything, anywhere.