Friendzone Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #4)

Chapter 28

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

NOW

Stacey

D id I marry him at City Hall two days later? You’re goddamn right I did. We have the record for the longest time to get together in the group, but the fastest to get married once we made ourselves official. RhettLo holds the shortest engagement—they got married without ever getting engaged. I got a new bed and moved him into my room since it’s bigger than his.

Dash is sprawled on his stomach, dark hair askew, but ring hand where I can see it, glinting in the deep amber morning sun. That was the secret surprise. I measured his finger with a piece of string while he was sleeping and took it to the jeweler when I was out with Sutter doing bank stuff. I’d love to let him sleep, but I’m too excited to start the day with him. If I wake him with a blow job, he’ll forgive me.

But as soon as I try to move, he whines, clinging to me. “ Stace. ”

Guess I’ll have to go with plan B. In a smooth move, I flip him onto his back. He blinks sleepy eyes as I divest him of the comforter.

“Good morning, Mr. Alderchuck.”

It’s cheating. He can’t help smiling when I call him that. He sees where I’m headed, south, toward his dick. I spread his hair-dusted thighs before he’s properly awake. Using the flat side of my tongue, I lick up his flaccid shaft, and he bucks his hips. I just like looking at him like this, naked and open for me, his balls hanging over the crack of his ass, all fluttery lashes and sexy morning hair.

Getting Dash hard doesn’t take long, making the head of his cock red and angry with arousal is an art I’ve been perfecting for the past two days. His hands tug the roots of my hair, wreaking havoc on my skull, but I don’t care—the sounds he’s making, like a wounded horny animal.

I edge the fuck out of him. Until he cries. He begs and beats on my back with his heel.

“Hey, brats don’t get to come.”

“I’m not gonna survive. Please. Please. ”

In case no one’s noticed, I’m kind of a sucker for him. Pretty sure the term used is cock-whipped. I suck hard with a single finger far enough inside him to light a fire to his insides, and he comes down my throat. He muffles himself with a pillow, tries to at least, but I’m sure Casey and Sutter still heard him in the next room.

I carry my chest high over that one. I’ve never heard Dash scream through the wall with other lovers.

Only me.

“What was … what was that for?” he asks, trying and failing to catch his breath.

“That was good morning.”

“You sure it’s not preemptive groveling for making me play hockey for Slut One and Slut Two’s entertainment?”

“ Dash .” I leave a crisp handprint on the side of his ass.

He laugh-yelps. “C’mon, that one was gold. It ate when I said it in front of Casey and Sutter.”

“The same Casey and Sutter who spend hours laughing at fail videos? You need a new audience.” I flop beside him and wrap one of his thick hockey thighs around me. “Do you hate the idea that much?”

“No. I guess they grew on me a little—enough to entertain them with a game of hockey for an afternoon—but I haven’t forgiven them yet. Don’t let me drink tequila around them.”

“Noted.”

I attack him again. How many times can I get us off before we absolutely have to get out of bed?

Let’s find out.

“ I ’m team captain,” Sutter says.

“I’m other team captain,” Casey shouts just after him.

“And I’m playing on a team with Stacey,” Dash declares. “Don’t care which one of you yahoos is my team captain.”

“You can’t do that,” Sutter says. “You’re supposed to play opposite your spouse—and the captains pick the teams!”

Dash stands taller, crossing his arms. I know that look. He’s not budging

Casey sighs. “Just let them be on the same team. Stacey’s just gonna pass the puck to Dash anyway.”

He’s right, I will pass him the puck.

Only “the puck” isn’t a puck, but a neon orange ball. We still call it a puck. We’re at Meyer Central with two nets set up in the middle of the street. The non-participatory Meyers line the edges of the block with lounge chairs and coolers of drinks set up between them. Philip’s comfortable in a chair, wearing nothing but a pair of board shorts and sandals, a boy on either side of him.

All the proud brats of the group had jaw-dropping moments when they saw him. He’s a pretty delicious sight, and he’s got machismo.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sutter says. “I’d never help you win if we were on opposing teams.”

“Obviously. Nor would I pass you anything but my fists. We’re normal, they’re not,” Casey explains.

“I’m only playing if I’m on Rhett’s team,” Logan declares.

“Of course, you’re on my team, baby. He’s on my team, Sutter,” Rhett informs him. “Shouldn’t I be a team captain? My stats are higher than Alderchuck’s.”

“I swear to fucking god, Elkington, if you go on about your stats one more time?—”

Sutter throws his hands up. “None of you play right. This is such bullshit. Jack? I assume you want to be on a team with Mercy?”

“Nope. No fucking way. Competition is the best foreplay,” Jack says. He winks at his other half.

“If we’re picking our teams, I’m on a team with Bryce,” Maverick says. Yeah, he comes to things now. His in to the group is Rhett.

“No, he’s fucking not. If I have to be on a team with him, I’m not playing,” Bryce says.

“Playing hard to get today, eh? Fine, separate us,” Maverick says, eyes glittering. “I’m happy to chase you, baby.”

“I’m good on either team,” Ari, Mercy’s younger brother says. “My man’s just gonna watch my ass in these shorts the whole time, aren’t you, sweets?”

His man is Cody, looking like Clark Kent in his square black frames. “Sure am!”

Bea, Mercy’s sister, and her partner Trish aren’t playing either. They’re set up with ciders, eyes hiding behind large sunglasses.

“I hate it here,” Sutter says. “Anybody else? By all means pick your own teams, why don’t you?”

“We still pick the teams, Sutter, we just have to know who comes with who. I call dibs on Rachel,” Casey says. He and Rachel high-five. “We’re gonna murder you, Sutter.”

Theo raises his hand. “I’m on Rhett’s team because I wanna win.”

“Atta boy,” Rhett says, ruffling his dark hair.

“Ugh, you’ve poisoned him,” Casey says.

The game is a bit of a disaster like it always is. Sutter’s new here, he’s going to have to forget about “real” hockey and play the Meyer way. Multiple people are sent to the penalty box, which consists of two lone chairs, sequestered away from the fans section of the sidewalk, often for ridiculous and made-up offenses. A lot of verbal fights break out. Stanley, who’s just barely learned to walk, joins us as a forward for a goal. Jack’s his puppeteer, helping him accept a pass from Mercy, and stick handle the ball toward the net defended by Theo on the other side. Jack shoots, but Stanley scores.

During the intermission, I stand near one of the nets with my husband, ogling the hell out of him as he talks animatedly to Logan about a show they follow, resting my hands atop the curve of my hockey stick, handle side down. I’m having a hard time keeping my hands off him. All I want to do is slip my fingers into the waistband of his shorts and pull him toward me.

A throat clears. Rhett’s to my left side, and since we’re not besties—though I don’t share Casey’s disdain for him—he must want something.

“Elkington.”

“I want in on this house situation,” Rhett says, skipping pleasantries.

“Why are you coming to me about it? Sutter’s more in charge of it than I am. He’s your bestie.”

“Hmm. He said I should run it by you because it would require a rehaul of the basement, and you’d have to allow my brother to stay with us. I’d pay for the renovations out of pocket and expect nothing in return. I can guarantee they will increase the value of your investment.”

“Why do you want in so badly? I thought you and Logan were buying a place.”

He twitches his lips. “It’s not going so well. I’d almost closed on a deal, a house he finally said he loved, but things changed. He’s enjoyed being close to family this summer, and after what happened when we visited his mother, he’s more attached than ever. Moving in next door is the best of both worlds.”

“Well, who am I to stand in the way of true love?” I already have to live with Sutter and Casey, what’s a RhettLo in the grand scheme of things? “Casey’s okay with it?”

“Okay is a strong word. Sutter’s … handling that. I’m going to take your vote for love as a yes. I bring a lot to the table. I’ll get the paperwork moving faster for us.”

Before I have a chance to protest, he’s gone, pulling out his cell phone as he saunters away. Guess I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t accept Dash living somewhere else either. Speaking of, time to steal him back. I tug on his shirt.

“You two done talking about your soap opera yet?”

“Impatient, eh?” Dash says, wandering into my arms where he belongs. “And it’s not a soap opera.”

“It’s kind of a soap opera,” Logan admits. “Where did Rhett go? He had his scheming look about him. I should keep that in check.”

I point. “He’s scheming that way.”

“What is Rhett scheming about?” Dash asks once Logan’s gone.

“Logan moving in with him.”

“I get it. I can’t imagine not living with you, and I’m gonna have to for too many months of the year. There should be a law that says husbands can’t be separated.”

“Agreed.” And now that he’s officially mine to provide for and protect, I’m even more hellbent on making sure he’s got everything. I won’t give up my NHL salary yet, but NHL careers are short anyway. Maybe since I allowed Rhett to move in with us, he’d be willing to show me how to invest our money?

Our money because what’s mine is Dash’s.

“I’m not gonna think about it for now. Come with me to grab an intermission beer?” he says.

“Always.”

M y hand pats the other side of the bed, searching out my husband who’s not wrapped around me for some reason. The sheets are cold. What the fuck? No Dash. Just gone. Well, that’s not okay. I slide into a pair of loose boxer shorts and stumble from the bedroom like a caveman in search of food.

There are children, girl children, coloring at the kitchen island. I race back to the bedroom, toss on some pants and a T-shirt, and return to find out what the fuck is going on.

I recognize Bethany and Lorelei Meyer, but not the dark-haired little girl in the ballerina dress. She’s got familiar sharp and dangerous edges to her features.

“Here you go, baby sis. Scrambled as you like them,” Sutter says, setting a plate in front of her.

Feeling as if I stumbled out of a dream—one where I was buried deep in my husband’s delicious ass—into the Twilight Zone, I wander to the other side of the kitchen where said husband’s fiddling with the coffee machine. Casey’s at the fridge, fishing out the carton of milk, carrying it over to where he’s got three small plastic cups waiting for him. Where did we get those?

Maybe I should be used to some new kind of fuckery sprouting up, but I’m not. I slide my arms around Dash from behind. “You left me.”

He spins, laughing. “I came out here to make you coffee. I wanted to do something husband-y for you.”

“Making coffee is husband-y?”

Dash shrugs. “It seemed husband-y.”

I lean close to his ear, keeping my voice low. “It’s also husband-y to sit on my cock because my husband’s the only person who gets to do that.” I’ve fucked him in every square inch of this house. I’ve fucked him in my Hummer. I’ve even gotten him off against a tree on a hiking trail. I haven’t had enough yet.

“Later. I’m making your coffee.”

I groan as he pulls away, left with the hard-on from hell. That’s fine. I’ll get my revenge.

“What’s going on with all this?” I ask, gesturing to the Sutterchuck daycare that’s materialized in our kitchen.

“They say they arranged a playdate so Isla could hang with Beth and Lorelei, I say they’re practicing for when they’re girl dads,” Dash explains.

“We’re taking them to the Vancouver Aquarium,” Casey says.

I think that was supposed to be in defense of their actions, but taking them on an official outing? Sounds like some serious girl-dad shit to me.

“Theo loves the Aquarium,” Dash points out.

“Theo’s a traitor. Said he already had plans with Rhett.”

“Charles and Stevie would have loved to join,” I say.

“Charles and Stevie are meeting Charles’s dad today, hence why we have Isla with us.”

“Are you Isla?” I ask.

She nods, refusing to look up from her coloring.

“Isla gets shy around hockey players because she likes them,” Lorelei helpfully provides.

Isla’s jaw drops. “I do not.”

“Isla’s marrying a girl, she told me,” Sutter says. “Men are dogs.”

“You sayin’ you’re a dog, babe?” Casey says, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“You know I am, baby. Not you, though, you’re a kitten.”

Ceramic scrapes across the marble and a steaming mug is pressed against my hand. “For you, Mr. Alderchuck,” Dash says. He plants a kiss on my lips.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Take a sip. Did I get it right?”

Why does it feel like all his hopes and dreams hinge on him getting my coffee right? Probably because they do. Fuck. I don’t have a playbook for this. The last thing I want to do is drop into what he calls “mentor mode”, but my gut’s telling me there’s something deeper here we need to talk about.

Yeah, all that from coffee. Who knew?

Could I take a sip and lie to him, tell him it’s good no matter what? Yeah. I wouldn’t even be a terrible lie by most standards, but if he ever found out—and he has a way of finding everything out about me—it would crush him. If it isn’t right and I tell him, it’s going to crush him.

I bring the cup to my lips. Please be fucking right. There’s nothing and then that hard punch of bitter I crave as I swallow it down.

“This is honestly fucking perfect, Dashie.”

He beams, fluttering his lashes as he smiles. “Thank fuck. I’ve gotta bring something to the table.”

Okay, there it is. I grip his wrist. His eyes widen. “Excuse us for just a moment,” I say.

I drag Dash to our bedroom. Don’t know if this will get loud. I set my perfect coffee on the bedside table and pull my husband—who can’t seem to look me in the eyes—to me.

Let’s change that. I slip gentle fingers under his jawline and tilt until I meet those deep brown pools of resistance. He doesn’t want to have this conversation.

“Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“You’re not my mentor anymore, Stace.”

“Exactly. I’m your husband.” I let that hang in the air. “If I were only your mentor, I’d let it go. As your husband there’s no fucking way I can let that go.”

He fights the smile tugging at his lips. I said the right thing. Alderchuck scores. “I know what you’ll say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

Fuck, he’s stubborn. It makes me want to nibble on him. Is that a normal reaction? I don’t know, but I’m going with my instincts. I tilt his head some more, giving me access to the underside of his jaw. This might be my favorite place to nibble.

Dash shivers, he clings to me.

This might be his favorite place for me to nibble.

“S-Stace, this isn’t fair.”

“Should I stop?” I pause.

“N-No. Please don’t stop.”

“Good. I’m waiting for a response, by the way, and FYI, I can do this all day.” I suck and kiss and blow hot breath across the trails of wetness I leave behind.

“Is this your strategy? Arouse me into talking?”

“Well, would a mentor do that?”

“No.”

“Then I think it’s a good strategy for us, so you know the difference between your husband and a mentor.”

He groans, but it’s an amused sort of groan. A groan that turns into a soft pleasure-filled moan.

“Why is that so fucking sexy?” he complains. He exhales slowly. “And I kinda hate that you’re naturally good at being my husband—not just any husband, but my husband—and I have so little to offer you, other than making your coffee right.”

My heart jolts, and I pause again, though I try to cover all that up with more kisses.

“I know you’ll just tell me I have lots to offer, but it wouldn’t be true. I need you more than you need me. Fuck, I don’t even have money to bring to the table.”

He’s right about one thing. I do want to tell him he’s got lots to offer. “Is this about the house? If anything, that was for me.”

“It’s not about the house. Not exactly. It’s … hard to explain. I actually love that you take care of me, maybe too much, I just wish I had something to offer in return.”

“You severely underestimate how much ‘just you’ is a bargaining chip.” I move down his neck, sucking longer this time. Maybe a pretty purple hickey will ward everyone away from him. When I’m done, I unlatch my mouth and lean back to admire my work. “Philip helped me understand something about myself.”

He raises a brow.

“Taking care of someone isn’t just a thing I like to do, it’s a need of mine. It’s always been there, even before Mom died. I liked to look after her too. A lot of people don’t like being looked after the way I wanna look after you. Allowing me to do so as thoroughly as I need to is a fucking honor.”

Tears well in his bottom lids. “Really?”

“Yep. A need, Dashie. I need it. So it’s utter bullshit that you need me more than I need you. I need you at least as much.”

“I don’t know about that. I need you in order to function, Stace,” he whispers as if he’s afraid to admit it. “Like, it’s not as if I can’t get by without you. Clearly, I can. But it’s this odd form of slowly withering as if you own half of my life force and the only way to feel whole is to be near you long enough to regenerate.”

I get a flash of his face near Christmastime during our video call. He was like death warmed over.

“It’s the same for me, Dashie. The same feeling. I was withering without you.”

“Isn’t that bad? To rely on someone for continued existence. Even you’ve said it’s bad.”

“I did think it was, but I was working off someone else’s paradigm.”

“You said you didn’t do that.”

“Can I claim temporary insanity?”

He shakes his head, smiling. Fuck, he’s adorable.

“I believed, for a second?—”

“For too long,” he interjects.

“For too long,” I agree. “That loving you so much was wrong. But I don’t regret my actions—all of my actions,” I amend, when I get a glare that could melt a hockey puck. “Waiting was the right thing to do given the circumstances. As hard as it was, I’m glad you got the opportunity to find yourself separate from me, and to date other people.”

“I’d believe that last part a little more if your fingers weren’t digging a hole through my arm.”

“What? Oh.” I maaaay have been gripping him a little tighter. “Basically, I’m begging for mercy. I’ve never met a soulmate before. I had no idea that this is what it was supposed to feel like.”

“You fucker. How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Turn a conversation that was supposed to be about my lack, into one where you’re begging for my forgiveness, plus being super romantic and shit?”

Is that what happened? I honestly don’t know. What I said is how I feel. “I guess while you’re over there feeling unworthy of me, I’m over here feeling unworthy of you.”

He laughs. “Oh god, we’re a pair.” He rests his head in the crook of my shoulder. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel worthy of a man like you, but I’m selfish enough never to let you go. You’re fucking stuck with me, Alderchuck.”

“That’s what this means,” I tell him, holding up his ring hand. “Mine forever.”