Prologue #5
“We? You don’t have shit, kid. Do you work for it?”
“No, but—”
“That’s enough, Mom,” Hunt says, standing. “I’m gonna grab my checkbook, give you the money you wanted, and then I’m driving you home.”
She wanted money. Is that why she’s here?
Hunt leaves, and I’m alone with her, shaking. I hate that she thinks I’m just a burden. A burden for her, a burden for Hunter. But I’m still worried about her. “W-What do you need money for, Mom? Is there something wrong with the house?”
She has a good job. Without us to take care of, she should have more than enough money.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, you fucking brat. You have him all to yourself now, all his money too. How did you do it? How did you convince him to leave?”
“I-I-I…” All that comes out are useless stutters. It’s not pain that stabs, it’s pain that lingers, a slow grinding in the marrow of my bones. It crushes down, relentless, as if the earth has shifted, and I’m pinned beneath it.
Am I taking advantage of Hunt? No. Can’t be.
I’ve tried to get a fucking job multiple times.
He won’t let me. But my mouth can’t form those words either.
I stand up, body clenching, trying to remind myself I’m not on the ice, but it feels like I am.
The adrenaline’s the same, and I want to ram something into the boards, anything to get rid of this feeling trapped under my skin.
She stands up, too, taking a defensive position. “You gonna come at me, you little shit?”
“What? No! I’d never … I …” I can’t deny that there’s probably aggression on my face, but not for her. I’d never hurt her, even if she’s being fucking horrible.
But then she’s in my face, screaming at me. It’s loud, and my brain can’t process it fast enough.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” I repeat.
Her hand winds back, and I brace for impact, but it never comes. Hunt catches her wrist, stepping between us.
“Here,” he thrusts the small rectangular paper at her. “Now you’re gonna get the fuck outta my house.”
“That’s all you’re giving me?” she says, twisting her lips, staring at the check. “Was it because you already spent it on his fucking hockey gear?”
“Get your shoes on,” he says.
There’s warm wetness on my face, and heat burns my cheeks. Hunt looks me up and down but keeps his face hard.
“Clean up, bud, and set dessert for two. I’ll drive her and her car home. I’ve got a cab on the way to her place that’ll bring me back.” Even with his granite expression, I detect the softness in his tone.
“Okay,” I say in a watery voice, wiping at my face.
He makes it back in record time, silent as he slices the cake and puts a piece on each of our plates.
“I gotta learn to make this,” he says, after taking a bite.
“Why does she hate me?” I whisper.
Hunt takes a breath, letting it fall out of him. “She doesn’t hate you. She isn’t well.”
“Why did she need money?”
He seems to mull that one over. He places his fork down. “I haven’t been honest with you, Dirk. I didn’t want you to…” his voice cracks, “I was trying to preserve the memory of who she was for you.”
“Uh, okay.”
“Mom was fired from her job about a year after we lost Dad.”
“Then how does she—”
“She was unemployed for a bit and thus on unemployment. She was eligible for a little money from the government for us until I turned eighteen, but she still gets it for you. We lived off that and their savings for a bit. When that ran dry, I got a job. She finally found another job, but it’s not as high-paying. It gets her by.”
“She can’t work her way up to a better job again?”
“She could, Dirk. But she … she’s using alcohol to drown her sorrows. Instead, it’s drowning her. That’s where a lot of her money goes.”
Fucking Christ, she doesn’t want to be helped, Dirk. The words seep across my mind again.
Knowing Hunt, he tried fucking everything he knew before he came to a conclusion like that.
“This was my fault. I shouldn’t have invited her.
She wanted money; I should have told her to come by to grab it and leave it at that.
I insisted that she stay for dinner, because I hoped things would be different.
It’s not ever gonna be different, and I’m not subjecting you to that ever again. I’m sorry.”
Now he’s blaming himself, and that’s bullshit. He’s still giving her money, no questions asked, and what did she do? Complained about the amount. She doesn’t see the fallout, what it costs him emotionally. It makes me want to fucking punch something.
“You don’t owe her, Hunter.”
He shakes his head. “No, but you were right with what you said on the night we left. I need to help her, but I’ll do it from a distance.”
His mind’s made up, so I don’t argue, but I’m not so sure about what I said anymore. I still don’t want anything bad to happen to her, but I don’t know that giving her money is the answer. I can’t think of anything better, though.
“I’m gonna get a job,” I tell him. Maybe if I say it more forcefully, he’ll see that I’m serious about it.
“Over my dead body, kid.”
“Hunt—”
“Nope. Discussion closed. Don’t let what she said eat your brain; it was all a crock of shit.
I’ll be looking after you until you’re old enough to look after yourself.
It’s what Dad would have wanted, and her too if she were in her right fucking mind.
But more importantly than all that, it’s what I want. ”
I roll my eyes, and for some reason, the cake finally looks appetizing. “And I guess we just do whatever King Hunter wants, eh?”
“I take it back, not everything Mom said was a crock of shit. Let’s keep that one. From here on out, you’ll respond to all my decrees with ‘Yes, King Hunter’.” He smirks.
“Yeah, no chance of that happening.”
But I’m smiling again, and I think for Hunter that’s mission accomplished.
Dirk, Age 18
It’s been almost a year since Dash’s mom was found dead in their home.
He’s not doing well, despite what he says.
He’s been distant. I can’t imagine. I might not be on good terms with my mom, but I’ll be just as devastated when she’s gone.
Being on bad terms almost makes death more complicated.
Only Hunter remembers Dad’s death. I was too young to remember more than fuzzy film reels of him and the funeral.
I was too little to feel the impact like Dash does.
I spend enough time with him that Hunter breaks down and scolds me for it.
I know he’s been holding back because he knows Dash needs me, but he has big rules about self-care thanks to what he went through with Mom.
He shakes his head when I grab my keys off the hook. “No. You’re staying in tonight.” He’s got that immovable air about him. Arguing is pointless.
“Just let me get him. Bring him here.”
“That’s not happening either. Dirk,” he warns when I’m about to protest. “I care about Dash, too, but you’re my priority. A little time on his own will be good for him.”
The more time he spends on his own, the more time he spends with Robin.
“Just tonight, Dirk. You don’t look so hot. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends.”
Hockey’s been intense with the scouts coming around, and Hunter makes me study my ass off for exams.
Unfortunately, Hunter’s sixth sense was right. I come down with a wicked flu.
I’m laid out for a week, and when I’m back to health, the first thing I do is race to Dash’s house. But he’s not there. No one’s there. The place has been fucking abandoned. I don’t know what the fuck to do. Dash doesn’t have a phone. Who knows where the fuck he is by now?
Robin. In my bones, I know Robin’s behind this.
I get Hunter’s help because Hunter will know what to do. Hunter always knows what to do.
“What about getting in touch with his dad? Maybe he’s told his dad where he is?” Hunt says.
Duh. Right. I haven’t seen the guy since that one time he brought Dash to hockey. Our paths never crossed again.
Travis answers in a gruff, earth-weary voice. Isn’t the man still young for a dad? He shouldn’t sound so tired. Maybe that’s what the restaurant business does to you.
“Uh, Mr. Nolan? It’s Dirk.”
“My son’s boyfriend?”
“We’re not…” I huff. “I’m looking for him. Have you seen him?”
There’s silence and shuffling on the other end. “Sorry to disappoint you, kid, but he hasn’t talked to me since his mother died.”
Shit. I rail off a bunch of curses in my head since Hunter’s with me. He has weird rules about cussing. He wasn’t as strict about it when we lived with Mom, but he laid down new rules when we moved out.
“Swear all you want when you turn nineteen—except in front of me,” he’d said. Nineteen is the age of majority in BC, Canada. “You don’t get to swear in front of me.”
I didn’t get it. I’m still not sure I get it. I mean, I guess I kind of get it…? He claims it’s important that I see someone as an authority figure, like the way most kids see their parents. He thinks it’ll give me security.
He’s not wrong. His rules used to chafe so bad when I was younger, but with the constant contrast between Hunter, Dash’s guardians, and our mom’s negligence, I think I needed his overbearing ways to recalibrate.
But extending things past adulthood is a little overboard.
“Guess we’ll see,” he’d said.
In any case, I keep it clean around him. I swear like a fucking sailor when I’m with my friends and Dash, who’s more like a brother.
“I think something’s happened to him. He’s not at his house. He’d never leave without saying goodbye to me.”
“Robin,” Travis says.
“Yeah, that’s what I think, too.” I don’t have any proof, but I know it. Call it a fucking hunch.
“I should have listened to my gut, but I let him …” he trails off. “I’m gonna do better. Thanks, Dirk.”
“Wait. I’d like to help.”
“Is that okay with your parents?”