Prologue #6
It’s on the tip of my tongue to explain that I don’t have parents, but one glance into Hunter’s dark and concerned eyes reminds me that I do.
Aside from him raising me since Dad died, he applied for guardianship when we moved out of Mom’s place and got it.
He’s my legal guardian until I turn nineteen.
“Yeah. It’ll be okay, so long as I get my homework done.”
Hunter smiles.
We don’t have luck, and neither do the police. Dash is just gone.
February and March pass with no word from Dash. I’m at Travis’s restaurant so much that he offers me a job on the weekends. I beg Hunter to let me work there, anything to get my mind off Dash being gone. He finally says yes, and I get my first job as a busser.
Dash and our plans and dreams of getting drafted together weigh heavily on me as the days tick by. What’s gonna happen with school for him? Will he be too behind to be considered for a team?
A warm hand lands on my shoulder. “You thinking about him?” Travis asks.
Hastily, I nod and stuff my tray with glasses, unwilling to acknowledge my thoughts. It’s too fucking painful.
“I never asked, how long were you two together?” he says.
For that, he gets an eye roll. “I know I told you we weren’t together.
” Lifting my head, I meet his gaze. The man has guilt, a lot of guilt about not being a good father, and it’s always on his face.
I hate looking at it. Dash was told over and over that his dad sucked.
Travis made attempts to show Dash who he really was, but because Travis is a rough-around-the-edges guy, Dash only saw those parts of him, and it gave credence to the things Dash heard about Travis.
It’s easy to make Travis look bad. He’s been to prison.
He’s done some questionable shit. You’ve got to get to know him before you know how good he is.
The man saves tired honeybees. If you really wanna see something weird, watch an ex-biker gang member feed sugar water to a honeybee. Just don’t ever fucking swat at them.
“Not even for a little bit?”
“Okay, fine. We kissed one time, but that’s it. It was like kissing my brother. It was so gross, um, no offense to your son.”
Travis is always tanned. Always. Despite being busy at the restaurant, he finds time to be outside. But even with the sun’s bite, it hasn’t damaged his skin. He’s not thaaaaat much older than I am. I’m eighteen. He had Dash when he was twenty. He’s still in his thirties…
“No offense taken. I came over here to tell you that we’re having a bit of a staff party tonight for one of the gals who’s leaving. Think your brother would let you stay for a bit?”
No, I don’t think he would.
“I can tell by your face that’s a no. I think it would be nice for you to stay, though. Mind if I talk to him?”
“I don’t mind. He just worries I’ll—”
“Hang around with kids on the wrong side of the tracks? I get that. But he’s holding on a bit too tight. You’re a good kid, Dirk.”
Kid. Why does that rankle me so much?
Travis calls Hunter, who reluctantly agrees, but then I get a call.
“Didn’t want to ask me yourself?” he says.
“No. I would have, but Travis offered, and I thought you’d feel better knowing there was a trustworthy adult here.”
“Feel better knowing the ex-con’s watching over you? Not so much, Dirk, but Travis is right. You’ll be nineteen before I know it—what’ll I do then? Lock you away?”
“Um, you wouldn’t, would you?” Hunter’s got the know-how to build a cement prison, and the access to do it.
“Don’t give me a reason.” Fuck, I hope he’s kidding. My brother’s scary sometimes. “Have fun tonight. Don’t drink too much. I’ll pick you up.”
“I can drink, too? Who are you?”
“Your super cool older brother.”
“Is that a real answer?”
“See you at eleven, Dirk.”
I do pound a few beers, but damn Hunter for teaching me how to be responsible and making me crave his approval. I slow it down, hoping that if I can show him that I can be trusted, I can come to more parties like this.
Point is, maybe it’s the beer that’s making me feel how I’m feeling, but when the hot blonde lady leans her tits Trav’s way, a weird jolt runs through me.
It feels oddly like betrayal, which doesn’t make any fucking sense.
I force myself to shrug it off and refuse to look in their direction.
Whoever Travis takes to bed tonight is none of my fucking business.
One of the Alderchuck brothers, Casey, sits next to me.
“You look sick to your stomach, man.”
“Too much to drink,” I say. I’m not spilling my weird-ass feelings to this guy.
“Nah. No such thing. How about a game of pool?”
Damn my periphery for catching a whip of blonde and my ears for hearing her musical laugh.
“Sounds good to me. I’ll spring for the beers.”
If I don’t get drafted this year, Hunter’s making me go to post-secondary school, so I’ve got to go through the rigmarole of planning out that future with Hunter, but I’m not into it.
Dash is on my mind more than ever. A stricken feeling burrows into my guts and rots there, festering.
What if Dash … No. I’m not even gonna say it.
“Can’t I take a gap year?” I ask Hunter, who has his laptop in front of him.
“Gap year? To do what?”
Work at the restaurant. Keep looking for Dash. Play hockey. Hang around with Trav. “Some kids go to Italy, travel abroad.”
“Sounds to me like an extended vacation. Sorry, little brother. It’s hockey or school for you.”
A loud rap on the door interrupts the feeble protest I was gonna put together. It doesn’t wait for an answer either, getting louder and more frantic.
Hunter catapults off the couch, abandoning his laptop, and I’m at his heels. He grabs the bat we keep by the door.
“Dirk! Dirk, help!” the voice cries.
I know that voice.
“Dash. Fuck, it’s Dash. Open the door.”
“Wait.” Hunter checks the peephole, and then he unlocks and swings the door open.
It’s Dash, alright. What’s left of him. He’s thin, thinner than I’ve ever seen him.
Bruises and scratches pepper their way up his arms. His hair’s longer, covering his eyes, making him look like a scraggly kitten.
All he’s wearing is a t-shirt and jeans.
No shoes or socks. Shivers wrack his body, his teeth clacking.
And his hand. What the fuck is wrong with his hand?
It’s swollen, bent sharp at the thumb joint as if someone twisted it halfway off.
“C’mere. Oh my God, come here.” He screams when I pull him in, but his arm latches around my neck.
“We have to get him to a hospital,” Hunter says.
“No. No, please. He’s coming. He’ll come. He can’t find me.”
He means fucking Robin, doesn’t he? “No one’s coming to find you,” I promise. “Whoever tries gets a bat to the head.”
Dash nods, sobbing into my neck.
“And I have a whole lot of cement at work,” Hunter adds, leaving that hanging. Guess he was more concerned about Dash than he let on. We have a conversation with our eyes. He’ll take Dash upstairs and see about his injuries, get him cleaned up. I’ll call Travis.
A Year and a Bit Later
Dirk, 19
Dash has been living with his dad. Robin was eventually arrested, but it took longer than it should have, in my opinion.
Travis kept Dash safe, bringing him to every hockey practice once his dislocated thumb healed enough, letting him get his GED instead of returning to classes.
Hunter wouldn’t let me do the same, so I had to finish off my grad year without Dash.
We’re at the restaurant, riding out the pause between the storms otherwise known as the lunch and dinner rushes.
I’m clearing tables, sleeves shoved up, sweat sticking to my back, while Dash rides the pine, making like he’s wiping off tables as I gather glasses when really his attention’s elsewhere.
Stacey’s on bar, and I know all he wants to fucking do is sit at the bar top and flirt with him.
Trav never gets on his case for slacking off.
Trav never gets on his case for anything.
Does Dash see how fucking spoiled he is?
Hunt would hand me my ass on a platter if I had his work ethic.
I’d never get special treatment in a “the boss’s son” kind of way.
But Trav might take issue if he knew how often Dash makes eyes at Stacey Alderchuck.
“I think I’m moving out,” Dash blurts out.
“Moving out of where?”
“My dad’s. It’s way too cramped in his little apartment.”
“But…” Every fear flashes across my mind. He’s a lot better than he was, but he’s not ready to live on his own.
“It’s okay. He found me a place with the Alderchuck brothers.”
My eyes flick up to check on Stacey. Fucking Stacey. He and Dash have gotten close, and that’s fine, so long as he stays in the friendship lane. Dash isn’t ready to date people after the Robin thing.
“Move in with us instead,” I say.
“You and Hunter?”
“Yeah.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’ll have the same problem in a few months.
I need my own room. Somewhere I can … fuck, I sleep with the lights on, okay?
Can you fall asleep with the damn light on, Dirk?
Can you?” His voice is all shrill as if maybe the lack of quality sleep he’s losing, sleeping with lights on, is driving him to the brink of his sanity.
I know he needs this; I want him to have it, but he’s not ready. Fucking Trav, letting Dash talk him into this. When it comes to Dash’s well-being, he doesn’t barter, but for everything else Dash-related, Trav’s a huge pushover.
“If you’re moving, I’m moving with you.”
“How you gonna swing that one?” He raises a skeptical brow.
In other words, how am I gonna get it by Hunter?
But the way I see it, there’s not really a reason for him to disapprove.
We’ll be playing for the Vancouver Orca’s farm team, the Kelowna Wildcats, this season, so I’ll have to move out by September anyway.
What’s two months living in a different house?
It’s not like Hunter will be all that far away.