Prologue #7
“I’m nineteen. I’m an adult now. My brother doesn’t control my life anymore,” I say as a thousand nerves run through me. Hunter’s approval is important to me, no matter how cocky I try to be about it. And also, he kind of does control my life a little bit.
Dash smirks because somehow the brat in him survived his ordeal. “Can I be there when you ask him?”
I shove him. “Fuck off.”
“Bet your palms are sweaty just thinking about it.”
No, they’re—
Okay, maybe a bit. But damn, if it isn’t nice to see this kind of light in his eyes again. I don’t mind being the butt of his jokes.
Trav walks into the bar from the kitchen, but he’s not alone.
Lana, who’s always way too fucking handsy with him—if you ask me, but no one did—follows, smiling like he hung the moon.
I glare, but then remember where I am. My head snaps to Dash to see if he saw that slip, but he’s already gone, has already planted his ass at the bar.
I roll my eyes. He and Stace are so fucking obvious.
But with him occupied, I can stare, torture myself with the sight of his hands on her.
Did it have to be in the middle of the fucking day, Travis?
You only fuck people you like in the middle of the day.
I try to set them both on fire with my eyes.
It doesn’t work. It backfires, catastrophically, because Trav’s eyes flick up, landing on me, and I swear to fucking god I’m gonna incinerate. I forget how to breathe.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Now who’s obvious?
There’s a fire in my throat as I think about all the conceivable ways I can hide my identity and start a new life, because there’s no way Trav can’t read a look like the one I just gave him.
I snatch up as many glasses as possible and hightail it through the kitchen door, bound for the dish pit. That means flying past him and Lana, so I keep my eyes straight ahead. I load the dishes into the racks, my heart racing, trying to come up with an acceptable excuse for my behavior.
I … I don’t like Lana. Yeah. Yeah! It would make sense, except for the fact that I know how sweet she is, and kind, and fun.
She’s a registered wildlife rehabilitator, which makes her perfect for Trav, but terrible for my lie.
She was a regular before they started seeing each other.
Apparently, animals find her like she’s fucking Snow White, and she nurses them back to health.
No, that’s not gonna work.
Instead of racking the glasses as fast as I can, I take my time, reminding myself how fucking inappropriate it is for me to have the thoughts I have. What are they anyway? Nothing, that’s what. Trav is smoking hot. I’m a healthy nineteen-year-old dude. Of course, I find him attractive.
You also find a lot of other guys attractive, but you don’t get fucking territorial when other people touch them.
Yeah, okay, there’s that.
I can’t figure it out, though. Why do I feel this way?
Is it normal? A phase? Trav’s not even into men.
At least, I don’t think so. I’ve only ever seen him with women.
This whole thing’s fucked, and there’s no one I can ask about it, because no way am I asking Dash about his dad. Hunter would flip out.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I try—for the hundredth time—to erase the ache in my heart and the pain in my groin.
Both are worse when I see him with someone.
I have to get over it, though. Trav’s thirty-nine.
He could be my dad—not that I ever think about him that way.
He’s somehow a good friend to me, every bit as much as Dash is.
Like hell will I make things weird between us.
At home—where, no, I did not allow Dash to follow—I stare in the mirror while I talk myself into heading out to the living room to have the conversation with Hunter.
I’ve grown. I’m not a skinny little boy anymore.
I’ve put on a nice amount of size because of hockey and workouts, but then there’s the fact that I keep my hair a little shorter than the rest of my hockey brethren because I know Hunter finds it more respectable.
He’ll flat-out order me to cut it when it’s too long by his standards, and he’s sick of looking at it.
Hunter’s not even a strait-laced kind of guy. He’s a gruff construction man at heart, no matter how many promotions he gets, but different rules apply to me. I’m supposed to be the poster child for families with white picket fences, even though Hunter and I are anything but.
I fix the chain around my neck and spin my hat so that it faces forward. “You got this,” I tell the guy in the mirror.
Hunter’s not home from work yet, so I start on dinner, keeping my hands busy. Fuck. I don’t need to be this nervous about it. The worst he can say is no, but I guess this time it’s real important he doesn’t say no.
The door opens. His boots trample over the threshold, kicking off the dirt.
“Oh, you are home,” he says. “I know I told you to mow the lawn by today, and you kept saying, ‘I’ll do it by Friday, Hunter’. Guess what, it’s Friday, lawn’s as long as river reeds.”
Shit. I forgot about that. He’s also exaggerating, but I hear what he’s saying. “I’ll do it right now,” I tell him. I’ll have to abandon dinner, but everything’s chopped and ready to go.
“You will.”
I wash my hands of the chicken I was massacring. “Before I get started on that,” I take a breath, “I need to ask you something.”
He kicks off his boots, arching a brow into his forehead. “Something bad happen?”
“Not bad. Dash is moving out of his dad’s place and into the Alderchucks’. They have a place in Kitsilano with extra bedrooms.”
Hunter joins me in the kitchen and leans against the counter. He usually cleans up a little before he leaves work, but he’s still wearing the clothes he’s sweated in all day. I’m delaying his shower, and I know how much he loves his shower, but he gives me his full attention.
“What’s an Alderchuck?”
I laugh. “You know them. You’ve met them.”
“I’ve met them, but I don’t know them.”
“Anyway, Dash is moving in with them, and so I was thinking I would too … if you’re okay with it,” I tack on. In my heroic move to be an adult about this, I didn’t think about the fact that it would leave Hunter by himself. But now I’m thinking about it. Am I an asshole for leaving him?
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Sorry, I don’t think I follow.”
I lose my hat, swiping it off my head, running my free hand through my short hair. God, he’s intimidating when that hard stare pins me in place, his coiled muscles restrained as if they’re prepped for danger.
“I don’t think Dash is ready for this, but he says he and his dad are about ready to kill each other in such a small space.
Travis was the one who arranged the room with Stacey and Casey.
I thought I’d … help … I guess.” I’m losing my nerve, courage wavering, ready to say we should forget the whole thing.
“Are you saying you don’t trust Travis’s ability to gauge his own son’s wellness?”
Well, when he puts it like that …
“No. I-I think that they’re in a tough situation and he’s choosing the lesser of two evils.” There, that’s good. I think. That’s a good point, right?
“There’s gotta be more to it,” Hunter says.
“With Dash’s new hockey salary and what Travis pulls in from the restaurant, I bet they could rent a place together.
Travis is attempting to give his son independence in a monitored sort of environment.
I mean, it’s smart—Dash will be gone for months.
He wants to see that he’ll be okay before he goes. ”
I huff. Yeah, okay. That sounds way more like Travis, and now I just feel like a young idiot. This went fucking badly. I duck my head. “Yeah, well, I’ll get to that lawn now.”
“Wait,” Hunter says. “I think it’s a good idea.”
We’re not talking about Dash anymore, are we? “You do?”
“You’re gonna be gone whether I like it or not—and I don’t like it, for the record. But …” He sighs. Then he nods. “Look, it’s not that I don’t have every faith that you’ll be fine on your own, but I wouldn’t mind seeing it for peace of mind.”
I smile. “Because you’re an overprotective older brother. Man, your real kids are gonna be totally annoyed when you have ‘em someday.”
“You are my real kid, Dirk.” He leans toward me, placing a construction-worn hand on my shoulder. “Now go mow the goddamn lawn.”
I move my ass, sliding into my sneakers. “Wait, was that a yes?”
“It’s an ‘I’m gonna talk to Stacey Alderchuck tomorrow’.”
“Ha! I knew you knew the Alderchucks, at least a little bit.” Stacey’s the more responsible one, and he knows it, which is why he didn’t say he’d talk to Casey, or even both of them.
Hunter throws a wooden spoon at me. “Out. Lawn. Now.”
With the move in our near future, I pick up more shifts for extra cash.
Hunt’s not gonna leave me hanging, but I wanna prove I can look after myself.
Unfortunately, it means being around Trav more than usual.
My brain whispers shit like, you could find another job somewhere else…
But that’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard, so I ignore my brain.
He didn’t say anything about the other day—works for me. I didn’t wanna lie, but no way was I telling the truth. This is better. Maybe he’ll assume I was pissed about something else. Not like that hasn’t happened before.
Still haven’t figured out what my thing with Trav is, but I’m getting over it, starting tonight. No better way than hooking up with a rando from Benduovr—and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.
Trav wanders into the kitchen, brow pinched as I’m wiping down the pass bar, about to take off for the evening.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Some guy out there asking after you. Don’t recognize him.” Trav’s voice manages to be rough and smooth at the same time.
“Must be my date.” I waggle my brows like I would for any of my friends about a hot date. And a hot date he is. Some big guy with tattoos. Older. Wears leather.