Prologue #9
I get up and head out with him, but not without a last look at the bar.
Trav’s involved in a conversation with Dash, and they’re laughing about something.
Trav didn’t look at me in any kind of way.
This guy’s off his rocker. And the threat?
I’m sure it was very real, but it’s because we’re friends.
Ugh, or maybe he does see me as just one of his son’s friends and is protective in a parental way.
First of all, ew. Second, fuck my life. I’ve already gone down the rabbit hole, imagining the first scenario.
The one where Trav wants me. Is jealous that I’m letting another man touch what’s his.
And I don’t know that I wanna stop.
Doesn’t matter what I want, though. No way am I approaching Trav about something this huge without concrete evidence.
Hunt and Trav help me and Dash move in with the Alderchucks—what a great day to wear one of my new crop tops that Trav seems to love so much.
Heavy sarcasm on the love. I’m not even into Daddy kink, but I found one brightly displaying “Daddy’s Boy” and I knew if he was gonna get riled, this would do it.
No one looks at someone the way he looked at you without feeling some kind of ownership.
I’m not even seeing the guy who said the words anymore, but I can’t stop thinking them. If he was right, no one who feels ownership over someone would like the idea of their, uh, property being someone else’s Daddy’s boy.
It’s hard not to check Trav out, especially when he’s in a tank top, all his tattoos out proudly, and I’m dying to see his reaction to my shirt.
I breeze by him like it’s no big deal, that I don’t give a shit.
And it’s mission-fucking-accomplished. I can’t see his eyes, but I feel them burning across my exposed skin.
My insides turn to hot mush, but somehow, I manage not to acknowledge Trav.
I can’t. If Hunter knew what I was doing, not only would moving out be off, but he’d lock me in a cement prison for the next ten years.
And I have no fucking chill about this, I won’t be able to lock eyes with Trav and keep my cool, so I stay the hell away from him for the rest of moving day.
Hunter helped me paint away the frilly granny vibe the room had going. Stacey told me to do whatever I wanted to the room. The more different, the better, he’d said—whatever that meant. Once I’m settled, Hunter lingers at the door, one hand braced on the frame.
“Well, guess I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and he doesn’t just mean for today, but for the rest of my life. Like he knew it was time to step back and let me be my own man, even if letting go scraped against his every instinct.
But Hunter is Hunter. I doubt he’ll ever be able to let go completely.
My heart stutters, and the words choke in my throat.
Stupid tears burn behind my eyes. All of it’s ridiculous because Hunter doesn’t live that far away.
I’m still gonna see him all the time. He’ll always be the first in line to help me with whatever I need.
No way he’d ever abandon me. If there’s one thing I can count on in life, it’s Hunter.
But something feels final. A door closing. A chapter in my life ending forever.
I’m not gonna hear his heavy boots stomp in the door when he gets home from work.
He won’t be on me to get the chores done that I put off until the last possible minute—yeah, I’ll miss that for some reason, but couldn’t tell you why.
I’ll miss our morning chats, and coffee, and every night dinners, and … and—
What am I doing? Why did I do this?
I slam into Hunter, circling him in a vice grip. He squeezes me to him.
“Hey, I’m never gonna be too far,” he says.
“Yeah, I know.”
“And you still have your key to the house.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You don’t have to ask to come home, you just come home if you want to.”
“Yeah, I will.”
I know all of that, but something else wrecks me, makes me feel like I’m losing everything when I know that’s not remotely true.
Hunter’s the only home I’ve ever known, my safety net, my only solid footing in life.
Can I really do this without his rules? Without him watching over me twenty-four-seven?
“Look at me, kid,” he says, forcing my gaze to his.
“You’re gonna have a whole life without me, but that’ll never change your life with me.
We’re the Boulder Brothers. We’ve been through hell and back.
We’re gonna make new memories. You’re obligated to a dinner with me at least once a week when you’re in town and phone calls when you’re on the road for hockey, got it? ”
I shake my head. “I’m not ready for this. Why did you let me do this? This was a mistake, Hunter.”
“It wasn’t. Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
“Then trust me when I say it’s time.”
“That’s not fucking fair, Hunter.”
He raises a curt brow, one that clearly says, excuse me?
Because I swore.
I’m a grown-up, I’m moving out, he’s telling me it’s time for me to be independent of him, but also that he’s still my guardian above all. That little thing, that little piece of respect—strange as it might seem—is kinda what’s holding me together right now.
Which means, fuck, he was right about that, and it likely means he’s right about this too.
“Sorry.”
“I think I can let it go this once.” He ruffles my hair like I’m five. I scowl. “I’m goin’ now, knucklehead. Enjoy your first night as an adult with your new roomies.”
Hunter takes an envelope out of his jacket pocket, leaving it on my desk. Money. “So that you can spring for the pizza and the beer tonight,” he says. “And maybe a little something extra to help you out.”
My fucking heart clenches, and I want to rip it out of my chest. Hunter, still doing so much for me. He needs to go before I beg him to take me with him.
Ineed to be stopped. What was supposed to be a recon mission, to find out whether Trav was into me—is even into dudes at all—and maybe a little light teasing slash flirting, has become an addiction.
And a tiny, very innocent bit of flirting’s not enough anymore.
To get the same high I used to, I need to go further. Take a risk.
Huh. It’s early. Trav’s in the kitchen, and the prep cooks are just beyond that wall where they can hear some things, but it’s hard to see. I get an idea. I bring my kitchen jacket with me to the main part of the kitchen where Trav’s making something—probably his breakfast—at the grill.
“Hey, Trav.”
His head turns. I give him enough time to see what I’m wearing—I had to wear the “Daddy’s Boy” one again, because god does he hate it—and for the now expected scowl to set in. Then I remove the shirt slowly. I stretch enough to elongate my torso and show off my chiseled hockey body.
Trav can’t move. Can’t speak. But he does lick his lips. I toss the shirt at him, and it lands over his shoulder. Then I take my time putting on my kitchen jacket.
“What’cha makin’?” I ask like I didn’t just do a mini strip tease. “Looks good, and I’m hungry.”
My gaze drags down and lingers long enough that he knows I don’t mean food. I’m hungry for him.
There are several long heartbeats, pounding my insides into oblivion, where I actually convince myself that Trav’s a hair away from backing me into a wall and sucking a mark onto my neck.
Yeah, like … like a brand. Because apparently I don’t fantasize about being railed like normal people, my wicked urges include being marked and subdued.
“Whoops,” he says, coming back to life. He drops my shirt accidentally-on-purpose into the deep fryer. I know accidentally-on-purpose when I see it—do it all the time on the ice. “Sorry.”
He’s not sorry, but damn if it isn’t funny. Okay, I gotta give him that one.
“New work dress code,” he says. “Shirts have to touch the top of your pants—tell the rest of the staff.”
I barely suppress my chuckle. “Whatever you say, Trav.”
Dirk, Age 20
Iwent to Kelowna, played hockey for a season, and came back. It was a lot of months away from Trav. A reset. It was good. I actually believed he was out of my system.
Until I saw him again.
Motherfucker. What’s wrong with me? Trav’s made it pretty damn obvious he’s not interested.
He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to.
Actions speak louder than words. So, I do what any sane person would do and keep my distance.
For the first time, I question, really question if I should still work here.
But I also heard through the Dash grapevine that Trav hasn’t been seeing Lana, or anyone, and I can’t help but think, what are the chances it’s because of me?
“Heya, Dirk, can we talk?” Trav says, one day after work.
“What’s up?” I sling the rag over my shoulder. I’m bartending. I’ll be bartending a lot this summer.
Trav sits at the bar top, hair falling over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry about last year, before you left.
What I did was weird. I don’t know what came over me.
I think I got protective because you’re my son’s best friend.
I had all these visions of you ending up in a shallow grave somewhere.
That guy looked like an asshole, if I’m being honest.”
He was, but I knew that going into it. I wasn’t looking for love.
Relief hits me like a ton of bricks. Because all of that makes sense.
Fuck, didn’t realize how much I needed that to make sense until right now, even if it’s not him telling me he reciprocates.
He was being an overprotective elder type.
I’d tested with my little strip tease, and there was a moment I thought that maybe …
maaaaaybe he wanted me back, but he shut it down, hard.
Man, I was fucking crazy to do that, in hindsight.
The ache for him fades into the background. And that’s fucking good, because I can enjoy his company without crossing any lines.
“He was an asshole,” I admit.