Chapter 17 #2
“Hey, bud,” I say with unexpected nervousness in my gut. I’m too old to try and be cool, and no one’s more honest with you about that than your kids. I couldn’t help but fix the hair back over my scalp so it looked less jarring.
“Hey, Dad. New haircut?” he says, but that’s all he seems to notice.
“Ah, yeah. Trying something new.”
He gives a side-mouth smirk. “Something new, eh? You sure it’s not someone new?”
Goddammit. “How’s hockey?” I say as a diversion, but such an obvious change in subject’s only gonna make him more suspicious. Great. He keeps grinning, equal parts amusement and curiosity, but he lets it go, and we catch up. Syd’s in the background cooking. Dash gets him to say hello.
“You been getting enough sleep, Dashie?” I can’t help noticing the bags under his eyes.
“Um, yeah. Season’s been tough this year, that’s all. I’m good, Dad.”
That’s my signal to back off. Normally, I’d push, but I’ve grown a brand-new paranoia—I’ve seen myself through Maxwell’s eyes and I don’t want to parent like him. My son’s an adult, he’s supposed to be taking care of himself.
But he isn’t.
What the fuck is Syd even doing anyway? Can’t he see my son needs a bit of help? Nothin’ wrong with that, just the way it is.
Where the fuck is Alderchuck?
Why the fuck hasn’t Dirk said anything?
Calm down, Nolan.
This is probably my fault. I did too much for Dash, and he didn’t learn the tools. Is it okay to give him a gentle reminder? Do I let him crash out? Give him enough rope to hang himself? I don’t know. I’m a terrible parent. Dash deserves so much fucking better than the parents he got.
“You okay, Dad?”
Right. I haven’t said anything in a minute. “Yeah, fine. Just, get some sleep, okay, buddy?”
“You know Dirk’s taking good care of me.” It should be his man. “It’s just a bit of insomnia. Par for the course. I’m seeing Billy more often. I’m good. Promise.”
That’s comforting. It took a while to find the right therapist for him, but once we found Billy, things seemed to click. “Okay, make sure to send dear old Dad the bill.”
“I’m seeing her a lot, Dad. I should pay for some of it.”
“Nope. I’m paying,” I say in my “no room for argument” tone, because fuck that. But then I pause. Was that too much? I’ve never questioned something that before. It’s the way I’ve always been with him.
He salutes me, smiling. His limbs melt, taking a visible sigh. “Okay, fine. If you’re sure.”
Something’s … right. He needed that, didn’t he? My boy just needs to be taken care of. Is that so wrong?
“I’m sure.”
Overall, things go well with Dash, but when it’s time to call Dirk, I’m hit with a serious case of butterflies. I might as well go all out, though—in for a penny, in for a pound—and I sling my hair over to one side so he can see the shaved part.
Soon as those pretty eyes show up on the screen, I’m struck speechless. It’s been a week since I’ve seen his face. Long-distance is not for the faint of heart.
“Hey, pretty boy,” I growl.
His mouth hangs open for a good ten seconds. “T-Trav?”
“Yeah?” I play dumb. I think he likes it.
“Holy shit. You don’t leave the house like that, do you?”
“Why not?”
“You were already hot as fuck, now you’re next-level hot. No, scratch that. You were already next-level hot, now you’re … I don’t even know. My brain’s short-circuiting.”
“You like it then?”
“I fucking love it. Please send me a picture I can jerk off to later, and also let me jerk off later.”
I smile. Guess Elkington was right about this look.
He squints. “Did you do something else? Your skin’s glowing like the sun.”
“I, ah, well, I don’t wanna look old, okay?”
He chokes off a laugh, and when he sees my shyness morph into a glare, he bites his knuckle. “I’m sorry, it’s just … Trav? Did you try to look young for me?”
“Yeah, and I don’t regret it. Tell your little fan club to back the fuck off.”
“Oh, baby, they don’t stand a chance. Look at you. When they find out you’re mine, there’s gonna be a Beast-Man fan club.”
Okay, fine. I’m pleased with this result. That vampire facial was definitely out of my budget, but I’ll use the fancy creams I was given.
“How much longer is this damn hockey season gonna last?” It feels like a thousand years.
He’s still blinking, staring in disbelief. “Too long.”
I’d better get used to it, though. This is our future. “I have more Maxwell bullshit to tell you, but this has to wait until you’re home. I’m not keeping it from you, but I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. And it’s something I think, well, I think I have to ask you not to tell Dash—yet.”
How’s he gonna feel about that? He’s been best friends with my son for most of his life, we’ve only been dating for half a minute.
“Trav, you know I love Dash with all my heart, but if we’re doing this, we’re doing this on the right foot. You’re my partner, and you come first. That doesn’t mean I’m spilling all Dash’s secrets to you, but the stuff between us stays sacred.”
I nod. “When you’re back, then.”
“Fuck, it can’t be good.”
“It’s not.” I sigh. “But it can wait till then.”
Dirk turns his head, and that’s when I see the giant bruise on the side of his face. It’s dark purple, fresh; it sweeps over the swell of his jaw. I reach for him, wanting to soothe it, but remember there’s a screen between us.
“Another one, baby?” I dunno that I’ll ever get used to him getting beat to shit in hockey games. “Has it always been this much?”
He winces. “Well, not for me, no.”
“Dirk.”
“Just, let me handle it, okay?”
I let out a rough bark of laughter. “Yeah, no. That’s never gonna fly, pretty boy.”
He huffs. “Okay, fine, but before you flip out—”
“I’m not gonna flip out,” I say with a tight jaw, because whatever he’s about to say is probably gonna be a cause for flipping out.
“We all used to rally around Dash, so he’d take fewer hits, because Stacey was less murder-y that way.
I kinda promised to keep it up, mostly because Dash isn’t used to taking the hits with all the protection he got, but it’s been harder with just me.
Maverick’s actually stepped up and … Trav? Are you still listening?”
I am, but my mouth’s dried up. What the fuck am I supposed to say?
Stop protecting my son? But if I don’t, I’m saying it’s okay for Dirk to use his body as a crash pad.
I run a frustrated hand through what’s left of my hair.
The conversation I just had with Dash is fresh, and this new bit of information adds to all the ways he’s struggling this season.
My first instinct is to march over to Kelowna and drag Dash home. “Do I need to come get my son?”
“What? No. Nooooo way, Trav. Don’t do that. Fuck, he’d be so mad.”
Old me wouldn’t give a fuck. The only real fatherly instinct I have is protection, and that instinct’s screaming at me. Maybe I fucked up before, but I’ll be damned if I will again.
But.
But.
Fucking Maxwell. I don’t wanna be like him and ruin my relationship with my son.
“He’s okay, Trav. I’ll admit that he’s giving melancholy king—Jack’s phrase, not mine, but it fits—but nothing bad will happen to him. Not on my watch, okay?”
It’s an internal battle of wills to force a nod, but I do. By the sounds of it, he’s being looked after, not just by Dirk either, though I bet Dirk’s handling the brunt of it. Their group’s been separated, but they have a family group chat to stay connected.
“I know he’s your special lion cub, Trav,” Dirk says lightly, the corners of his mouth quirking. “But he’s tough as nails. He’ll get through this.”
“So tough you have to protect him on the ice, eh?” It feels like trading Dirk’s safety for Dash’s. I don’t fucking like that.
“I’m not made of glass either, Trav,” he bites out. “But, okay. Maybe I’ve stepped up because I’m watching it go down, and it’s affecting me a bit. Or maybe it’s because he didn’t know how much Stacey protected his ass, and I don’t wanna tell him, and make him sadder.”
It’s probably a bit of both.
“Can you just … trust me? I’ll tell you if I think there’s anything to worry about.”
I bite back the thought in my head—am I gonna trust the judgment of a twenty-five-year-old? Of course, I think because I’m older that I know better, even though that’s not always true.
And, yeah, he’s my only little lion cub, who I guess isn’t so little anymore. But I’m fucking terrible at the “let your kids go” bullshit. Dash had to make me.
Maybe, on this one, Dirk has more insight than I do. If anyone knows Dash, it’s Dirk. “I trust you, baby.”
Dirk beams, and the tightening in my chest relaxes. “Good. I have no problems ratting his ass out if I think he needs it.”