Chapter 25 #3
Fuck, why am I doing this shit on their day? I’m a fucking dick. But isn’t it the same for me and Trav? Aren’t we written in the stars, too?
“It’s fine. I’ll—we’ll—come back.” She probably thinks I’m hallucinating my groom by this point.
She shrugs, and I turn away. What’s wrong with me?
Not looking where I’m going, I crash into— “Sorry, man.”
“Saw you slip out,” Mercy says in that heavy, world-worn voice of his. “Thought it best if I came after you.”
I run a hand through my hair. I didn’t plan for this—getting caught while I’m being insane. What do I tell him?
Mercy puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not here to make you tell me your secrets, but I’ll listen, no judgment, if you want me to. Just want to make sure you’re alright.”
What kind of magic does this man possess?
Instant calm. Makes sense, though. The man has, like, a bazillion adopted kids.
Everything about him screams “Dad” except for the way he looks—sharp jaw and rugged stubble, the kind of dangerous, masculine architecture that demands you fall in line.
Proof? The man gets Jack Leslie to at least appear tamed once in a while.
“I, um …” I scrub a hand over my face. “Trav. Him and I are…” I can’t get it out.
Mercy’s hand squeezes where it rests on my shoulder. “Got it,” he says. “It’s okay. Hey, look at me, Dirk.”
I’d been staring at the ground, wondering what’s become of my life. I pan up, meet his cornflower blue eyes, and shake my head.
“If you get it, can you explain it to me? Nothing seems to be working. Shouldn’t falling in love be kismet?” I use the counter lady’s word. It’s a word that’s gonna haunt me.
“Does he feel the same way about you?”
I smile, thinking about the way Trav cocks a brow at me right before he’s about to kiss me. “Yeah.”
“Then you’ve got a good place to start.”
“You’re not gonna judge us for the age difference? And yeah, I know you and Jack have an age gap, too, but not like ours.”
Sometimes I wish we weren’t so many years apart, but only because of the part where people judge us. The rest of the time, I love it. I love that Trav’s so much older than me. I’ve never jived this way with a guy my own age.
“No, because it’s Trav. C’mon.” Mercy leads me out to the courtyard, stopping at the concession to buy me a bottle of water.
I loosen my tie and take a sip. He pats the concrete bench beside him, and I sit as he stares at the fountain that’s struggling to spew water from the top.
It’s a sad fucking fountain, reflecting my damn mood. “I’m gonna ask Jack to marry me.”
“You are? Wow, that’s … he’ll be so fucking happy.”
“Yeah, but that’s not why I told you. You have a secret of mine now. You still don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but I thought knowing something about me that I haven’t told a soul yet—not even Bea—might help.”
“I’d like to tell you, but I don’t know where to start.” It’d be nice to get everything off my chest.
He shrugs. “Start wherever you want.”
Maybe it’s his nonchalant way of dealing with shit, or knowing he’s okay about me and Trav, I dunno.
But it spills out. About Hunter, about quitting hockey.
I don’t tell him about Trav’s plan to murder Robin.
Not because I don’t trust Mercy, but because I don’t feel right involving him in that drama.
Don’t want him implicated, or whatever, just in case Trav goes through with it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I say when I finish. “That my brother will still love me, but it’s more than that.”
“He will still love you, but actually? I get the ‘more than that’ part, too. I make choices all the time that render me a sacrificial lamb for my family. I understand what you think you’re doing.”
Yeah! I want to shout, but I keep quiet, sensing the “but” a mile away. Mercy’s had to give up a lot for his family. His dad kept having kids and didn’t look after him as well as he should have. The moms kept leaving. That left Mercy.
“Here’s the thing about types like me who do shit for our families. We’re fucking hypocrites. If anyone dared do the same for me, I’d skin them alive. Your brother’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you were trying to repay him by erasing yourself.”
I scowl. “You were supposed to make me feel better, now I feel worse.”
“I said I’d help, not tell you what you wanna hear.”
Fucking bastard. But, ugh, I know he’s right.
“Sacrifice isn’t about paying a debt, it’s about standing with someone,” Mercy adds.
“And I’d even go as far as to question calling it a sacrifice if it’s something you want to do …
but I won’t get too philosophical on you today.
Just take it from a guy who knows—your brother chose to look after you because that’s who he is.
He didn’t give up any part of himself to do it.
Just like I took on the care of my siblings because I knew I was the only one who would do it, not because I owed them or anybody.
The real sacrifice in your situation is risking conflict with your brother. ”
“The thing I’ve been running like hell from.”
“Yep. You don’t owe Hunter your dreams, Dirk. You owe him the truth of who you are.”
“Then why’s he always on my fucking case about college?”
Mercy laughs. “He wants you safe, that’s all.
Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch your child play one of the most volatile sports in the world?
Then they tell you they want to make a career out of it?
In other words, they’re gonna play at an even more dangerous level of danger than they were already playing?
That’s just normal parent shit. You don’t need to feel guilty about that, Dirk. ”
“All your siblings—basically your children—play hockey,” I point out.
“And that’s hard enough. God help them if they tell me they want to attempt to play for money. I’m still telling Theo that ‘professional butterfly catcher’ is a totally respectable career.”
“You’re a literal NHL hockey coach who coaches his boyfriend—an NHL hockey player,” I stress, so he can hear how ridiculous he sounds.
He shrugs. “I didn’t say it made sense, but it’s how it is. One day, when you have a kid, you’ll see.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. It’s stupid.
“You wanna punch something right now, don’t you?” Merc says.
“Yeah, kinda.”
“Y’know, an advantage I have over your brother is that I have a houseful of kids, whereas Hunter has just you.
That guardrail vs. the net effect. He’s trying to keep you from ever falling, whereas I’ve accepted that the most I can do is try to catch them.
He should hang out with us sometime. The house is always open for him. ”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Hunter, hang out? He works too much for that, and when he’s not physically at work, he busies himself with projects around the house.”
“Then maybe I need to bring a six-pack and a hammer by. I’m sure he wouldn’t turn down help if it came with beer.”
He probably would, but if anyone could force their way into Hunter’s life, it’s Mercy. Maybe what Hunter really needs is a friend to talk to about Mom. Not that Hunter’s friendless—he’s got construction buddies—but I doubt he gets personal with them.
“He might not appreciate it at first, but I would,” I say.
“Done. Now, you should probably get back in there. Your man’s about to start a search party for you.”
My man. I love someone else calling him my man almost as much as I love saying it.
“What’s he doing?”
“Trav’s always quiet, but he’s turned to stone and barely takes his eyes off the door. I could tell he was itching to get away.”
“But he can’t leave the newlyweds without suspicion,” I say, finishing the thought for him, standing up. “Thanks for the pep talk, Coach. Was helpful.”
“It’ll be hard, but talk to your brother. That’s what I would want. I can’t promise he won’t be upset, but things’ll work out. Have a little faith, Dirk.”
That hits differently coming from Merc. If a guy like him can have a little faith, then surely I can? But fuck. If only I knew how to do that.
Everyone’s meandered to the parking lot, ready to go. Trav sets his searing gaze on me, and I know what it says.
We’ll be talking later, pretty boy.
Fuuuuck. I’m gonna incinerate where I stand. Looks like my other ass cheek’s getting some love. Or maybe the same one. I know better than to worry a guy like Trav and accept my comeuppance. But dayum. The wait might kill me.
Dash catapults his heavily muscled body at me. I only just catch him in time to stop us both from careening to the ground. He wraps his arms around me, and I crush him in a hug.
“I’m married, Dirky.”
“Yeah, I was there, remember?”
“But I wanted to see if we were still … y’know? Dirk ‘n’ Dash.”
I roll my eyes. “Nothing’s ever changed about us. I’ll always have two eyes on you.” But I do refrain from kissing his head like I would. He’s married, I’m so, so taken, and—I smirk on the inside—Dash is gonna be my stepson one day.
Not really. But I’m gonna enjoy tormenting him with that little legality.
We head to The Wicklow for a dinner that Trav hosts.
But while he’s footing the bill, I plan to do a lot of the work.
The restaurant isn’t closed, but I hop on the line to help get our food ready.
Don’t really need to with all the staff we have on, but I feel the pull.
Like, this is something Trav and I are putting on.
As a couple.
Casey trounces into the kitchen with Sutter sauntering in behind him and helps himself to the bowl of fries on the pass bar.
“Hands off unless you’re paying,” I scold, rapping his hand with a set of tongs. “Sutter, you’re supposed to watch him.”
“Nah, man. He’s hungry. Getting in the way of that stomach’s like fighting gravity. You know that.”
He snatches the bowl. “Here you go, kitten. Make more, Dirk.”
The expo glares at us.
“Sorry about them,” I tell the guy as I throw some more fries into the deep fryer. “Get him out of here, Sutter.”
“Jeez. It’s wedding day, Dirk. Don’t be a downer,” Casey says.
“Out!”
Sutter drags him out of the kitchen with the fries before Casey ends up in the deep fryer. Stacey’s next.
“May I?”
“What?” I almost snap but remember that it’s half his day and soften my tone.
“Came to see if you needed help. Rhett and Logan showed. They want a bunch of modifiers—Logan’s is no bun, no sauces, with turkey instead of beef, and Rhett’s is double turkey, on the bun, no mayo, no bacon, no caramelized onions.”
“Got it. I’m fine.” I don’t want anyone’s help. I need to do this. Besides feeling like a co-host, if I don’t, Trav will, and he should be out there with his son and new son-in-law. Said son-in-law shouldn’t be back here helping me either. “Don’t you have a husband to claim?”
“I do, but he’s been abducted by Jack. Didn’t you see them walk by?” I haven’t. I’m too focused. “They went up to Trav’s apartment to see if they could dig out the karaoke machine.”
It’s not in the apartment, and if they move shit around and don’t put it back, I’m gonna pound on them—is what I wanna say. But that would be weird. That says I feel too much ownership over the place, which I do.
Stacey’s brown eyes rake over me. “You sure you’re fine?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, call me if you need me.”
“I won’t,” I mutter under my breath. I toss a couple of turkey patties on the grill, trying not to let it bother me that they’re up there riffling around.
I haven’t left anything up there that’s gonna out us, have I?
I don’t get to wonder about that for long.
Sutter wanders in to steal more fries for Casey, but I’m ready for him. “That bowl.” I point with my spatula.
He takes the bowl and’s gone again.
It’s then that Dash and Jack decide to barrel through here, empty-handed. “Do you know where Dad put the karaoke machine, Dirky? We can’t find it.”
I shouldn’t tell them. Telling them means listening to them sing all night. Man, can they ever handle a hockey stick, but sing? Hell no.
Dash gives me the fucking puppy eyes. “Please, Dirk. I know you know where it is. It’s my wedding day.”
I’ve always had a hard time turning Dash down. “It’s in the bar storage.” They’re gonna get drunk, and they’re gonna be singing Piano Man until Trav takes the mic away.
“What’s it doing there?” Dash says to Jack as if he’d ever know the answer to something like that. Jack doesn’t know where stuff is. He loses his hat on a regular basis.
Jack shrugs. “I dunno, race you to it. First one there chooses the other person’s first song!” He takes off, Dash hot on his heels.
“No running in the fucking kitchen!” I shout, but they’re gone.
God. Children. I get back to work, flipping burgers, prepping buns.
The next time I look up is to plate food.
Indigo eyes have been watching me from just beyond the pass bar, and a body-wide shiver paralyzes me.
Trav uncrosses his arms and strides over, stopping where the expo is doing his job, plating the restaurant’s food to lean against the counter.
He’s here.
My skin prickles, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as his gaze grazes over every inch of me.
Watching. Pinning me where I stand. My lungs forget to work for a beat.
His stare prowls and stalks, climbing my body until heat blooms all over, and I buzz with adrenaline.
I don’t know how the man does it, claims me with a fucking look, but he has, amidst the laughter and kitchen chaos.
Are they oblivious? Or can everyone feel it?
For me, the room is charged with us. Almost overwhelming. Almost too much.
At the same time as I’m being incinerated, something settles in my chest. We belong together, don’t we?
His stare lingers, sinking into my bones.
We’re linked by an invisible bond we hold onto together.
We can’t have rings or courthouse vows, but we have other things like co-hosting sudden-death wedding receptions for his son.
Trav asks a few of the servers to help take the food out to our table. “You told them where I hid the karaoke machine?” he says as we collect the last plates, mildly betrayed. “They weren’t supposed to find it ever again. That’s a punishable offense.”
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for the Nolan eyes,” I murmur as we head out the kitchen door together.