20. Dash
TWENTY
DASH
“Everyone over here!” Maryanne’s voice cuts through the crowd, strong as a whistle blast. “Picture time! You, too, Dash.”
I shake my head, laughing as Noelle takes my hand and pulls me toward the stage.
Here’s the thing, there’s no universe where I should be having fun here.
Not at Harbor Point, not in the town of Harrington.
Not in the same place my father’s family cut him off, where they pretended we didn’t exist because he chose my mom.
After he died, it got even uglier, until we were all but run out. This place should feel like exile.
But then there’s her. Noelle Pembrooke in a tutu, ruffling more than just my feathers. She makes me feel like I could be happy anywhere. And damn me, I know exactly what’s happening. I’m falling. Not the easy, lust-driven kind. The way my parents did when nothing else mattered but being together.
The camera clicks, everyone’s smiling, and the crowd is starting to gather around us.
Noelle looks up at me. “You have fans.”
“Only want one.” I wink.
“Will you be joining us for brunch?” Noelle’s mom asks.
“Dash has to head back to Brooklyn.” Then her eyes widen like she’s just realized something. “Oh no, did you miss practice?”
I shake my head. “Day off. Whole team. Coach rarely gifts those. I’d love to join you all.”
“Let’s roll. I’m starving,” Ethan says.
I step forward, and Noelle grabs my hand. “You’re really going to leave your fan club?—”
“I’d leave hockey to be with you,” falls out of my mouth and shocks me just as much as it shocks her. “Those words should taste like poison, Pembrooke, but yeah, they taste a lot like the sweetest truth.”
Her face catches fire, so yeah, she gets what I’m implying.
“And I, uh … like you enough and respect you as an athlete that I would not ever let you. Take some pictures with them. It’s okay. I’ll hang back and ride with you.”
“Oh, hell nah,” Caleb whispers while narrowing his eyes at her. “You have to make the French toast, the kind with powdered sugar and cinnamon. Mom and Dad suck at it.”
“Mouth, kid,” Rick scolds quietly.
Something about his voice has me turning and looking at him for the first time without the sun in my eyes.
I hold my hand out. “Hey Rick, I’m Dash.” The way he looks at me tells me I should know this man.
He shakes my hand. “Nice to have you here with us today.”
Not nice to meet you, so yeah, I know this guy … but how?
“Any chance you wanna stick around for a few minutes with me and let these four head back so I don’t get lost?”
Noelle cups her hand over her eyes, blocking the sun, and looks at me as if to say, “Huh?”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Rick says.
“I can stay,” Noelle offers.
“No, no, you can’t.” Caleb pulls her away, and I can’t help but laugh.
I do what I have to—take pictures, sign bib numbers from the Trot, and Rick stands there, holding purses and coats, talking with people about football and hockey and how beautiful his daughter is.
He never once corrects them by saying “stepdaughter,” and even though I’m caught up in this, the spotlight Noelle expressed she hated, which made me not her type, I get to hear this man talk about her with the pride of a father.
Once finished, he asks, “You mind?”
“You want a selfie with me?” I laugh.
“Yeah, kid, I would love one.”
“Fuck,” I sigh. “This isn’t gonna be easy, is it?”
He smiles. I smile. He takes the selfie and looks at me. “No, not for any of us.”
I sent Joel back to the city in a vehicle someone else was driving for a change because, yeah, I wasn’t gonna hold him hostage any longer. I’m in the driver’s seat, and Rick’s riding shotgun.
I pull away from the curb. “So, how do I know you?”
“I grew up here. Your grandparents and my parents were in business together. This means your uncles and father were my best friends.” He forces a laugh.
“Understatement. As an only child, they were more like my brothers. We went to boarding school together, traveled together, got up to a lot of no good together.”
I feel sick to my stomach. “I gotta ask …”
“I was with them when your father died.”
“Fuck.” I grip the wheel tighter.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Your uncle Timothy was at the lodge with a Swiss snow bunny, and Davidson” —my dad— “Leon, and I were snowboarding.”
His pause pisses me off.
“Go on … please .”
“We were all adrenaline junkies growing up. Your dad mellowed when he met your mom. We gave him shit, but it was all in good fun. Leon was ahead on the slopes that day. He took a turn, and we followed. We always did, no matter who was leading. It didn’t take long to realize it was a difficult trail, but nothing we hadn’t ridden before.
It happened so fast—the avalanche. It buried both your father and I.
” He pauses to clear his throat. “When I woke up in the hospital, I had broken ribs, a broken back, and a broken left leg, along with a few other minor injuries. David was in surgery; his third, from what I was told.” He shakes his head.
“I’m so sorry you lost him, Dash. He was genuinely the greatest guy, the best friend you could ask for, and he loved his family, all of you, deeply.
He didn’t ever stop talking about you.” He forces a laugh.
“I bet he’s still talking about you as we speak. ”
“We were told it was instant.” My grip tightens, along with the thickness in my throat.
“It was four days. He never woke up.” He shakes his head. “Leon and Timothy were livid when Geraldine showed up.” My father’s bitch of a mother. “They told her to get you four there. She wouldn’t allow it.”
“So, what I’m hearing is a bullshit story? Did he wake up!” I demand.
“I swear to you, I was told he never did. That they tried everything possible to save him.”
“What the fuck are you not telling me then, Rick?”
I catch him swiping at a tear from my peripheral.
“I don’t know. All I know is I was pissed.
I still am. As soon as I could walk, I moved to Michigan because I was pissed I couldn’t get Serena to David, you kids to your father.
I was so pissed at my parents, because some old bitch married a great man whose children were great men, who probably died in his fifties because God thought he’d had enough of her getting her way. ”
I can’t help but chuckle at that.
“I will dance on her grave one day. I swear to you, Dash. She’s vile.” He wipes the tears from his face. “She drove wedges in everyone’s happiness. Couldn’t stand her own children, let alone anyone else.”
“I remember thinking she looked like that old lady from?—”
“ The Goonies ,” we say at the same damn time.
“Fuck,” he exhales. “Your dad was so pissed when I told him that. I couldn’t understand why, and he said because, one day, he may have daughters, and if they look at all like her, that’s all he’s gonna see.” He runs a hand over his face. “How are Briar and Celeste?”
“Both stunning. Celeste is the coolest little chick. Briar was, too, until college, and now she’s a pain in my ass.”
“And your mom?”
“She was able to stop working three jobs and has a kick-ass place in the Catskills.”
“Has she remarried again?”
“No. Says she won’t make that mistake again.” I shake my head. “I don’t ever want her or my sisters to know they could have said goodbye. It would ruin them.”
“That will never be a problem unless they ask.” He shakes his head. “I cannot lie about what that bitch did.”
“Dad would want you to.” I glance at him as we come to a stop. “You were his best friend, Rick. Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll tell you that you never knew him.”
He nods. “I have never hated a person in my life, but her.” He sits back in the seat and looks out the window.
“I left this state, moved to Michigan, because I was so angry at my parents for not cutting ties with her.” He slaps away a tear.
“Five fucking years of time I lost with them, years I will never get back, and now that they’re gone, I’m even more pissed at her for living. ”
“I’m glad you got to reconcile, and hey, if you didn’t move, you’d have never met your wife.” I shrug.
“Can you pull over? I think I’m going to be sick.”
“I am so pissed at you right now, I would scream if you weren’t sick,” Noelle mutters under her breath as we cross the Brooklyn Bridge.
I’m not sick, just a fucking mess and couldn’t tell her why, not yet.
“It’s like riding a bike,” I say, trying to ease her anxiety about driving in the city.
“Yeah, if you were driving it through a mosh pit. On fire. During a Metallica encore.” She cuts me a glare.
“And parking? Forget it.” She shakes her head, voice rising as a cab swerves too close.
“Parallel parking in this city isn’t a skill.
It’s black-market sorcery passed down by wizards.
My mom was a physical therapist and my dad a finance bro. ”
I stupidly use my best Rubeus Hagrid voice and tell her, “You’re a wizard, Noelle.”
“I hate you,” she growls.
We lurch forward, horns blaring all around us, and a bike courier darts past her mirror. Noelle lets out a strangled laugh—half-hysterical, half-horrified.
“I stop for pedestrians, they glare. I go, they glare harder. It’s like they’ve all made a pact to audition for Frogger with their actual lives. I should just hang a sign on the bumper that says,‘ Sorry, I’m not from here. ’”
That does it—I’m gone. Head back, laughing so hard I can barely breathe. She smacks my arm without taking her eyes off the road.
“Fucking love you, Pembrooke.” It slips, but truth is, I do. I fucking love this woman.
She blinks a few times like she’s erasing what I just said and continues on, “I’m serious, Dash! One more delivery guy shoots me that look, like Sweetheart, you don’t belong here , I’m ditching this SUV and finishing the trip on foot. Best of luck, buddy.”