Page 129 of Forbidden Hockey

That’s it. Not even the standard “hurt him and I’ll kill you” threat. Trav knows Stacey would never. He’d jump off a cliff before he’d ever let harm anywhere near Dash. Trav pulls out the good scotch for Stacey. It’s not easy to make your way into Trav’s circle of trust, but Stacey’s there, and it’s permanent.

Something lands on my chest. An invisible weight. Trust. They have trust. With Hunter, it’s different. I know he loves me—he’d never let anyone hurt me—but it doesn’t feel easy like what I’m watching transpire between Trav, Dash, and Stacey. It feels like pressure, like proving myself. Like one wrong step and it’ll all collapse.

As if he can hear me thinking about him, I get a text.

Hunt

So proud of you for going to university. We should get cracking on those applications.

My heart aches. God does it ever ache. Memories come at me. Hunt teaching me how to fix shit so that when I have a house of my own someday, I’m competent. Hunt—gruff and rough around the edges Hunt—learning how to bake cakes from scratch, so I’d have something homemade for my birthday. He’sa whiz in the kitchen now, but it didn’t come easily for him. The first cake he made was so undercooked, it was inedible. The second, too dry. He beat himself up real good about that. I told him I didn’t need a home-baked cake. Hell, one of those boxed mixes Casey likes so much would have been just as good.

Not according to Hunt.

“You don’t know what you need, kid,” he’d said. “How could you? You never saw what a real family looked like.”

He sweet-talked the neighbor next door into teaching him. It wasn’t hard, Hunter’s stupidly attractive and charming when he wants to be. He came home, proud of his three-tiered wonder, but only because he felt good giving me something he thought I needed.

Hunt’s a dumbass. I only ever needed him.

Me

Yeah, I can come this week. At a wedding.

I send him a picture I took earlier of the numbskulls in love, saying their vows.

Hunt

Can you do Sunday? Working overtime every day this week.

Me

Works for me. Don’t work yourself to the bone, Hunt.

My brother’s gonna drop from exhaustion one of these days. This feels more excessive than usual. What’s he doing to his house this time?

Hunt

I’ll try not to. Tell Dash congrats.

Yeeeeah, maybe I’ll wait on that one. If the sound of their incessant lovemaking is anything to go by, don’t think we need to make Stacey any more feral than he already is.

He deserves all the happiness in the world.

Just Dash? Not me?

Fuck, you know that’s not how he means it.

But that’s how it feels.

Trav’s it for me. I’d … I’d also marry him in this damn courthouse. Right now. If I text Hunt like Dash texted Trav this morning, would he show up for me? Trav was uneasy about it—totally understandable, normal parent shit—but he was here. He came around. Would Hunter?

Probably not. He’d show up just to drag me out.

Fuck. Just, fuck.

Doing my best not to make a scene, I slip out and storm down the stairs back to the front desk, fueled by rage and anguish. My hand slams onto the counter, almost as if it’s being puppeteered.

“Do you have another appointment for today?”