Page 149 of Forbidden Hockey

“Did you hear what we were fighting about?” Panic rises. Even with how enraged I am at Trav, I’m not outing him about Robin. Hell, I don’t want Dash to know.

The gleam in his eyes allows my tense muscles to release—they wouldn’t gleam like that if he knew about Trav’s plan—but they tense again, because fuck. They’re ripe with another assumption. Don’t know why. Trav and I fight about all kinds of shit. Doesn’t mean we’re the loves of each other’s lives and that my heart is literally fucking breaking right now.

Just so happens we are, and it is.

“We had a fight,” I admit.

He’s quiet for eight fucking seconds—exactly eight. “Dirk, are you fucking my dad?”

“How does us fighting mean we’re fucking?”

“Moving furniture? Selling his dresser? His fuckingCreedt-shirt?” Dash crosses his arms all high and fucking mighty. “Yeah, I clocked that shit, belatedly, but still saw it. Tell me I’m wrong. To my face.”

I could lie, what’s one more on the pile of lies we’ve already told? But he’s not gonna believe me, and I don’t have it in me today to try.

“I’m not fucking your dad, Dash.”

“Liar—”

“He’s fucking me.” I smirk.

The look on Dash’s face is worth everything, and for a hot minute, I shelve the fact that Trav and I aren’t speaking. His mouth hangs open. His jaw works, but no sound comes out.

“H-How long?”

“Since last off-season.”

“Since last off-season, and you didn’t tell me? Asshole!”

He dives. It’s a forecheck without a stick and roughing with no referee to stop us.

“This isn’t fair, Dash. I can’t hit my stepson, Trav’ll kill me.” I roll around, blocking his attempts to punch me somewhere tender.

“Step—no. Hell fucking no.” He swings over the sound of my cackling laughter. I catch his wrists. His punches are cute, but I’m stronger than Dash by a long shot. Still, won’t be able to hold him off forever.

“Listen, son. Can’t we just talk about this?”

Dash gets through my defenses for that one. Knuckles crack across my face—that’s gonna bruise. I’ll look hot, though, and Trav’ll be conflicted because he didn’t leave the mark, but he can’t very well stab his own son.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the fuck is going on here?” Stacey says, pulling a writhing Dash off me.

“I was right, Stace. He’s with Dad.”

Stacey traps Dash against his body. I stand, rubbing my face. “What’s the big deal? I assumed you’d be cool about it. You’ve always said you want me to be with the man I love more than anything.”

Dash freezes. “Wait, you’re in love? That changes things. Fuck! C’mere, buddy.”

He pries away from Stacey, arms open. Stacey’s confused as fuck, but I’m willing to accept the gesture. I hug my best friend tightly. Maybe a small part of me worried that he might exile me after all. And all of this feels so much better than what’s been going on with Trav and me that I sink into the comfort, let it take me away.

What a relief.

“I have sooooo many questions,” Dash says, dragging me over to the couch.

There’s no way I’m divulging all, but I tell Dash and Stacey some of it, including how we haven’t told Hunter yet. Damn, now that Dash knows, the timeline for telling Hunt’s moved up drastically. He won’t do it on purpose, but it’ll come out of him. But even with that anvil dangling directly overhead, my body feels light.

“Do you, uh, do you want to talk about whatever’s going on with you and Dad?”

That weight on my chest, the one that’s teamed up with a saw blade carving its way through my heart, returns. I rub a thumb up my sternum. I can’t exactly tell Dash, can I? It’ll bring up too many questions I don’t wanna answer. Can’t answer. Besides all the Robin stuff, which I’m sure he’s sick of, he’ll be heartbroken if he knows how wrecked his dad is, worried for his safety.