Page 161 of Forbidden Hockey

He’s not wrong, though. It appears as if his pollen-collecting days are over, but I’ve seen Trav do this too many times.

“That’s it, little guy. Drink up,” Trav encourages him politely, all while maintaining that dark and dangerous predator’s stare that I love. All his hard angles and shadowed stubble soften as he cheers on an insect. His thick, callused knuckles—the ones that broke my brother’s nose about an hour ago—rest beside the honeybee, providing comfort without touching him.

It takes a couple of minutes. Honeybee’s antennae wiggle, testing the air, and then he takes flight. He buzzes by Trav as if to say thank you, and Trav salutes him, expressing gratitude for his pollination services to humanity.

“Can someone tell me what that was all about?” Hunter says. “Is it really worth it to go through all that for one honeybee?”

“Depends, Hunter. Do you like eating food?” Trav says.

Dash groans. “Oh, god. You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed.”

“Without them, we die,” Trav says, stone-cold serious. “Everyone should be concerned about our dwindling bee population. One hundred and fifty-six species are vulnerable, twenty are endangered, and eleven are critically endangered. They’ll go the way of the dodo if we don’t help them.”

I can’t help but adore him, maybe especially when he gets all crazy with his bee talk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go toast our bee friend’s long bee life over cinnamon buns.”

“Hmph. You’ll all thank me one day,” he carries on, taking my hand and kissing it with all the devotion in the world, allowing me to guide him into the house.

Hunter raises his brows. He can’t figure Trav out, but soon he’ll come to see what I do. Trav is a hard man with shadows, but swirling in his inferno is tenderness that’s just for me.

Chapter

Thirty

Trav

It seemed to take a lifetime for Dirk to sort things out with his brother, especially when all I could do was wear a hole through the deck with my pacing. Stacey and Dash did their best to calm me down, and then Dash spied something under my ripped shirt.

“New ink, Dad?”

Right, in all the kerfuffle, I’d almost forgotten. I hadn’t shown it to him; I’d been waiting, unsure if I deserved to have it. I pulled off my leather jacket and removed my shorn, blood-stained t-shirt.

Dash ran his fingers over it. “Is that a lion and his cub?” His cheeks pinkened.

Instant regret flooded me. I’d embarrassed him. Not my intent, but I was in it now. I should have asked him if it was all right.

“That’s me and you, bud. Do you hate it?”

“Hate it? Dad, what the fuck? I love it. This is … come here.” He didn’t wait, circling his arms around my torso. To thinkthere was a time when I wasn’t sure if Dash liked to be hugged, when I wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be touched after what happened. Turns out, he’s a little love bug with teeth.

“Did you draw this one?”

“Of course. I love you, kid.”

“Love you, too, Dad. I … I’m so glad you’re here. Every day. I felt like an ass after our conversation the other day. I know you just care, and I’m so fucking lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

He shook his head, stepping back so he could get another look at the tattoo. He ran his fingers over it. “I said it to Stacey after we left that day—remember when I couldn’t let you out of my sight?”

I did remember. The way he’d look at me, lost and afraid. Like I was his anchor in the dark.

“The second you were gone, it was like the monsters could creep in. Like I was unguarded.”

“You have Stacey for that now,” I’d said. It wasn’t out of malice or jealousy. It was a fact.

“Dad, be for real. Yeah, I have Stacey now, but that’s not how eras work. They have to begin somewhere. You were the beginning of my safety era. You’re the foundation of it. Your presence introduced me to what it felt like to be safe, gave me what I needed to build any semblance of safety. I’m always gonna need you in some capacity to feel safe. I like the extra care you give.”

“I—”