Page 164 of Forbidden Hockey

“Dash needs a little extra care,” I breathe out. Why does it feel like I’m running? Fucking Christ. That’s what the thought of harm coming to Dash does. Even when it’s long in the past. “That’s why Dash hasn’t pushed me away. He relies on the kindof care I give him. He’s more than willing to tell me to shove it when I’m being too much.”

The time he did recently is all too fresh, and I kinda wish I could burn the image of those scratches up his arms away if I’m not allowed to do anything about it.

“Exactly. Dash thrives with that kind of care; Rhett feels suffocated by it. But guess who came crawling to my office with permit papers for his house remodel? He needed them pushed through. You told me to lay off, I did, and look? He came when he needed me.”

“That’s hardly rocket science. That’s ‘advice’ you can get from a book. You didn’t need to waste your time with me.”

His gaze locks on mine, and I see it there, the darkness. It’s no longer fighting to get out. It’s seeped into the crevices, becoming him. “But it was so much more fun to watch you.”

Ice-cold realization hits me like a sledgehammer. “All of this was you. What was I? A bug pinned to a board while you took notes?”

“Don’t you love knowing how strong you are? How much you love your man? No matter what I sent your way, you didn’t waver.”

Oh, I wavered, alright. But I didn’t follow through.

“I dangled your darkest fantasy in front of you, and you didn’t bite. Sure, you salivated, maybe even lusted for it, but you walked away. Even your old friend wasn’t enough to seduce you, Trav,” he says in a jovial voice, as if I kicked a bad habit.

So that visit from Blaze was supposed to push me over the edge. “Did you have Robin released?”

“No. He was getting out either way. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I may have massaged a few bureaucratic muscles at the end, so I didn’t have to wait any longer.” He shrugs. “I got impatient.”

I force my hands to remain on the bar top while they sear with the burning itch to kill him. My teeth grind, and I should tell him to get the fuck out, but I don’t. I’ll admit it, for a hot minute, he had me under his interrogation lights, but he shouldn’t hold his breath waiting for me to thank him for showing me a window into my own character.

All this time, I thought he was the mirror. I thought he was a reflection of all the things I used to be.

But I’m the mirror.

For him.

Maxwell didn’t intend to remind me of my own darkness; he came to me to remind himself of his.

“You’re a coward, Maxwell.”

His eyes narrow into a curious squint, not even offended. “How so?”

Maybe the most annoying part of all of this is that there is a genuine spark of innocence, and that I’m seeing it—that he’s allowing me to see it—means he trusts me more than he thinks.

“You played games with me to see what kind of man I am, thinking it would teach you about yourself. The only way to do that is to throw yourself into the fire.”

Maxwell gives his hands another wipe, tossing the napkin onto the bones. “You don’t think it’s better to learn from other people’s mistakes?”

“I think there’s a fine line between protection and control, and that men like us always think we can tell the difference. We shouldn’t make those decisions alone, and if you took responsibility for the things you do, you’d try it for yourself rather than play puppeteer.”

He stumbles out of his chair—has he been drinking? At this time of the morning? At least he has a driver. “Well played, bestie. I have to go. Check your phone. I found a hilarious meme I think Dash will like.” He taps his fingers on the bar top, almostas if he’s mulling over whether he should share whatever dark thought is on the tip of his brain. “At first, genuine curiosity led my intrigue without bias—I didn’t favor an outcome, I just wanted to see which you would do.”

Maxwell lets those words find their place before continuing. “Then I wanted you to do it. I wanted to witness your fall arc.” He shakes his head. “But it changed again. Something … shifted, and I couldn’t. No matter what you decided, I wasn’t going to let you do it. I’d still get my answer, but I was always going to deal with the matter. You only think you’re tarnished, but I actually am. I’m glad you exist, Travis Nolan.”

Maxwell leaves on that cryptic little note, and I’m left staring at the devastation on his plate—blood, sauce, I don’t fucking know. I have my rough-edged, pretty boy to give me a fucking shake when I can’t. Would Eddie do the same for Maxwell, or chase after the darkness with him?

Dirk finally—fucking finally—strolls into the kitchen where I’ve decided to help with prep. His brown hair shines from beneath his ball cap, and he’s wearing a crisp white t-shirt with blue jeans. I barge out from behind the bar, every inch of me screaming danger, pinning him with my predator’s stare, only to gently tuck an unruly curl of hair behind Dirk’s ear.

All my earlier turmoil dissipates, blows away like a puff of smoke, like it was never there.

“Good morning, baby.” I press a kiss to his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs and spies my now-empty paper coffee cup from the place down the block.

“You got Morino’s?” He lifts the cup. “Where’s mine, Trav?”