Page 4 of Forbidden Hockey

I don’t want to be dramatic—I fucking hate everything to do with the dramatic—but it’s so fucking painful on the inside. It feels like hate, like devastation. It’s the most desolate kind of rejection. The kind that says: I only tolerate you.

My head turns left and right, like there might be some other escape, even though I know damn well where the door is. I almost bowl Mom over getting through it, my shoulder catching hers as I tear past. I might only be fifteen, but I’m a lot bigger than her. There’s no plan in my head, just instinct. Dry blades ofgrass cut into my bare feet, then the scrape of rough pavement grates the skin raw, but I don’t stop.

“Dirk! Dirk, wait!” Dash’s clear voice echoes across the neighborhood. I stop, and he runs toward me like a maniac. “You don’t have shoes.”

He bends over to catch his breath, having sprinted, but he’s quick to recover, handing me my flip-flops. “You crazy asshole. Here.”

Sliding into them, I look back at the house, expecting Mom, but she’s not there. The door’s shut. Why does that bring tears to my fucking eyes? Why should I care?

It’s always the same—two extremes. Hunter’s almost suffocating. Mom’s either absent or screaming at me.

Dash slings an arm around my shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s steal a few of Robin’s beers from the fridge.”

“Won’t he be pissed?”

“Nah. He’s fine with it so long as there’s enough for him after work.”

Whatever. Today, I could give a fuck where the beer comes from so long as it makes me forget about my life for a day. But there’s a reason fifteen-year-olds aren’t supposed to drink. In an hour, we’re three beers in each. The room swims, tilting up and down like a slow see-saw.

That’s when my brother saunters up to the porch. He’s sweaty, dirt on his face from work, the tongues hang out of his steel-toed boots. He’s already heavily muscled, but at that in-between place, on his way to something bigger, beefier. Heads already swivel when he walks by, soon it’ll be worse, and it’s all thanks to long days of hard labor with the construction company that was willing to hire him while he was still in high school. I begged him to let me get a job with them, too, but he won’t let me.

He's the only one who’s allowed to be a martyr for the family, apparently.

Hunter stares at me long enough to sober me some. “How drunk are you?”

“Not drunk enough. Go ‘way, Hunter. I’m not coming home tonight. No way am I comin’ home tonight.” I think I slurred that a bit.

“Oh, you’re coming home, even if I have to drag your ass home, but I’m willing to wait until you’re sober. You like pizza, Dash?” he asksmyfriend, pulling out his phone. “Did you two imbeciles think to eat while you got blitzed?”

No, we didn’t. I don’t answer him because it’s a rhetorical question. He swipes the beer we were in the middle of drinking so he can pour it down the sink and gets us set up with water.

“You know how to make coffee, Dash?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh my god. You don’t have to call my brother, sir. Jesus.”

Hunter smirks. “Make us some. I need to talk to this guy.” He swings a chair out, spinning it, straddling it backward. Such an imposing figure. I hope I’m half as imposing as he is someday.

“Haven’t you already told Mom everything? I’m surprised you’re botherin’ with talking to me.”

“Talking to Mom was a mistake. I was … that was before …” he trails off. “I’m sorry. She wasn’t supposed to say anything to you.”

“Yeah, well, she did, and she hates me now. It’s all your fucking fault.” Stupid tears fill my eyes. I’m on the brink because of the alcohol. Beer was supposed to make me feel better, not worse.

“Lemme see your face.” He reaches out, gripping my chin, turning it side to side until I shove him off.

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” His posture stiffens, and his eyes go flinty, sucking a breath through his teeth. For once, I don’t think he’s pissed at me. “I think you have a little nick from her ring, but you’ll live. Probably hurts more on the inside, though.”

He needs to stop saying shit. The tears come faster, so fast I can’t wipe them away before he sees them. Wood slides across cheap linoleum. Strong hands lift me from under my arms. Instinctively, my arms wrap around Hunter.

“Why’d you have to fucking say anything to her?” I shake with silent sobs, with all the daily pain I hold in. He doesn’t scold me for swearing.

“You’re right, I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have said shit to her, okay? I won’t do it again. Now will you forgive me already?”

I shake my head into his chest, squeezing him for dear life, distantly aware that my best friend’s somewhere, watching all this go down.