Page 12 of Dangle

“Fuck you. It’s cold.”

I laughed, flipped the defroster on high, and smacked the dash. “Tally ho, good chap. Take us home where the heat’s on.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Takes one to know one. Now weave your lies about the ‘greatest sport ever played’ so you can distract your fragile constitution from the current temperature.”

“Do you just string words together randomly, or do you think this shit up ahead of time?”

“Depends on the day. Now start talking.”

Ewen finally began his long-winded explanation when he pulled out of the parking lot and pointed the truck to EDGE, the kink club we’d started when we first moved to Manchester a couple of years ago. Since neither of us had any plans to settleup north, we’d started putting down roots in Nashville after the service with Priest and Cam, two buddies who served with us.

All of us were on the kinkier side, some more so than others; Nashville’s scene fell short. Very short when you consider that Priest and Cam, who at the time were in a situationship with a couple of boys whose identities needed protecting, wanted something discreet and exclusive for their polycule.

So, we did what Marines do: we adapted and overcame, and built our own club: EDGE. We turned an old hotel in Nashville into a kink club with everything a kinkster could want, no matter their kink. But then Ewen’s parents both developed life-altering health issues. His brothers were here, but they needed help, so he asked us to buy him out. Priest and Cam agreed without issue. But when it came time for Ewen to leave, I refused to let him go without me. He needed support, and eight hands were always better than six, so Priest and Cam bought us both out, and I came north with my battle buddy.

I loved it here. It reminded me of home, but something was missing. Or maybe someone.

“Did you go to fucking sleep over there?”

Turning toward him with raised brows, I said, “Of course I did. You’ve bored me to death with all your yammering.”

“You fucker!”

Instead of being offended, because this was what twenty years of friendship got you, I laughed. My laugh triggered his, and before long, we were pulling into the parking lot at EDGE. We were both due to work the bar tonight.

“So,” Ewen started, turning to me with a smirk. “Trey Malachek?”

I rolled my eyes with a groan and shoved open the truck door. No way was I touching that. The boy’s presence on the ice tonight captivated me in a way nothing had in fucking months.

“Oh! This is gonna be good!”

FOUR

TREY

March

The clock showed the dwindling chances of a team that started the season as the clear pick to make it to the Frozen Four. I stared up at it as I waited to be released from my latest stint in the timeout chair, as a commentator called it during the post-game analysis for the Maulers’ last game.

They’d actually said I had been sent to timeout for my most recent tantrum.

Tantrum.

As if I were a fucking toddler.

I was the captain of this fucking team.

But I knew I didn’t act like it.

I acted like the problematic child they accused me of being.

The box official opened the door, and I swore he said, “See you soon,” when I stepped out onto the ice. A game misconduct for flipping the guy off wasn’t worth it.

“And the Maulers survive yet another of Malachek’s trips to the sin bin. His fourth of the night. Eight total minutes in the box.”

Shut up, fuckers.