A Helping Hand Chapter 4 (Patreon)

All characters engaged in sexual activity are 18 or older.

I feel his presence before I see him. I had nodded off waiting for Dean to finish his shower after practice. My head lies against the top of the chair’s backrest, the hood of my jacket acting as a thin, makeshift pillow. 

“That doesn’t look very comfortable.”

I crack open one eye to look at him. Dean’s standing over me in a gray team hoodie and dark blue jeans. The strap of his practice bag is slung across his chest, forcing his hoodie to hug him in all the right places, showing off his broad chest. His usual light brown hair is a smidge darker thanks to it still being slightly damp, but it brings out his honey-gold eyes. 

He arches an eyebrow, and I realize that I’ve been staring at him. I close the front of my jacket and stand up quickly. “I didn’t realize how cold it got in here when you’re not skating around the entire time.”

He nods, giving me an appraising look like he’s trying to figure out whether I’m about to crack from all the stress. “Yeah, I guess. Ready to go?”

Truth is—I am. I sat through all of practice watching my team out there on the ice, skating without me. The same team I’m supposed to be leading to the Frozen Four this year. This was supposed to be my year. After three years of working my way up the food chain, I finally got chosen to be team captain. I finally got the recognition I’d been craving. I finally was going to be the man my dad could be proud of. 

Instead, I have to sit out half the season. And who knows if I’ll even get to come back and play in my old spot. What if they don’t need me anymore? What if they’re better without me?

But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I shove it all down the deep recesses of my mind and say, “Yeah, let’s go.” 

I follow him out of the arena, and he opens the car door for me. “You know I can open the car door, right? My left arm is better now,” I say once he’s sitting in the driver’s seat. 

“I know.” He doesn’t look at me or say anything else. He just pulls out of the parking lot and onto the street. I’m itching to get home and pass out on my bed, but after a few minutes of driving, he takes a turn that leads away from our apartment. 

“Where are you going? The apartment is in the other direction.”

“I know.” He glances over at me before looking back at the road. There’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t provide any more information. 

I roll my eyes even though he can’t see, and sit quietly. I don’t know what he’s up to, but the least I can do is be patient with him. That is until he pulls into an open parking lot filled with food trucks. “What are we doing here?”

He parks in an open spot and turns the car off. “We’re here to get some tacos,” he says, looking at me with a full smile. 

“I… I love tacos,” I choke out, a ball of emotions suddenly clogging my throat. 

“I know.” His eyes seem to twinkle in the setting sunlight. Dean jumps out of the car and opens the door for me, again. We walk past several trucks—their individual aromas swirling around us to create a food blanket—and I catch hints of barbecue, Chinese, Indian, and Mexican. 

His hand stays on the small of my back the entire time, and when we finally get to the taco truck, Dean steps up, pulling out his wallet while ignoring my cry of protest. “Could we have three carnitas and three tacos de pescado, please?” 

He even got the order right. 

I’m not a big fan of pork, so the fact that he remembered to get the fish tacos for me is enough for that ball of emotions to come right back and hit me like a puck to the face. I look towards the crowd of people milling around the different trucks and try to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over. 

I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know if this is all from the stress of not being able to play anymore and ruining my career before it really even got started. Or the fact that not once did Mom or Dad call or text me today to see how I’m doing. Or maybe the pain is worse than I thought. But I hate that I’ve been so emotional the past two days. 

Even at the game, I shouldn’t have let myself get distracted by him. It’s not the first time Dad’s shown up to one and made it all about himself. So why did I get so distracted that night? 

“Alright, let’s eat!” Dean’s standing next to me with a plastic bag in one hand and two cans of soda balanced precariously in the other. His smile drops when he sees my face. “Are you okay? Is something hurting you?” 

I wipe my eyes and shake my head. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. I see an empty table over there.” I walk off, letting him follow close behind me as I weave through the crowd to get to the table I’d seen earlier. 

It isn’t until we’re at the table that I stop and plaster on a smile. I slide in on one side while Dean sits across from me. He pulls out two foam containers and puts one in front of me and the other in front of him, then cracks open both cans—Coke for me and Sunkist for him. 

“I hope you like these tacos. They have amazing reviews online and I thought of you when I read them.” He blushes, though it could be the fading sunlight playing tricks on my eyes. 

I open my container and the smell hits my nose right away, my mouth watering as I look at the deep-fried fish covered in a creamy white sauce, shredded cabbage, and pico de gallo, all sitting in flour tortillas. We lock eyes and I gulp thickly. “This looks great. Thank you, Dean.”

He beams at me and motions for me to dig in, picking up one of his own tacos. We eat in comfortable silence, watching people move about the trucks ordering their dinners, some chasing after their kids. And for the first time today, I feel relaxed. I don’t know what I’m going to do or if there’s even a chance at saving my career, but right now, all that matters is that I have Dean by my side.