"It won't be much of a party?"
"It'll be better than that. We still won't be able to—I mean, I think we might even sleep in separate rooms, but—"
"Yeah, right, of course." He's not Logan, and we won't be at the store.
Jamie sighs. "I want you to come to the lake with me. I want you to meet Taylor, and I want to pretend this is a little vacation for us, and I—I want to see you, 'Teo. I just really want to see you, so if you'd rather stay with me here, I can blow him off, and we can—
"No."
"No?"
"No, don't blow him off. I'll go to the lake with you," I say, my voice lower as I continue. "I'll go anywhere with you."
Chapter Thirteen: Jamie
(I Left the Team Behind)
Iborrow one of Taylor's cars to pick Mateo up from the airport. He presses his hand to my bouncing leg to reassure both of us that this trip is a good thing. We've been bullshitting the world for five years, so it should be fine. We've never had to bullshit in such a concentrated group for a few days in a row, so maybe it won't be.
The introductions go smoothly, though there was no reason they wouldn't. Mateo doesn't have the same PR experience I do, but he's been in the trenches with the parents of teenagers for a couple of decades. I think that's probably trained him at least as well. We're at the lake house with one of the other assistant coaches, one of our trainers, and a friend of Taylor's who has nothing to do with hockey as far as I can tell. I don't know. I'm careful not to pry into his personal life. I very defensively don't want him prying into mine.
Our plans for the entire stay are about as casually undefined as any getaway can be. Tonight, we're grilling out back and lounging near the dock. We'll eat and drink around the fire pit while we talk shit about anything and everything. The days are warm, but the nights are cool, not unlike my oceanside backyard. I'm wearing Mateo's oldBaja hoodie because it's as much as I can get away with for now.
I've got little doubt he'd wear my jersey if he could, but he'll be even more careful here than I am.
"Soccer, huh? Are you the guy responsible for making Sinclair's kid a Husky?" Taylor asks.
Mateo smiles easily. "I think Harper's responsible for making herself a Husky. I'm just the lucky guy who got to coach her along the way."
"How about her mom? Pretty lady."
"She's beautiful, yeah. But she never seemed all that interested in talking to me, so I don't know her well."
"Not like you know Harper's dad."
Everybody looks at me, their expressions so much the same and all at least a little different. Some kind of bait has been dangled, though I can't tell whether it's about our relationship. Whatever it is, Mateo barely raises an eyebrow before he responds.
"Jamie and I talked a lot more often. Not quite so much since you lured him to the East Coast, though."
Taylor laughs. His friend does, too. "I'm not sorry about that. First, he's a hell of a coach, and our team is better with him behind the bench. Second, it couldn't have fucked with your friendship that much if you were willing to fly all this way to see him."
"You're right," Mateo says. "Nothing has been fucked."
I take a long, long drink.
The subject changes with no effort on my part. Everyone has plenty to talk about, and none of them have an interest in doing genuine harm to Mateo or me. I think they like Mateo a lot already, and none of my once-famous personality conflicts have followed me here. My reputation for late nights with beautiful women has lingered more than I'd like. At least a rumor or two has caught Mateo's attention, but I'll work on that.
I'm curious about how much of my reputation still catches Taylor's attention when he tells me I'll be sharing a room with Mateo. He says something about the other three guys already claiming rooms. Then he insists it'll be fine because the one we'll be sleeping in has a bed and a futon, and "there's not a single piece of furniture in this lake house that isn't worth more than a high school teacher's paycheck, actually."
I don't roll my eyes because it's not the worst thing Taylor's said in the past fifteen minutes, much less the entire evening. I assume Mateo doesn't roll his eyes because he knows what his bank account looks like.
"I guess since I'm the one who can't afford this futon, I should be the one to sleep on it?" Mateo chuckles once we’re alone. "Or did you want to let me have the bed after the long flight I took just to see myfriend?"
"And here I was thinking his carpet is pretty soft. You could just toss a pillow and blanket down there, and you'll probably sleep like a baby."
Mateo pauses as if he's considering it. Or something else. "I wonder how much room Taylor's friend has inhisbed."
"Taylor's friend? Wyatt?"