Once we're docked again, most of us are hungry. Taylor has pizza delivered so none of us have to put on a shirt. When we stop shoving slices down our throats, some of us talk about the team. It's probably only natural when four coworkers spend time together, even in the offseason, but it means there are two outsiders today. Mateo and Wyatt follow the conversation for a while—however long it interests them, or long enough to be polite—and then Wyatt's hand is around Mateo's arm, tugging him out of his patio chair.
I try not to panic, but I'm only familiar with being the one drawn away from the crowd for a private moment. I know I freeze mid-sentence.
"Relax, Sinclair. It's a vacation, not a horror movie. I'm sure they'll both return safely. They're just bored because the rest of us don't know how to take a break from our jobs like your daughter's teacher does."
It's at least a little like a horror movie, but eventually I remember to be nonchalant about the man Mateo suggested is less than straight. Wyatt grins, and I feel like it's mostly directed at me.
"We're just going for a walk."
They do put shirts on for that, and I'll take what I can get.
"You were jealous," Mateo teases me later that night.
We're in bed, and I'm more possessive of him than I ever have been, however fair that is when he still doesn't belong to me. My arm is wrapped around his chest and one of my legs is hooked over his. My teeth find his bare shoulder without caring about the mark I could leave behind.
"What if he wants you?"
"It doesn't really matter if I don't want him back."
I bite him again, and safe like this, we both fall asleep quickly.
The rest of our time at Taylor's is more of the same—food and drinks and the lake and no small amount of giving me shit—but a few days of this group is probably all anyone can take. I'd love a lifetime with Mateo, of course, but I have to take him back to the airport so he can return to his grandmother.
For a minute or two, I wonder if I could ask to go with him. He wishes I could meet her, after all. But then he's saying goodbye to me, and I'm saying goodbye to him. It becomes one more thing that will wait for another day.
Home again, I'm not sure where the summer has gone. I've done a lot of what I wanted here. I've found my way around and dropped by tourist hotspots in New York City and asked the right questions to learn where the touristsaren't. I've met local fans and people who have no idea who I am. I've stayed on top of the work that needs to be done for the team ahead of the new season. I've made my rented house slightly more like a home because, as unreal as it still is, I live here for now.
Hopefully, Harper can stay with me again soon. Hopefully, Mateo can see it for the first time.
Regardless, the summer is as productive as I could've hoped it would be. And now, while I never had a truly long break from work—like I'd told Mateo in the spring, there's always more to do—we're getting closer to training camp, and I'll be even busier soon. Harper is already back in Washington, busting her ass ahead of another great year. Mateo will be with his grandmother for another couple of weeks. Then I assume he'll bust his ass too, his job far more important than mine.
All of us have responsibilities. I don't talk to any of the people Ilove as often as I'd like to. Weeks pass, and it's school and soccer and hockey and three different states and teammates and staff and life.
And death, apparently. Because it's the one thing that we can count on, even if I hadn't seen it coming. Weirdly, I'm grateful for the abrupt text I get shortly before a gentle phone call.
My grandmother died. Can't talk right now but I thought you should know.
I swallow hard. Mateo hadwantedme to meet her. He'd onlythoughtI should know she died. I can't decide how I feel about his choice of words, but they feel important. Then my phone vibrates in my hand.
"Hey, pixie."
"Hey, dad, this is—I'm on my way to class, but I just heard from someone back home that Mr. Z's grandma died? He bailed on practice and said he might not be back for their game tomorrow? And I don't know—you guys are still friends so maybe you'll want to call him?"
Her habit of making everything sound like a question would make me smile any other day, but now it makes me bleed. I take a deep breath and mumble something stupid. Or a few somethings stupid.
"He was with her most of the summer. We never met. I shouldn't have taken him away."
"Mr. Z?" Harper asks. "You took him away?"
I sigh and think this would be easier if I'd told her before. "He came with me to Taylor's for a few days. He'd been spending time with his grandmother—she wasn't doing well alone—but I invited him, and he came."
"It's almost December now. That was months ago? I'm not sure one has anything to do with the other."
"Maybe not."
I hear a burst of voices, and assume Harper's closer to class now, but she's got another question for me, quieter than the rest of them. "Is there a reason you would've met her?"
"They were really close. Maybe if she'd lived nearby—" I stop because I need to avoid an honest answer. Neither of us has time for a confession. "Listen, I've got a meeting coming up, and your class is about to start. Thank you for telling me. I'll call Mateo soon."