I don't answer Kai. I can't, in part because the right words sit heavy at the back of my throat, and in part because I get a string of texts from Taylor in the next several seconds. It will be safer to respond to him. I already know a quick goodbye will be forgiven by the man who can see that I'm still reeling. In fact, he nods and waves me off, gesturing to a bar I can't see but could navigate in my sleep.
As I scroll through the messages, I figure Taylor is probably bored and ready for more of my internet-exaggerated antics. We haven't had any meetings at the front office recently, and we've still got some time before camp. He's asking whether I'm in New Jersey now, and whether I have plans for next week. There are a few insults thrown in for good measure. I think he sends them out of habit more than anything.
Too eager to hear another voice today, even if it's his, I respond to his texts with a call and several prepared excuses for why I'm not interested in another date right now. Taylor interrupts me not longafter I've begun, telling me he's just glad I'm finally getting laid. I don't bother explaining to him that it's only happened twice. In the next breath, he invites me to the lake house for the third time. When I say yes, he asks whether anyone will join me this year. Even planning for a group trip, I feel so fuckingalonein a way that can't be solved by blind dates or coworkers, but Kai has the bar and Harper will start her junior year soon. And if Mateo thinks I look too much like Jameson Sinclair in some pictures, I don't want to know what he'd say when faced with the real thing.
The man he fell in love with isn't the same one going to Taylor's for a week.
Taylor grunts while I stare at my reflection in a hallway mirror. I'm not sure I actually respond before he hangs up on me. Days later, I'm packing my bag.
Our new goalie coach—a guy named Oskar, rumored to drink, swear, and fuck more than the rest of our staff combined—joins us at the lake. I'm irrationally annoyed to find out Wyatt is back. I greet Taylor's son for the first time since he and Harper engaged in an assortment of underage fun, and I look forward to teasing her about those memories later. I end up in the same room I had last year, the futon an unnecessary prop now. The sun calls us to the dock for beer and a boat ride almost as soon as we've arrived.
That first night, it's just the five of us, drinking too much and laughing too hard. For fleeting moments, I feel like everything is exactly the way it should be.
I've always been Jameson Sinclair.
However much hockey takes from me now, I haven't stopped loving it. The scrape of ice beneath my blades and the stillness on the rink before anyone else is there. The energy in a locker room as the team prepares for a big game or celebrates a big win. And yes, the cheers from people who are excited to be there with me and getto see me at my best and maybe even be proud of me for a couple of hours. I'm not playing anymore, and I still carry phantom pain everywhere, but this is only my second offseason as a coach, and I just need a little more time.
Hockey will start giving to me again if I wait.
We're sluggish the following morning, all of us getting older and slower about recovering from a late night. We devour grease and coffee and don't bother showering before we tumble toward the lake. We spend most of the day on the boat again. That afternoon, we're joined by Bailey McKeon and a friend of hers I recognize too quickly. They bring a couple of others, and we sprawl everywhere, more beer in our hands. The warm afternoon drags on, and Lara or Lena or Lana clings to me as intently as her bikini clings to her.
She hasn't let go by the time the sun goes down. I haven't asked her to. The women have their own place to stay, but I already know none of them will turn down a request to stay with one of us. I also know I've had more to drink than is smart with a mostly empty stomach and a pathetically needy body. The likelihood of making smart choices is ticking away. Still, after a failed round of pool on a table that didn't use to be here, and a few successful rounds of a card game I've never played before, I tell everyone I'm going to bed.
Alone.
At least a few people look terribly disappointed in me. Taylor seems intrigued.
I almost promise them it's just for the night. That I can feel my restraint fading. That the man in the headlines hasn't gone far, no matter how misleading any of those articles or pictures have been. Lara or Lena or Lana can wait one more day.
Mateo once waited years.
Chapter Sixteen: Mateo
(I Went to New York)
"Ishould go there."
Sophie rolls toward me and squints. She spent the night in my bed after we got wine-drunk and watched too many sappy movies, but the sun is cutting through my closed blinds, and what I've said makes no sense until she looks at my phone.
"You want to go on a boat ride?" she mumbles, and maybe it still doesn't make sense.
"No. I mean, I would. And I have. But I don't really care about the boat. Just that Jamie's on it. That's Taylor McKeon's boat."
"When was the picture taken?"
I shrug as well as I can while I'm still lying down. "Yesterday? The day before? It doesn't say. But according to a 'source,' they'll be there all week."
"So, he's on vacation again."
"Apparently."
"But he didn't invite you this year."
"Apparently not."
"And you think you should go there anyway."
I sigh. "I don't know. Everything is wrong between us now, and it would probably be so stupid to show up at one hockey superstar's lake house just to make things right with another hockey superstar."