Luckily, he was on one of the last flights to land here in Buffalo for the night, so the airport is quiet. While we needed to be spotted sharing an intimate moment this morning, right now I’m back to valuing our privacy.
“How was your flight?” I ask once we’re back in my Jeep and heading to our new home.
“Good,” he laughs. “It was easily the best of the four I’ve been on in the last forty-eight hours.”
“Jesus. That’s a lot even for a hockey player.” I grab his hand and hold it in mine.
“You’re telling me. When’s our first away game?”
“Thursday,” I tell him. “So you get a two-day break from flying.”
“At least my next flight will be with you.”
“Your next one and every single oneafter that,” I say.
“And all hotel rooms,” he adds. I can hear the smile in his voice.
“And calorie-heavy meals eaten at a diner.”
He yawns, then says, “Those are my favorite.”
I pull his hand to my lips and kiss it. “Mine too.”
“Sorry,” he says as he yawns again.
“Tired?” I press my foot a little harder on the gas pedal to get us home faster. It’s late. The roads are empty anyway.
“Exhausted,” he says. “I’ve been like a livewire all day. But now I’m having a bit of an adrenaline crash.”
“It’s been a lot for you,” I say. It has been, and it’s not lost on me the weight all of it must feel like on his shoulders. “You don’t have any regrets, do you?”
“God, no,” he says.
I chance a glance at him. He’s staring at me with tired, red, but also content eyes. “I’ll make it worth it.”
“You already have.”
OVERTIME
TWENTY-SEVEN
JULY 1ST—NO PLACE GOOD, ALASKA
Connor
I can’t believe I’m here. Alaska is even more gorgeous than I had imagined. The trees in the backyard are old and huge. The mountains are immense and imposing. The sea is vast and endless. I’m completely at peace watching the low late-evening sun glisten across the water from where we’re sitting on the deck overlooking the harbor below us.
Gavin leans over his chair towards me and kisses my cheek. “You look good in the Alaskan sun.”
I can’t help myself from humming in contentment at his side while we wait for dinner to be ready.
All day he’s been slowly smoking the salmon we caught yesterday, and I’ve thrown together a salad from some of the vegetables we picked up at the farmers’ market this morning. Going there is one of my favorite experiences. This Alaskan life is interesting with the way a lot of it still works on trade. We had caught an abundance of spawning salmon out of a nearby river that Gavin and Garrett cleanedand prepared. They split it up into three piles. One for us, one for Garrett, and one to exchange with the vendors in town for fruits and vegetables. It’s some of the best produce I’veever eaten. It’s no wonder Gavin grew up to be as big as he is if this is how he’s eaten his whole life.
Coming up the driveway, I hear the low rumbling of an engine. Gavin’s dad said he’d come by to have dinner with us again this evening. Garrett has spent almost every night with us for dinner. We keep asking him to stay at the house, but he insists on going back to his place instead. We’ve been spending a lot of time there as well. Now that Garrett is running his own boat, named theMarshal Rule—because Gavin and Garrett think it’s hilarious—he’s had more time to focus on his home, and we’ve been helping him fix it up. He didn’t even put up too much of a fight when Gavin insisted he get a new couch. Somehow, it was in worse shape than Gavin’s. I didn’t think that was possible.
Granted, fixing up his place is a slow process; we’ll likely be doing it for years. Which is fine by me as I love it here. I understand why Gavin, even though he fled it at sixteen, has always been called back to it as an adult.
Being here now I also understand why he left. And why his dad was so hell bent on getting him an opportunity to play hockey by sending him to that junior camp years ago. Watching them together, I know it must have been hard for them to live apart, but it was for the best. Sure, there are other opportunities in Alaska besides being a fisherman, but they aren’t often extended to people like Gavin and Garrett. The world sees men like them as cannon fodder for the machine. Men who society has cast off as expendable. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed with the gratitude I feel that Garrett has lived as long as he has. Not a lot of commercial fishermen make it into their fifties.
