Coastal Cabin Rentals. Beachside. Private.
“Hang in there, Rookie,” I whisper to the empty room. “I’m working on it.”
***
The locker room sounds like a travel agency gone wild.
“Cabo, baby!” Charlie Reese-McLeod yells, using his stick as a guitar to play a heavily distorted air riff. “Tacos, tequila, and tan lines. The holy trinity.”
“Florida Keys, y’all! Fishing, beer, and bikinis! What more could a man want?” This from Ethan Wolfe, second-year defenseman.
I sit on the bench in my warm-ups, my sling feeling like a damn straitjacket, while the rest of the team strips off their practice gear. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, stick tape, and the manic energy that only comes right before a break. The All-Star break starts the day after tomorrow. Seven full days of freedom.
My phone feels heavy in my good hand. The browser tab is open, theConfirm Reservationbutton at a luxurious, extremely secluded resort calledThe Seastack Lodgeon the Washington Coast is highlighted, ready for me to click it. The place looks next level: high ceilings. Oceanfront. Huge windows facing out onto thousands of miles of Pacific Ocean and nothingness. Huge stone fireplace.
Tanner is sitting in his stall, his head down, undoing his laces with slow, deliberate movements. He looks less like a guy about to go on vacation and more like a guy waiting for a sentencing hearing.
“Hey, Sinc!” Kevin shouts, snapping a towel at Charlie. “You sure you don’t want to come to Cabo with us? We still got room in the villa!”
My stomach tightens.Don’t go to Cabo. Please don’t go to Cabo.
“Nah, pass. I’m too fucking exhausted to party this week. Staying here and sleeping the whole time.”
“So you’re just gonna stay here?” Kevin presses, genuinely confused by the concept of turning down a villa. “In the rain?”
“Yup,” he says without looking up.
“Booooring,” Charlie singsongs, but they let him off the hook, high-fiving their way out the door in a cloud of noise.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Currently, the score is Tremblay: 1, Cabo San Lucas: 0.
When the herd finally thins, I stand. My shoulder gives a dull throb, deep in the healing tissue, but it’s so much better than it was. Baby steps. I catch Tanner’s eye as he turns to head for the door.
I jerk my head toward the exit. A silent signal.Wait up.
He blinks and gives me a nearly imperceptible nod.
I wait a couple of minutes before following him out, finding him waiting for me outside the players’ exit. He looks wrecked. The hood of his Sasquatch sweatshirt is up, his posture screaming with exhaustion. I’m sure this wet cold that seeps right through your clothes and settles deep into your marrow isn’t helping his mood or his exhaustion.
We start toward our cars. “So, um, you really don’t have any plans for the week?” I ask as I dodge a puddle the size of Lake Washington. I suddenly feel like a teenager asking his crush to the prom.
“Yeah. Just need to sleep. I’m not exactly a huge partier at the best of times, as you might have guessed.” He gives a self-conscious laugh. “I’m probably going to literally sleep and watch tape.”
“Tape?” I stop in front of him, the rain plastering my hair to my forehead. “Sinc, if you watch any more game tape, your eyes are gonna start projecting replays onto the wall. Besides, look at this.” I gesture vaguely at the miserable, weeping wet weather surrounding us. “It’s gonna be gray and wet and depressing all week.”
“I like gray,” he mutters, huddling deeper into his sweatshirt.
“You know what’s better than shitty weather in the city?” I step closer, dropping my voice so it cuts under the sound of the rain. “Storm watching. I found this place out on the coast. Huge wavescrashing against the rocks, salt spray, toasty fire crackling while the wind howls outside.”
His eyes widen as he looks at me. I can almost see the way he’s picturing the fire.
“Sounds nice,” he admits, shifting his weight.
Here we go. “Yeah. I booked it,” I say, pulling the phone out of my pocket but keeping the screen dark. “But the docs don’t want me to drive that long. Apparently, it’s bad for the healing tissue. Micro-trauma or something.” I shrug with my good shoulder. Of course, that’s complete horseshit. The doctor said no lifting, not no driving. But I don’t want to pressure him. And, let’s be honest, it feels safer for me as well.
Tanner chuckles. “So, you’re asking me to come along. As yourdriver?”
He crosses his arms and looks at me suspiciously, but there’s the ghost of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
