Chapter 1
Harris
I know relaxing isn’t in your DNA, but you owe it to yourselves to try—you assholes need it, some more than others.
Coach’s voice carried through the locker room when he made his announcement a few weeks back, half joking—about sending the team on a retreat.
Retreat?
What are we, ten years old?
Management always gets what it wants, and what they want is all the guys on my line sent on ateam-building retreat. Don’t know who pissed in their Cheerios, but it looks like I’m gonna be stuck in some rando lake resort near the mountains for some “well-deserved” R & R and other nature-inspired bull crap.
As if throwing a bunch of competitive maniacs in the wilderness were going to help us unwind and bond and shit.
I mean. What does onedoat a lake?
Kayak? Not interested. Go boating? Last time I boated, it included beer and wakeboarding, and we’ve been told not to embarrass ourselves by drinking. Can’t swim—too cold. And have I mentioned I loathe getting touched by things I cannot see beneath the water? Seaweed and such?
Uh, hello—have you heard of the Loch Ness Monster?
Don’t fish.I refuse to.Since I went fishing with my Grandpa Walt the summer I turned nine and got hooked in the ear by one of his errant casts, I will not fish, and you cannot make me.The grudge game is strong with this one.
“Fishing is a state of mind, bro,” my teammate Dex declared after discovering our destination was a mountain town. “It’s you, your worm, and—”
I cut him off. “I’m not touching worms.”
He shrugged. “You can use fake bait. Some of them have glitter.”
“No fishing.”
“Fine.” He sneered at me, disgusted by my lack of masculinity. “Don’t come crying to me when you’re bored out of your mind.”
Bored?
Yeah, I probably will be bored; at least I’ll have my own space.
I was lucky enough to score my own little cottage (thanks to my seniority), which is more than I can say for half the linemen on my team, crammed together in the massive lodge at the top of the hill.
Granted, it has a full staff and full amenities. And room service. And a spa ...
I double-check the address on my phone before pulling into the gravel driveway of my little rental, happy to have finally arrived after a three-hour-long drive from the city. Cut the engine and sit gazing at it several moments, taking in the peace and quiet.
Not a peep, unless you count the birds.
I listen harder.
Huh. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
I step out of the truck, pea gravel gritty beneath my boots, and retrieve my overnight crap. With the press of a button, the hatch in back lifts. I grab my bag and heft it over my shoulder, glancing around me at the trees and stuff.
The resort has cottages scattered near the lake, a long stretch of water and shoreline in the near distance. Pine trees line the edge of theproperty, their needles crunching under my feet along with the gravel, branches swaying softly in the wind.
I raise my nose in the air and sniff; the faint smell of woodsmoke lingering, mixing with the scent of pine, crisp and fresh.
“Ahhh.”
Not bad at all!
