Shit. This feels like it’s reciprocal—my crush—and it isn’t. I need to get a grip. And fast.
Chapter 7
Landon
I came home from practice feeling better than I anticipated. Better might not be the right word. Grounded? Yeah, that’s a better word. I enjoyed practice, I felt good running drills with my new teammates. And Coach Larue seems great, just like Grady said he’d be. I don’t think we’ll have any issues. It really did help having Grady there. Man, I can’t get over how unruffled he is in all situations. I felt out of place and on display at the same time, which is strange because I’ve been one of the guys in the locker room when someone new comes in, and I’ve never thought of the new teammate as a spectacle. I’ve barely thought of them at all.
Grady spoke when I couldn’t get out of my own way, so things didn’t get as weird as they felt. He’s great. I’ve thought that for a while, but when he cracked that joke after I met the doctor, he reinforced that. I hate that I was sick and that even after beating it, everyone still wants to talk about it. Or worry about it. What I didn’t tell Grady is that the team doctor also said, “You know the owners are worried. I’m sure you’re not surprised. A guy making a successful comeback from an illness as serious as yours is rare. And because it’s rare, we don’t know how long your career might be. I mean… your body has already been through more than an average person’s, let alone a hockey player’s. But I’ll be here to make sure you’re doing great.”
He babbled on and on, and I think he realized he was sticking his foot in his mouth with every word because of my expression. Angie has always said that I might not speak a word, but my face does a lot of talking.
Angie wasn’t home when we got to the cottage. I still call this place a cottage. The wooden plaque above the door says Braddock Cottage. It was just a bunch of pine boards and a roof and some screens for a very long time. A summer home for my mom’s side of the family, where she, my aunts, and my uncle (aka former coach) grew up spending their summers. Aunt Winnie and Uncle Holden winterized it after they were married. And then they bought the place next door, where they helped raise Duke Hendricks, Holden’s nephew. His mom died when he was fourteen, so he moved in with Holden and Winnie. I used to play with Duke on the Quake. He was a goalie, but his career started well before mine, being that he’s ten years older, and he officially retired this year.
Anyway, Angie isn’t at the cottage when I get home. Grady heads out to do a grocery run, and I take a walk on the seven-mile beach. That’s where I find Angie and Aunt Winnie sitting on one of the benches by the dunes at the top of the beach. The bench dedicated to my grandfather has a little brass plaque bearing his name. I start to smile as soon as I see them, excited to tell them about my day, but then I see Winnie hug Angie. She’s rubbing her back, like you would a crying child. And when Angie pulls back, she wipes her eyes. My steps slow, and my smile slips into the sand. Winnie notices me first. Her body stiffens, but a second later she smiles and waves. Angie turns and smiles too, but it’s forced. I know her smiles all too well by now.
“Hey! How was the first day?”
“Good! I mean, it started a little weird, but it was good. I’m practicing with the second line, and it felt smooth,” I tell them, grateful that hockey is our family business and my aunt understands everything. Her husband was an elite prospect, and my Uncle Jude says he would have lit the league on fire, but he kind of fell apart when his mom died when he was young. He ended up in juvenile detention, and his career never happened. Now he runs a fairly decent-sized renovation company, and he’s an assistant hockey coach for a local Junior team.
“Second line is great. They have faith in you,” Winnie says.
“Weren’t you top line on the Quake?” Angie asks.
Ouch. Okay.
“Yeah, but I was established there,” I explain. “Lines are fluid and where I start won’t necessarily be where I stay.”
That’s the truth, but it works both ways. I could end up on the fourth line. I don’t say that, though, and I don’t even think it. I’m great at my job, and I will prove that here like I did in Los Angeles. Winnie pats the bench beside her. “Come sit.”
I walk past Angie to sit on the other side of Winnie. My gaze darts to Angie, and she sniffs, so I look out at the ocean instead. It’s low tide, which is my favorite because the beach has this long, wet flat part, and the sand feels soft and supple, and you can hunt for sand dollars and sea glass, which is something I used to do endlessly with my grandma when I was a kid.
“We’re talking about where you guys should live.”
Oh. Great. I take a slow, steady breath. “I was thinking of doing a year here. At the cottage, if nobody minds.”
“Of course, nobody minds,” Winnie replies with a smile. “It’s communal, though, as you know, so people might come and go. Most likely your parents.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m cool with that. It’s big enough. I mean, Grady’s with us right now, and it doesn’t feel like we’re stepping on each other.”
Winnie nods, and her eyes dart to Angie as her long hair catches on a breeze and flies up, slapping her cheek. She brushes it away and focuses her gaze on me. “After the year, would you want to move to the city? Portland feels like a better fit for a young, childless couple.”
I want to remind her she’s never lived in Portland. She moved straight into the family cottage after my grandfather died, and she broke up with her boyfriend, and never left this quirky beach town. She was in her twenties then. But I know she’s not trying to create problems for me. She’s trying to solve them. Clearly, Angie doesn’t want to stay here indefinitely. That annoys and depresses me. I could stay in this house, in this town, forever. It’s my happy place.
“I want to get through one season, make sure I’m staying on the Riptide,” I explain as another salty breeze whips around us and the waves crash. “And then… I’m open to Portland or wherever. I just can’t invest in more real estate right now if I’m not liquidating what I currently have.”
Winnie looks perplexed, and her brows pinch. “You haven’t listed your L.A. house yet?”
“Angie wants to keep it, so I am.”
“Don’t blame this on me!” Angie snaps, and Winnie stiffens beside me. My shoulders sag. I am so sick of not getting along with her.
“I’m not blaming anything on anyone. I’m just stating facts. I have a lot of money tied up in real estate, and I don’t want to add to that,” I say. “When and if it looks like I’m staying with the Riptide, I’ll have to sell either the San Fran place or the L.A. one. Or rent one of them out.”
Angie looks like I just told her her goldfish has gout. My God, this is insane. How did we get here? “Aunt Winnie, can I have a moment with Angie?”
Winnie nods and pats my knee in support before standing up. “You two kids are welcome here as long as you need. Your buddy Grady, too.”
She starts across the sand to the boardwalk. I wait until she disappears over the dunes to speak, but I take Angie’s hand in mine immediately. When she’s out of sight—and earshot—I turn to Angie. “I love you.”
