“And this is business,” Clark reminds me. “Casco is a bit of a wildcard because of his medical history.”
“He was huge during that Cup run. Best defenseman they have.”
“Yeah, and now he’s gonna be the best defenseman the Riptide have. His contract is up this year, and his agent thinks as highly of Casco as you do. He was asking for a shit ton of cash and wasn’t budging.”
Shit. I mean, I’ve learned not to take trades personally, but if it were my direct relative letting me go… it’d be hard to remain indifferent. I clear my throat. “When do I have to leave?”
“You should be hearing from the Riptide’s office in the next forty-eight hours with a flight and other info,” Clark tells me as I stare at a gleaming, muscled Paul Mescal on my hundred-inch television screen. “The media is being informed as we speak.”
“Then I should go because my family group ch—” About ten messages flash on my screen as the Garrison family group chat explodes. “They all know. The fam. I will call you tomorrow, Clark. Thanks.”
“This is a good move, Grady. You’ll have to get used to winters again, and no celebrity neighbors, but the Riptide wants this to work long term. You might be able to grow roots where your roots already exist,” he says, and I feel those same emotions again—excitement tinged with anxiety.
“Later, Clark.” I end the call, pick up the phone, and lean back into the plush sofa. I try to remember the number of the movers I used the last time I was traded as I pull up the group chat.
CONNER: Welcome to the team, G! I’m fuckin’ stoked!
DAD: I’m so proud of you! As always!
MOM: He’s taking the day off work tomorrow to drive to the team store in Portland and get your jersey.
ROSE: Family road trip! Congrats, G. We are ALL happy for you.
TATE: I’m not. Fuck that.
LIV: You will be missed, Grady!
TENLEY: Nash is in a worse mood than usual, and for once, I understand why. You will be SO missed Grady!
I watch more messages flood in from my uncles and aunts and then my paternal grandparents. They declare it a dream come true. I smile. It won’t be a bad thing. And Landon is going with me. That’s kinda… cool.
I respond to the chat, telling them I’ll see them soon, then I thank them and tell them lovingly to fuck off because I have to pack. They all send laughing emojis and middle finger emojis, except Aunt Rose, who says Sigh. You kids with the potty mouths.
I put down my phone and head out to the small patio in my backyard. The scent of night jasmine is carried on the night breeze. I walk over to my pool and promptly sit down on the tile edge, dipping my legs into the cool water. I didn’t swim nearly enough. I’m going to miss it.
I stare at the thick hedge that skirts my small property and then lie back against the still-warm tile. The sky is a blanket of inky darkness, not a star to be seen through the light pollution and regular pollution. At least there will be stars to see in Maine.
And Landon.
There will be Landon. My heart flutters at the thought because, since he returned to the team after successfully battling cancer, I’ve developed an inappropriate but severe crush on him. He was on medical leave when I was traded to the Quake, and I really didn’t know much about him before he came back. Now I know he’s got a wicked sense of humor, a quiet perseverance on the ice, an obsession with finding the perfect sandwich, and doesn’t let anything throw him off his game—not even cancer. He loves vanilla ice cream, hates cauliflower, and has a cut, thick cock. I couldn’t help but sneak a peek in the shower once or twice. Oh, and most important—he’s got a long-term girlfriend. One who saw him through his illness and doesn’t miss a game. She works as a graphic artist and made the coolest cartoon portrait of the team with the Cup, which Landon put on shirts for all of us. He handed them out just yesterday.
So I guess Angela is coming to Maine, too. I can’t even let myself be depressed about it because Angela is a great girl. Always smiling. Always nice to the team and the other wives and girlfriends, according to both my cousins, Liv, who is dating Crew Westwood, and my cousin Tenley, who is married to Nash Westwood, the Quake’s two co-captains.
I close my eyes and listen to the crickets chirp, the breeze rustle my hedges, and the water gently lap against the aquamarine tiles on the side of the pool. Landon’s face, with his dirty blond hair and his intense but friendly blue eyes, and his guarded smile, fill my head. We hit it off from the second he stepped back into the locker room after his cancer battle. It wasn’t this loud, public friendship. It was more like a few shared looks, quiet nods, and inside jokes. When we talked, it was always real. Deep. Easy. We just got each other.
So, yeah, it will be nice to have him on the team. Someone I already share a bond with. It can be exhausting forging new alliances and friendships. It’s never been as easy on my other teams as it was with Landon on the Quake. People think that because I almost always have a relative on the team I get traded to, that bond is a given, but it’s not. I’ve only played with my cousins for fun. Or in junior leagues. At this level, they’re different, and so am I. We don’t necessarily have the connection in the arena that we have out of it.
As a goalie, I’m kind of an alien on any team. The first to get blamed for losses and the last to get credit for big wins. Landon always skated over after a game—win or lose—and tapped my back, just above my ass, with his stick. With a look in his eyes that, I swear to God, murmured I got you, and the nod of his head.
I get up, walk into the house, dripping water everywhere, grab my phone, and head back outside. As I sit back down by the edge of the pool, I scroll through my messages. There are a lot of group chats with Quake teammates, which I’m sure will start blowing up any minute with condolences and well-wishes, but I scroll until I find my messages with just Landon. For some reason, this summer he started sending me sunrise photos from San Francisco and from his family’s summer home in Maine. So I started sending him sunset photos.
We never said a word, just sent the pics. I have no idea why.
But today I type my first actual words to him in this message thread.
GRADY: Hey. See you soon.
I hit send. I know he’s dealing with feelings that are completely foreign to him. His family is probably blowing up his phone the way mine did. The last thing he needs is something more to respond to, so I don’t want to ask him if he’s okay or how he feels about it or if I can help with his move because everyone is likely saying some version of that. So instead, I add one more thing.
