Page 23

Chapter 23

Nat

I can’t remember the last time I went hiking, or even out into the woods, into nature. Let myself just walk, breathe, be.

Don't know if I've ever bothered to smell pines, listen to birds, touch a tree . . .

I’ve been so caught up in life—chasing dreams when I was young, chasing fun and friends and girls, making a future for Syd.

I trail behind Olli and Avery, Syd at my side. They’re quiet, the only sound the crunch of our shoes against the snow-packed trail. Every once in a while, Olli pauses to point something out—“You see that little nest there, up in that tree?” or “Look, deer tracks!” or “Shh, you hear that?”

And we’ll all pause to take in the sound of a bird’s twitter or the crack of shifting underbrush or once another set of footsteps, so faint and faded, I’m not sure whether to believe Olli when he informs us it’s a fox.

It feels like magic.

Or maybe it’s him that feels magical, the way he moves through the world, the way he touches nothing and everything at once. The way I can imagine I smell strawberries and coffee alongside the crisp blend of pines and snow, the faded musk of deer. Or maybe it’s how he’s got Avery strung along like an eager puppy on a leash, shadowing his heels like the most loyal of best friends .

When Olli says listen, Avery fucking listens. When he says close your eyes, Avery’s lashes flutter shut. And when Olli says, stop, breathe, be, we all four fade into the moment, into the blissful peace of an existence here, now—not tomorrow, not one day.

I can’t look away.

I’ve never experienced anything like Olli James—so fascinating, so all-encompassing, like he’s so big and beautiful I can’t see past him. Can’t see anything but him.

It’s fucking terrifying, for so many reasons—none of which has anything to do with his gender. No, he’s terrifying because I’ve never felt like this. For anyone. Ever.

Not even Syd’s mom. Whom I dated, loved. For months. And I’ve no idea what that means. I feel vulnerable in a way I’ve never felt before, like some critical piece of me has been rendered armorless, laid bare.

Fucking terrifying.

The sudden buzz of my phone makes me jump. It’s so quiet here, even the faint tremor against my thigh bone feels jackhammer-loud. I wince as I dig the device out. “Sorry. It’s probably JB about work—shit.”

I freeze, staring at the name scrawled across the screen. He hasn’t called in months .

Syd stiffens beside me. “Dad?”

Beside her , Olli homes in on me like a beacon, his dark eyes unreadable as I lift the phone to my ear. “Jesse.”

“Oh,” Syd mouths, and she tugs Olli back. I turn away.

“Hey, little brother.” Jesse’s voice whites out everything else. I stop seeing the trees and the snow, stop smelling the fresh forest. Instead, his face fills my vision.

The irony is, we’ve always looked so much alike, despite our six-year age gap. Save, of course, for his perpetual grin of unwavering confidence.

But for some reason, I’m not seeing that grinning, confident Jesse .

Maybe it’s his use of the old pet name— little brother —but I see Jess the way he used to be, the way we used to be. Soft eyes, softer smile. Soft, caring words. “Hey, Jesse.”

I see two little boys, sitting out on the back deck, his guitar on my lap—

And then he speaks. “I heard about some kind of scandal with the Dingoes.”

Ah, there it is. His reason for calling; he only pops back on my radar when he wants something.

“Some kind of hockey fight club . . . the Ice Out ?” Shit, he’s out of touch. He’s been away from Day River so long he doesn’t even know what the Ice Out is.

“Fuck.” I lean my forehead against a tree as reality crashes back in. This time, the face that swims before my eyes bears a cocky, careless grin. “It’s not really a scandal—”

“You involved with it?”

My stomach clenches into a cold fist. Jesse hears about fighting and hockey and naturally assumes I’m involved. I guess I’m nothing if not consistent. Predictable. “I’m not involved, no.”

My eyes skate sideways towards the little cluster of my companions. Syd and Avery blatantly stare at me, Syd with her arms crossed and a hard expression on her face.

Olli seems to be studying something high in a tree.

“Bummer,” says Jesse, a laugh in his voice. Like always, that same cocky lilt. “I was gonna say, I want in.”

Of course he does. He doesn’t want anything to do with this town until it’s on the map. “Sorry, Jess. Can’t help you.”

Syd’s at my side, close enough I bet she can hear the conversation. Her mouth’s pulled into a thin line, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Oh, c’mon,” Jess pleads. “You know more than you’re saying.”

“I really don’t.” My eyes skate past Syd to Avery and Olli. They’ve both snuck up on me, so it’s likely all three can hear the conversation .

“Think how much publicity it would be!” Jess says, and Syd’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “If a pro player showed up to one of your games.”

I opt not to explain that each and every one of the Dingoes is a pro player , and every single one shows up to every single game.

“I mean, you’re welcome to go watch the games,” I say, though the thought of Jesse Taylor rolling back into this town has my stomach rolling too.

“So, is there gonna be some big event or something?”

“I told you I’m not involved.” My attention catches on Olli’s face, because I’ve never seen it look like that. Hard lines obliterate his normal cheeriness, rewrite his visage in what might almost be described as anger.

He lifts his right hand up over Syd’s shoulder, fingers curled into a fist with the thumb and pinkie sticking out—like an old-school landline. Then he promptly slams that hand against his left palm in an obvious hang up gesture.

I’m so surprised by the vehemence of it all—his expression, the gesture, the meaning—that I almost miss Jess’s next words. “You tell me when it is, and I’ll be there.”

And then Jess hangs up on me.

Slowly, I lower my phone.

“Dude!” Avery looks like his eyes might pop right from their sockets. “That was Jesse Taylor .”

“My brother,” I sigh, giving him a tight smile. “You just might get a chance to meet an NHL player, Av.”

“That’s good, though, right?” Sydney asks, her brows furrowed again, like she’s trying to figure out why the hell I’m upset about it. I mean, she knows Jess and I don’t talk, but I’ve never really told her why. “Uncle Jesse will bring in more fans.”

My throat feels too tight, and when I look up, Olli’s still scowling. It’s unsettling, seeing him like that. Maybe that’s why my words come out a little hoarse. “Yeah, I’m sure he will. ”

“We don't need him,” Olli says, voice so hard it’s almost sharp. My throat unclenches, the pressure leaving my lungs. “We already have fans. And we got Syd’s brilliant brain to bring in more.”

Something inside me swells, like a big warm balloon. He’s right; he’s already making things happen, drawing in fans, at home and on the road.

Fuck Jess.

“We don’t need a crutch,” Olli says. “We have Syd Taylor!”

Syd’s grin nearly splits her face in two, and something inside me feels like it might split also.

How the hell did Day River get lucky enough to wind up with Olli James?

“Now, enough talking. Hike’s almost over.” Olli takes the lead, and the kids hurry to catch up. I bring up the rear again, listening to the crunch of our boots in the snow beneath my echoing thoughts, beneath the afterimage of Syd’s smile.

Almost drives back the memory of the conversation with Jess.

“Stop,” Olli says.

And as one, we all fucking stop. Me and Syd, Avery behind, like the word of Olli compels us. “We got one more little stretch before we reconnect with the main trail, and then we’re back at the parking lot.”

“Already over?” Avery asks. The hint of disappointment in his voice makes me smile. I can’t remember the last time I saw the kid show so much enthusiasm for something that wasn’t hockey.

My gaze trails down to his tennis shoes in the snow. I know what I’ll be getting him for Christmas.

“One last deep breath,” Olli says. “Before we go back to city smog.”

We all four breathe as one.

Too soon, we’re walking again, following Olli back onto the main trail, down the path, into the parking lot. Olli’s truck sits next to my Chevy, glinting silver in the bright sunlight. A beacon of light, just like its owner .

Our pace slows. Maybe we’re reluctant to part ways, to admit the adventure’s come to an end. To return to reality.

What will happen then? Will I awaken from the past few days, from him, as one wakes from a dream . . . the feeling slowly slipping out of reach?

It’s only after Syd, Avery, and I squeeze into the front bench and I pull the tow truck out onto the road that Avery speaks. “He’s super weird. You should hang out with him more.”

I choke on a laugh. “Why’s that?”

“I dunno.” Avery spins his baseball cap around to the front, then removes it to straighten his hair. “You seem less grumpy or something.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Syd beats me to it. “He’s kinda right.”

“Maybe it’s just being outside,” I suggest, because that’s a much more logical explanation. Right? “The outdoors are good for you.”

“You already seem grumpier again.” Avery plops his hat back on, forwards, so he can tilt his head against the seat. “The outdoors must wear off fast.”

I’m torn between laughing and scoffing, and instead settle on, “I do not.”

“Yep.” Avery points, grinning. “There it is. Old Grumpy Nat is back.”

“No.”

“Oh, speaking of grumpy,” says Syd. “Brenda invited us to dinner. Who’s in?”

I take the turn onto Brenda’s street on barely two wheels. “Shit, yes, I will be there.”

Avery laughs as my foot nudges the accelerator into definite speeding territory. But he understands. There’s nothing like a Brenda meal to get everything looking straight again.

I pull the truck into the driveway of Brenda’s condo, and Avery and Syd tumble out almost before it’s come to a stop.

I’m slower to follow. The minute I walk through that door, Brenda’ll know something’s up, and she’ll demand that I tell her .

It’s what I need, isn’t it? To spill my guts to my stepmom, lay it all on the ground so we might sort through the spoils, make some sense of it.

It’s the last fucking thing I want to do—tear myself open so Brenda can sew me shut. Like setting a broken bone, the path to healing is more painful than the wound.

But I follow Avery and Syd into the cheer and warmth of Brenda’s townhouse anyway. Avery and Syd already perch at the dining table, hunched over something on Avery’s phone, so I head into the kitchen.

“Hey, Brenda.”

“Hello to you too, Bruiser.” She doesn’t turn from her position against the far wall, where she’s whisking something on the stove.

A soft tendril of fondness unweaves the tension in my chest as I amble over to rest my elbows on the counter beside Brenda. “Whatcha cooking?”

“Something’s bothering you, so you might as well just tell me what it is.” Shit, she’s good. Still hasn’t even looked at me .

“That’s very impressive.” I lean in to swipe a piece of ground beef out of her pan. “There’s no way you know that.”

Brenda finally turns to point her spatula at me, her face pressed into stern, dictating lines. “You’re pissy and moody and pretending not to be.”

“I am not.” Lie.

“You can tell me now or you can tell me later,” Brenda says, going back to her stirring. “But my advice’ll be the same either way.”

“I’m just . . .” I clench my teeth tight. Cross my arms over my chest. “Trying to figure out the right things to do. In every aspect of my life.”

“Aren’t we all.” Brenda sighs. “One thing I know for sure, though. Just ’cause something’s right, doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

Don’t I fucking know it.

Sometimes that makes you want it more—the challenge. And the thrill of that quest makes you chase all the wrong dreams. Sometimes it makes you question whether you’re on the right path at all.

“The right thing isn’t always obvious either,” Brenda continues, like she reads my thoughts. “Usually takes a lot of soul searching.”

I lean my elbows back onto the counter, and I wonder how much of her words—her wisdom—are based on her relationship with my father.

Twenty-five years ago, she walked in and picked up the dangling threads of another woman’s broken home life: a disillusioned father still lamenting his ruined career; his talented first son following in his hallowed footsteps; the forgotten second son, cut adrift by neglect and abandonment.

What made her decide to enroll me in that first squirts league?

My gaze skates sideways, to the wood-framed photo hanging over the kitchen counter beside the stove.

It’s the only picture she has of her late ex-husband, Rey Taylor. He looks so normal —one arm wrapped around Jess and one around me. So paternal. Almost happy.

But photos so rarely tell the full story.

My childhood was a roller coaster of wanting him to notice me—to be proud of me—and wishing I was invisible. I was the accidental bonus kid that forced him to stay at his factory job when all he wanted to do was coach. I was never as good as Jess; therefore, I could never be anything but a disappointment, a let down.

But when I was twelve and Jess left for college, I became something else—a spark to the ember of his ire.

The memory of that fear lives etched in my bones.

“You need help setting the table?” Avery Bennett hops into the kitchen like a bunny, yanking me back to present-day Earth. “I’m at your service.”

Brenda drops her spatula into the pan, snatches it up before it can start to melt. She whirls on me, eyes wide with shock. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Nat didn’t do shit,” Avery says, whipping open one of the cupboards to start extracting plates. “There’s gonna be open tryouts for the Dingoes, Jesse Taylor’s coming to watch, Syd’s doing social media for the Dingoes, and it’s all thanks to Oliver James.”

The name hits me like a bolt of lighting, like a strike that lights me up from the inside out. How can those two simple words have such a profound effect—evoke a response that’s at once visceral and emotional: a fizzing tumult of my insides, a riot of thoughts, a pang of terror.

So many fucking things, two small words.

Oliver James.

The little ghost I shouldn’t want—for so very many reasons. The little ghost I hope never stops haunting me.

The little ghost who I know will leave this town, and my too-small life, the moment the scouts catch wind of him.