Page 18

18

JAKE

A s strange as it was to admit this…I liked Mason Trinsky. A lot.

The things that used to bug the hell out of me didn’t anymore. Sure, he was brash, loud, and ridiculously cocky, but there was another side to him that was thoughtful, patient, and kind.

Don’t get me wrong. He hadn’t undergone a personality transplant. Trinsky was still annoying and goofy.

Get this—Mason traveled with cinnamon Pop-Tarts. Two days ago, on FaceTime, he’d told me that he had them delivered to hotels when he was on the road with the Condors. There was a good chance he’d been yanking my chain, but I hadn’t minded. I’d laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes as he read the ingredients on the box.

“It contains wheat and soy and the perfect amount of cinnamon,” he’d reported.

“And sugar.”

“Not enough sugar. If it was up to me, they’d double the layer of cinnamon, like Double Stuf Oreos. Eddie and I bought a package of those the other day. There was a secret handshake and a promise not to tell our mom, who, in addition to quitting smoking, drinking, and snorting coke, no longer eats junk of any kind. I’m proud of her, but an occasional Oreo isn’t gonna hurt anyone. And by the way, respect for the scientists in charge of Oreo flavors. Their motto is definitely ‘Go big or go home.’ Those guys will put anything in a cookie filling—s’mores, lemon, Sour Patch Kids. Broccoli is next. Just wait.”

So yeah…he was an over-the-top goofball with high-octane energy who’d weaseled his way into the fabric of my everyday life.

In the two weeks since I’d left LA, we’d talked or texted almost daily. It had started with Trinsky “checking in.”

Good flight home?

Yes.

Sunday:

How’s camp?

No camp on Sunday. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow.

Thumbs-up emoji.

Monday:

I texted him first. I’m coaching some talented juniors. Good group of kids…including Milo and Michael.

Who?

The brothers who got sick on our camping excursion.

The barf brothers? No way.

Way.

Our thread had devolved from there to green-faced emojis and the one with the eyes crossed out. I’d hunched forward, gaze shifting from my cell to the teenagers whizzing by on the ice, a silly smile teasing the corner of my mouth against my will.

Next day, same thing:

Are we out of the woods or do you think our agents are looking for more rival press? Trinsky typed.

I haven’t heard anything. Have you?

Yep. Marty is making noise about me going to Elmwood earlier.

My pulse had skittered out of control. I’d been sitting beside Court and Denny, watching my teens scrimmage. They were making all kinds of basic mistakes that would have gotten them benched on any team worth a damn: weak shots on goal, hogging the puck, playing too safe. I should have been yelling constructive pointers, but I’d been hopelessly distracted.

That would be awesome , I’d eventually replied.

He hadn’t mentioned it again, and I hadn’t asked.

But now, I wasn’t sure I was prepared for life in Elmwood with Trinsky here.

Geez, I’d slept with him, I’d sucked his cock, he’d sucked mine. We’d showered together, fingered each other, and—he’d fucked me. It was going to be weird to walk into the diner or the bakery and play it cool while Trinsky was his big and imposing, larger-than-life self.

I’d gone out of my way to ignore Mason Trinsky for years, and now…I didn’t want to. People would notice.

See, these couple of weeks of texting had given me a glimpse into his personal life that I didn’t think he shared with many people. There were no long, drawn-out stories about friends at home, family history, or exes. Instead Trinsky shared anecdotal side stories that hinted at his mom’s past struggles with sobriety and newfound healthy outlook.

I got the impression that she caused him more worry than Eddie. Eddie was fun and quirky. The simplest things brought him pleasure.

Eddie found the coolest shell at the beach. Check it out. Photo attached.

News flash: Eddie loves Joan Jett. I love rock and roll, baby! Gif of Joan Jett rocking out.

Eddie’s friend, Sarah, put a whoopie cushion on the bus driver’s seat today. Eddie’s still giggling. Twenty laughing emojis.

I laughed too.

On the other hand, he referred to his mom with an imperceptible note of worry.

Don’t you hate it when people tell you they’ve got a problem and you’ve already solved it?

I’d responded with a question mark, figuring he was about to embark on a tirade defending medicinal gummies or Hostess cupcakes. I was wrong.

My mom’s company is opening an office in Irvine. Terrible commute from Hermosa. She doesn’t have to work at all. I take care of her and Eddie. I bought the house, I pay the bills, but she’s convincing herself that a long drive in traffic won’t be a big deal. When did I become the adult here? I don’t like it.

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I went with a glib, Adulting sucks or something like that. He responded with a thumbs-up emoji. That was it.

The following night, the Dodgers won their third game in a row in Boston, which started a mini text war—the easy kind. Mason picked apart my team’s pitching and called out an unfortunate error at first base, and it was all the shit that usually made me want to strangle him. Now…I just laughed some more.

And it was kinda nice.

The man I’d written off as being chronically obnoxious had revealed yet another side of himself. But my change of heart didn’t feel sudden to me. It felt more like weeks of relearning someone I’d never really known.

And get this—we never talked about sex. Hell, I didn’t know if we could be lovers again, but we were friends now. The league definitely wasn’t going to know what to do with that.

“Large iced latte for Milligan!”

I snapped out of my reverie, thanking the new barista behind the counter before grabbing my drink and heading outside. I fist-bumped Denny on the sidewalk, chatting with his grandmother, Crabby Annie, a cantankerous ninety-something-year-old with signature fluffy white hair and pink lipstick.

“You should have told me you were coming by for coffee. I would have taken care of you,” I said. “That line is insane.”

Denny shrugged good-naturedly. “That’s okay. I probably don’t need more caffeine, but I need something cold. Want anything, Grams?”

“One of those propeller hats that spritzes water in your face,” she deadpanned. “Do they sell those with a cup of joe?”

“I think you’re out of luck.” Denny chuckled. “Are you in a hurry, Jake?”

“Nope, I can wait.”

“Cool.” Denny bent to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. “I’m off to the rink after this. Stay out of trouble, Grams.”

“Now what fun will that be?” Annie huffed, “I’m going to steal a few cookies from Penny for my new neighbor, then go home to soak my head.”

Denny narrowed his eyes in what looked like a silent warning. “Grams…”

“What? I didn’t spill any beans.” She made a button lip gesture.

I waited till Denny was out of earshot. “Got any secrets to share, Mrs. Mellon?”

“Darn tootin’ I do. And it’s a good one.” Annie’s lips twisted in amusement as she fanned herself with a kerchief. “Christ, it’s hotter than blue blazes out here. Tis the season for stinky pits and perfume coverups.”

She launched into a colorful story about almost passing out in the church pew next to a stinky old fart from Fallbrook who’d doused himself in a gallon of cheap cologne. This was Annie. She called out bad habits and faux pas as she saw them. And though I had no idea who she was talking about, she was right about the weather.

It was fucking hot.

At nine a.m., I was already looking forward to the refrigerated chill of the El Rink. It would be a welcome respite from the summer heat wave currently plaguing the Four Forest area.

“You could fry an egg on zee sidewalk,” JC agreed in his Quebecois accent, swiping his forearms across his brow as he stepped outside of Rise and Grind, holding the door for Smitty and Nathan. “I should try that at zee diner. Save on energy bills, yes?”

Smitty chuckled. “The rink is the place to be. Think we have room for these two in one of our camp groups, Jake?”

I sipped my iced coffee, thoughtfully eyeing Crabby Annie and Elmwood’s famous chef.

“We’ll make room,” I replied. “How’s your wrist shot, Mrs. Mellon?”

“I don’t shoot anything but tequila these days,” Annie quipped, then toddled down Main Street.

“I like her style.” JC inclined his head. “Come by the diner after camp, Nathan. I’m trying a new chocolate milkshake…with fried eggs straight from zee sidewalk.”

Nathan giggled. “ Ew .”

Smitty waved to JC and squeezed Nathan’s shoulder as he stepped away from the awning. “Ready, partner?”

My little brother was about to embark on his first PeeWee session, and according to Smitty and my dad, Nathan had been uncharacteristically quiet this morning. Smitty thought arriving early to run a few drills before the day started might help.

Nathan tightened the death grip on his stick and leaned against his dad. “Are you coming, Jake?”

“You go ahead. I’m gonna wait for Denny.”

“We could wait with you too.”

I kneeled on the sidewalk and cupped his chin. “Hey, what’s up? Are you nervous about going to the next level?”

Nathan chewed his bottom lip. “A little. I was supposed to do PeeWees next summer. Not now.”

“That’s totally normal, but Coach thinks you’re ready, and you are. Remember, you have a big advantage here over the other kids. This is your town, and that’s your ice, Nathan.”

“I know, but Teddy What’s-his-face is a PeeWee, and he’s faster than me,” he grumbled.

I hid my smile. “What’s-his-face” was Nathan’s version of Teddy Fuckface, a sure sign my little bro was unraveling. “I don’t know about that, but the only way to fix it is to practice. So…get to the rink and put your skates on. I’ll race with you as soon as I get there. Sound good?”

Nathan bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Yes.”

I held my hand up for a high five. “Later, Nath.”

Smitty nudged my elbow and tipped his ball cap in wordless thanks. “See you there.”

I glanced through the coffee shop’s window to check Denny’s progress in line and pulled out my cell, returning to my earlier text thread with Trinsky. He’d sent a selfie with yet another box of Cinnamon Pop-Tarts just as I’d placed my order with Ivan, captioned, I told you this shit rocks.

I’d snickered at Trinsky’s goofy expression, but with Smitty and Nathan on either side of me and JC behind me in the queue, I hadn’t had a chance to respond.

So now, I held up my iced coffee and snapped a quick pic of my to-go cup. This is the true breakfast of champions.

Did you get a scone too?

No, I had eggs and fruit at home. I’m saving my pig out calories for a shake at the diner later, I typed. Chocolate chocolate chip.

You suck.

I do.

Trinsky sent a laughing emoji. Take a selfie.

Why? You know what I look like.

Yeah, but what do you look like holding iced coffee?

I cast a quick glance around, then took the world’s fastest selfie and pushed Send. Here you go, weirdo.

You’re kinda hot.

I blushed. And I should not be fucking blushing on Main Street. I’m very hot…and sweaty. But I’m heading to the rink now to meet my new group of Juniors. AC for the win.

All about that ice. Later. Three dots. Three more dots. Weird request, but…call me later if you can.

I sent a thumbs-up emoji and stuffed my cell into my pocket as Denny pushed open the door.

He tapped his cup to mine and inclined his head. “Shall we?”

We talked about the usual new-session hurdles. There was always a kid who was sure they deserved star athlete treatment or whose parents were concerned their little darling wasn’t getting enough attention. We didn’t have to deal with them personally. They filed their grievances with the owners and local coaches, not the NHL hotshots.

However, Denny and I had grown up here. Hell, I’d attended the first ever Juniors Camp, coached by the newly retired legend, Kimbo, a.k.a., Vinnie Kiminski. I still remembered how nervous I’d been. Sure, I knew how to play hockey and I’d had some great coaches, but Vinnie was a real live NHL star.

Elmwood Juniors’ Camp had come a long way since that first summer that Vinnie was the only name anyone recognized. Nowadays, hockey greats flooded the Four Forest area every summer. Some came with their families, friends, and significant others and stayed to tour rural New England. Some arrived solo, happy to do a little bonding with their fellow athletes and soak up the positive press that came along with this gig.

Denny and I stopped to chat with a Russian goalie who played for Vegas and gave directions to a rookie forward from Pittsburgh who’d been assigned coaching duties at the high school rink across town.

Did we know where to go? Dude, Elmwood was home. Our families were entrenched in the community and had been for decades. Geez, I’d coached Denny well before he’d skyrocketed to superstardom.

It was surreal to be among the few athletes who represented the NHL and Elmwood. Sometimes, it was just a pain in the ass. The press coverage always seemed to include a segment with one of the local “success” stories.

“It’s your turn,” I teased at the crosswalk down the hill from the rink.

“Nope. We’re both off the hook for now. The reporter from ESPN says they want to talk to the guys who come back every year.” Denny sipped his drink.

“Oh. That’s a good angle.”

“Personally, I’m trying to stay out of the spotlight and enjoy camp. If one more idiot asks if I’m staying in Denver next season, I’m going to lose my shit.”

“Your contract isn’t up for like…two years or more,” I replied as the light flashed green.

“I know, but they’re looking for a story…any story. McD warned me. I’m sure he warned you too.”

I scoffed. “McD is preparing for my downward spiral.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s alluded that they may shake things up in Boston. I’ve been there for over a decade. We’ve got new talent asking for big money and…” I shrugged. “I don’t feel as safe as I used to. I told you about that meeting in LA. Total waste of time. Great organization, but they don’t need me.”

“Boston isn’t going to let you go,” Denny said firmly. “No chance.”

“Thanks, but you’re five years younger than me, and your team made it to the championship game. My story is a little different.”

He smacked my biceps playfully. “No one is sending you anywhere, dumbshit. Especially now that they’ve got a rivalry to cover.”

I wiped sweat from my brow, clandestinely checking for witnesses in the El Rink parking lot before flipping him off. “That’s old news.”

“Wishful thinking,” Denny singsonged.

I tossed my cup into the bin, frowning at his cryptic tone. “What do you mean?”

He grabbed my shirt and pulled me under the eaves, away from the kids and parents queuing for early entrance into the rink. “You didn’t hear this from me, but…Trinsky is coming into town early.”

Screech.

“What? When?” I asked, grateful my voice didn’t rise five octaves.

“I don’t know. Tomorrow or the next day, I think. Vinnie was short a coach when Galmers’ wife delivered their baby early. He spoke to McD about a replacement and…”

“He suggested Trinsky,” I finished, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Yep. The only reason I know anything is ’cause Galmer was supposed to stay at my old house…next to Grams. She loves Trinsky, so she’s already stocking up on pancake mix and syrup.”

“Oh.”

Nice, Milligan.

I couldn’t come up with any more words, though. I’d been blindsided. We’d been texting less than fifteen minutes ago and every evening for over a week. Why wouldn’t Trinsky have mentioned it?

He had wanted me to call him later. That wasn’t something we did often. I should have asked what was up. I should have?—

Now Denny looked concerned. Shit .

He squinted as if that might help him read my mind. “You don’t really hate him anymore, do you? It seemed like you struck a truce after your TV appearance.”

You might say that.

I pasted a neutral smile on my face. “Yeah…whatever. I’m just annoyed McD didn’t bother telling me first.”

“As you know, McD is kind of a dick. However, he’s a dick who’s made us both a fuckton of dough, so trust the process, man. He makes more money when you make more money. If an overblown rivalry is the key to you getting what you want in Boston, go with the flow.”

“Uh…right.”

“That’s the spirit.” Denny squeezed my shoulder and guided me toward the entrance. “Let’s go. It’s time to greet the fans.”

The second we walked into the lobby, we were swarmed by hockey enthusiasts of all ages. Some stood in a registration queue while others lined up for orientation by the rink doors. And in the middle of the chaos were a dozen or more pro athletes talking to parents, posing for photos, signing autographs. It was the usual first day of a camp session melee—a little manic and frenzied but still well organized.

I shook hands, greeted familiar faces, took a few selfies, signed some jerseys, and completely forgot that I’d told Smitty and Nathan I’d meet them for early ice time before the doors opened. In fact, I didn’t remember until I spotted Nathan drying tears and Smitty watching him from the coaches bench a few rows in front of me. Fuck .

Logically, I knew Nathan had a case of first-day nerves and I knew that Smitty worried ’cause he was a good dad who gave a shit.

But I’d dropped the ball, and it was one more thing to beat myself up about. My internal angst was no excuse for being a crappy older brother.

I stepped on a few toes as I wriggled out of my row and waited for Nathan’s group to vacate their seats. He still looked uneasy, but he perked up and waved when he spotted me.

“Hi, Jake! That’s my brother, Jake,” he said to the kid next to him.

I high-fived the pint-sized hockey fan wearing Denny’s jersey and pulled Nathan aside. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t come skate with you like I promised, but?—”

“It’s okay. Dad said you got busy.” Nathan glanced over his shoulder as his group filed out of the stands. “I have to go. We’re taking the bus to the high school rink, and I want to sit next to Teddy. Bye, Jake.”

“Uh…bye. See you at dinner tonight.”

Nathan whirled on the steps. “You’re coming over for spaghetti?”

“Yeah, save me some.”

He pumped his fist in the air, grinning as he raced away.

I stared after him for a beat, torn between thinking I needed to thank Smitty for covering for me and chiding myself for being toxically self-absorbed.

And yeah, I blamed Trinsky.

Well…not really, but he was the reason I couldn’t think straight. I’d been like this for weeks, glued to my cell like a teenager, rereading our text threads, replaying images of us together…naked. His strong big body on top of me…inside me.

And now he was supposed to be here. Soon.

Vinnie mentioned it in passing at lunch later that day and joked about keeping us as far apart as possible much to the amusement of the coaching staff. I chuckled along with everyone else, but my stomach did an uncomfortable flip. Christ, this wasn’t going to be easy. Everything had changed.

Or had it?

We might be friendl ier now, but the rivalry narrative worked for a reason. It sold tickets and jerseys and delighted fans.

My personal feelings were my problem. I mean, what the fuck did I think would come of this? Absolutely nothing. But I was still churned up about seeing him in person and unsure if I’d be better off with nothing but a handful of improbable memories.

Nonetheless, I called him as soon as I had a break. No answer.

I sent a text and tried again at the end of the day. Still nothing.

I skipped drinks at Black Horse Inn with the other coaches and went to my dad’s house for dinner, hoping to make up for being a neglectful older brother. Smitty had waved off my apology over our heaping plates of homemade spaghetti.

“No worries. You’re a busy star,” Smitty had taunted playfully. “Nath was fine with his old man, weren’t you, buddy?”

Nathan wiggled in his chair, twirling noodles inexpertly on his fork. “Yeah, camp was so cool and Coach Court is so funny. We did races around the cones without sticks and with sticks and I came in second. I beat Teddy, but I still have to beat Ava. She’s too good, and she’s younger than me.”

True. Ava Moore-Kiminski was Vinnie and Nolan’s daughter, so it kind of made sense. But Nathan was my brother, and I was a fucking all-star. I’d won the Stanley Cup. I could do better, be a better brother, help him get better and?—

“You okay, Jake?” Dad asked, his brow furrowed in concern, fork hovering in midair.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just…sorry about today. I’ll make it up to you, Nath.”

“There’s nothing to make up,” Smitty huffed, deftly pushing Ella’s glass of milk aside before she knocked it off the table.

Nathan beamed. “But we could get donuts in the morning.”

“Or…we could get ice cream tonight,” Charlotte suggested with a grin.

All three kids shared a glance and chanted, “Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream.”

I chuckled. “You’re on.”

I dug into the pasta, aware of my dad’s scrutinous stare from across the table.

My father had always been a bit of a worrier, and he had finely tuned instincts regarding the slightest hint of conflict. I had no doubt that he knew something was up with me…and he’d be correct.

But I was keeping this secret.

Knock knock knock

I lowered the volume on the cop drama on my flat-screen, unsure if the sound was part of the unfolding heist.

Knock knock knock

I tossed the remote onto the coffee table and headed for the front door.

Ding dong

Ding dong

I glanced through the peephole and quickly unlatched the lock. I’d been fighting sleep on the sofa for an hour, but damn, I was wide awake now.

“What the?—”

Trinsky dropped a duffel bag on the floor, crashed his mouth over mine, and kicked the door shut. We shouldn’t do this anymore. I shouldn’t want this. But I wrapped my arms around him and crumbled like a fucking cookie.

We bounced from wall to wall in the entry, sucking, licking, and biting in what was either a manic greeting or a fierce showdown. Trinsky finally pushed me against the door, his chest heaving as he eyed me warily.

“I missed you, you fucking vampire.” He pressed a hand to his neck and scowled. “Geez, I think I have a puncture wound.”

I matched his grumpy expression and opened my mouth to blast him. But I couldn’t remember if I was angry or sad or just very fucking tired, so I closed my eyes and…laughed.

“Sorry, I’m just…punchy and—what are you doing here? I heard you were coming early. Denny warned me and supposedly my agent left a message I never received, but?—”

“They asked me this morning. I hopped the first flight out and after a full fucking day of travel, I got mauled by a feral coyote. Are you gonna invite me in or what?”

I studied him for a long moment.

Damn, Mason Trinsky was a delicious sight in his faded Levis and the snug-fitted tee I’d yanked from his waistband, exposing a hint of skin. His handsome face was sun-kissed, his lips were swollen, and his eyes were twinkly and mischievous…and oh-so kind.

I opened my arms wide.

He stepped into my embrace and enveloped me in a bear hug, his nose tucked into my neck. I swayed with him under the lantern chandelier, breathing in his scent as I raked my fingers through his short hair and swallowed around a ball of emotion I didn’t understand.

“I’m glad you’re here, asshole.”

He chuckled lightly and squeezed me a little tighter. “Me too, Jakey. Me too.”