Page 5

5

TRINSKY

I wasn’t at my best at midnight after a day of partying, but with the time difference between coasts, the only way to keep my promise to call home was to FaceTime Eddie before bed. Either that, or try him at ridiculous o’clock in the morning. Eddie wouldn’t mind. He was generally easygoing and…he was an early riser.

A bus came by my mom’s Hermosa Beach house every day at eight a.m. to pick him up for school or summer camp or whatever activities his part-time caregiver advised. Mom always offered to take him on her way to her office in Orange County, but Eddie loved the bus.

It was a sweet, familiar routine. Lou, the driver, greeted him with a secret handshake and his friends, Anthony and Sarah, always saved him a seat. They took the same route and talked about nice things, like horses, funny movies, and foods they liked.

Eddie said they had different teachers at school and they didn’t always see each other for recess, but the bus routine was set in stone. That didn’t mean Eddie wasn’t good about rolling with change. It just took him a little longer to process things and he tended to go eerily silent, content to scribble his thoughts on paper if he felt the need to communicate at all.

Like me, Mom did whatever necessary to avoid the silent treatment.

She’d even agreed to learn American Sign Language. Eddie became obsessed after he saw a movie where the characters signed. One of his instructors suggested enrolling him in a class and in a twist, my kid brother was now a signing machine. Mom had taken online lessons so they’d have alternate means of communication, and she’d talked me into learning too.

I was fucking hopeless at it. And while I hated sucking at anything, I loved making Eddie laugh.

I pasted an over-the-top grumpy growl on my mug as the giggling freckle-faced sixteen-year-old corrected my efforts.

“You do it wrong. Like this.” Eddie pointed at his chest and repeated the hand motion. “I like hockey. Now you.”

“I like hockey.”

Uproarious laughter.

Okay, I’d signed “I like monkeys,” but like I said, I was a sucker for that laugh. It squeezed my chest and made me grin like a fool. Damn, I loved this kid.

“You said monkey. Do it again.”

Ten minutes later, I’d exhausted every noun I’d learned. Plane, train, dog, cat, flower, surfboard, ocean. Eddie wouldn’t let a repeat slide, but I was also aware that teasing skirted the delicate line into impatience and frustration. I didn’t want to upset Eddie…ever.

I wanted him to be happy. Only happy. I wanted a smile on his face twenty-four-seven, and if that meant turning up the goofball meter, so be it.

On my final attempt, I did it correctly and was rewarded with Eddie’s sunniest grin. He was all cheeks with big dimples, and his eyes disappeared in crinkles of joy.

I beamed, propping my head on a pillow in Denny and Hank’s guest room. “Pretty good, eh?”

“Yes. Keep pr-pr-practicing. Now, I have to go. G-good-bye, Mason. Oh, wait. H-how was the parade? Did you like it?” he asked, pushing the fringe of his light-brown hair from his eyes.

“Yeah, it was fun. It would have been more fun if you’d been there. Maybe next year?”

“No, thank you. I’m…I’m too sh-shy,” Eddie stuttered, quickly adding, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

The kid was a master of deflection. If he didn’t want to do something, he diverted conversation like a pro.

“I’m going camping for two days.”

“Th-that will be fun.”

I smiled at his polite commentary. “Maybe. I dunno. I’ll be with strangers and a guy who doesn’t like me very much.”

Eddie frowned. “Why doesn’t he like you?”

“Well…sometimes I kid around, and he doesn’t like my jokes.”

“Oh. Could you be nicer?”

Yuck , no , was my first thought. Or maybe Fuck, no . But the mature big brother in me surfaced in the nick of time. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

Eddie grinned proudly. “Good job, Mr. Cool.”

“Mr. Cool?” I snorted at his teasing nickname for me.

“Yes, Mr. Cool.”

“Gee, thanks, buddy. Hey, I’ll see you soon. Seven more days, and I’ll be home for a whole month. Love you, Eddie.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You are mushy.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Maybe a little.”

He signed “I love you,” smiling his approval at my correct reciprocal hand signal. Then, as per tradition, Eddie added, “To the farthest star in the galaxy and beyond,” and disconnected the call.

I closed my laptop, staring into space for a moment as a sweet wave of good juju swept over me. Eddie was good for me. He reminded me that there were beautiful things and genuine people in the world.

And I had to admit, it was nice to know that if I forgot how to play hockey tomorrow, there’d be at least one person out there who’d still think I was a winner.

That person was not Jake Milligan.

“Where’s your hat?”

I gave him the WTF look he deserved and waggled my sunglasses. “I don’t need a hat. I’ve got shades, and what do you care if I have a hat?”

Okay, that was testy and not exactly…nice, but Christ, this guy got on my nerves.

We’d arrived at Elmwood Rink bright and early this morning for a meet and greet with our campers before we set out in vans to Lake Norman for day one on the trail. And by early, I mean really fucking early. I’d done myself a solid by grabbing an extra-large latte on the way…and by not showing up hungover.

The post-parade parties had been epic yesterday. There’d been a town barbecue in the park with wholesome activities like face-painting and ring tosses, and the diner had hosted a burger and shake bash. Later that night, there’d been a private get-together at Smitty and Bryson Milligan’s house for Denny’s family, close friends, and any Denver teammates who’d happened to be in town. Like me.

Bryson was Jake’s dad and that might have been enough to make me think twice about attending, but fuck that. In spite of the fact that he’d spawned an ass bucket, Bryson was a great guy and his husband, Smitty, was too. They regularly opened their home for pre-camp celebrations, so I’d been invited dozens of times.

It was always a good time with great food, good laughs, and lots of kids and dogs running amok. And of course, Jake and I avoided each other. Easy to do in big party situations. The only instance where I’d been forced to acknowledge the dreaded weekend ahead was when Smitty had brought it up.

“Two days in the forest on a camping expedition with teens. You’re braver than me,” he’d singsonged.

“Nah, camping is fun, man,” I’d bluffed. “You should join us…maybe take Jake’s place.”

Smitty had snickered and issued a half-joking warning to be nice. I’d promised to try. I’d woke up this morning and given myself a stern talking to. Don’t let that fucker get under your skin and if possible, be…pleasant.

But he’d nagged me about a hat and blown it. Yeah, this was going to be a long fucking two days, I mused, smacking a mosquito on my forearm.

“Welcome, campers!” Vinnie called out from a rocky ledge next to the lake.

The sun sparkled on the indigo water behind him, and a canopy of elms offered a stingy bit of shade to the father-son duo huddling nearby, hanging on Vinnie’s every word. The rest of us gathered in a semicircle, backpacks at our feet, blearily clutching our coffee cups.

It was a relatively small group: eight pro hockey players and a medley of families who’d paid for the privilege of a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We were divided into four teams—two hockey stars per family—and according to the itinerary, we’d spend day one participating in a series of competitions at the lake.

“Good morning!” a few chipper campers responded.

“I know, I know. It’s early. I was out of bed before my kids this morning…and the dogs,” Vinnie groused playfully. “Now I know you’ve been introduced to your hockey hero counselors, and we’ve been through the rules and emergency protocols a few times, but I want to remind you that this is a real live forest and not every trail is groomed or safe. There’s one ‘Elmwood expert’ on each team who’s familiar with the terrain. If you have any Elmwood-specific questions, talk to Jake Milligan, Denny Mellon, Court Henderson, and Zach Featherman…who, by the way, just signed with the Penguins. I don’t think the ink is dry on that one. Congrats, man.”

We cheered for Zach, a lanky twenty-two-year-old from Pinecrest who’d been playing for an AHL team based in Florida for a year. He’d been paired with Brick Branoff, an NHL D-man who literally resembled a brick wall. Thick all over with a shock of red hair.

Denny’s partner was Mack Jorgeson, a Swedish player for Seattle who could have been a body double for Chris Pine…only better looking. Court, a retired AHL D-man turned coach was with Jacques Michel, a French-Canadian powerhouse and one of the most popular forwards in the league…after Denny. And me.

The teams had been chosen with care. The families had donated a fuckton of money for the experience with the guarantee of small groups with top-notch athletes. On Team Trinsky-Milligan, we had David, a forty-five-year-old tech exec from California; his two sons, Michael and Milo; and his father, Howard. Six of us total…oh, and a videographer. Ray or Jay? Don’t quote me.

I finished the last of my latte and dumped the to-go cup into a nearby trash bin while Vinnie explained the swim and Jet Ski competitions. Then I hefted my gear onto one shoulder and studied my group.

David, the uber-fit dad with jet-black hair and zero body fat stood next to Howard, a pale-faced balding man in his early seventies, under a tree. Our teens, Milo and Michael, were all elbows and knees in designer swim trunks and expensive sneakers. Ray or Jay was bent over his camera, a mop of curly brown hair shielding his face. His jeans, long-sleeved tee, and Birkenstocks screamed camping novice, but hey…maybe that was how he rolled.

And of course, we had Jake. No description needed, but in case you’re curious, his navy swim trunks matched his ball cap, his backpack, and his Crocs. Yeah…Crocs.

I didn’t actually hate Crocs, but I’d diss ’em ’cause I had the maturity of an eggplant, or so Jake inferred. Besides there was really no way I could be expected to be nice for forty-eight hours straight…was there?

Nah.

“Lookin’ Croc-tastic, Milligan,” I whispered.

Jake frowned and shushed me, which made me want to step on his toes. “I don’t know if this is possible, but we need to come up with a plan to stay out of each other’s way.”

“Easy. I’ll take two, you take two. I call Howard and the kid with braces.”

“Why don’t you want David?”

“Too serious and eager for me. Perfect for you,” I replied, leaning close.

He smelled good, like peppermint and evergreen and?—

Geez, was he wearing cologne? Better question…why had I noticed? Maybe I was allergic to peppermint and associated it with terrible things like…uh…the holidays.

Okay, totally false. I loved the holidays, and peppermint was awesome. It was just weird that Jake would smell good and look…

Ugh, it pained me to admit it, but Jake was kind of sort of handsome…today. His summer tan made his blue eyes pop and wove golden strands into his dark-blond hair. I’d only noticed because I was in dire need of vitamin D. And this entire mental sidebar probably meant I was in desperate need of a vacation too.

“Fine. I’ll take David and Milo. Let’s win this.”

I furrowed my brow. “Win what?”

Jake spared me a glance, his lips quirked in vague amusement. “The whole weekend. I know it’s lighthearted fun, but it’s also basic swim and running relays too. Can you swim?”

“Of course I can fucking swim,” I scoffed.

“Cool. If you’re faster on the ground than you are on ice, we should do all right.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m a slow skater? That is fucking priceless.” I snorted.

Jake just smiled and clapped along to whatever Vinnie was yapping about. “If you say so. By the way, you might want to curb your F bombs. This is a G-rated family weekend. Show some class, Trinsky.”

“Fuck yourself, Milligan.”

“Nice one, asshat. You?—”

Ray or Jay bumped my elbow as he sidled close, camera in hand. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. This is perfect.”

I gritted my teeth and probably would have said something rude, but I was interrupted by a cheer from the crowd.

“Are you ready to party?” Vinnie hooted, fists pumping the air. “Let’s do this!”