Page 166 of Pucking Around

“You want to know where this is going,” I reply. “You don’t care about whatever vague visions of the future we saw for ourselves with some faceless hot wife and bratty kids. You want to know whether we seeyou. Whether we seethis…whatever this is,” I add, gesturing to Jake and Mars.

“I’m terrified I’ll ruin all your lives,” she admits. “There’s too much baggage…too much scrutiny. And this is too…”

“Unique?” I offer with a shrug.

“Weird,” says Jake. “But cool. Like, I’m cool with it,” he adds quickly.

“It is wholly unexpected,” says Mars.

We all glance his way.

“Not one person sitting here ever expected this,” he says. “It is fitting, I think, that we have this conversation at the beach,” he adds, turning to gaze at the three of us. “All our lives now rest on shifting sands. This arrangement between us is fragile. The most perilous part is that we all come wielding hammers for hands. One strike, and it will all come crashing down. I can’t control your swing of the hammer just as you cannot control mine,” he adds, looking right at me and Jake. Then he turns to Rachel, taking her hand. “All we require from you, Rakas, is time. Building firm foundations on sand takes patience and time.”

She nods, covering his hand with hers, giving it a squeeze.

“Aaaaandthatis a new fucking record!” Jake says, clapping his hands. “Mars, that was amazing! Seriously, it was inspirational.”

“Don’t be a dick,” I mutter.

“Who’s being a dick?” he says. “I’m one hundred percent serious right now. That’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk. Dude, you’re like the wise old owl from a cartoon movie.”

“You’re such an idiot,” I laugh, knocking his hat off his head.

“Come on,” Mars mutters, grabbing Rachel’s hand and pulling her out of her chair.

“Where are we going?”

“This is a beach, is it not?” he replies, tugging off his shirt and tossing it aside, showing off that wicked cool back tattoo. “We’re going swimming.”

“Fuck,finally,” says Jake, jumping out of his chair. “Come on, Cay. Get your floaties on and come swim with us!”

I take a spray of sand to the crotch as he runs off, Poseidon chasing after them. As I watch, Mars scoops Rachel up with one arm and drags her into the water. Jake holds out his arms and Mars tosses her. She and Jake both go under, smashed by a wave. Poseidon stands in the surf barking his head off, furious at being left out.

Meanwhile, my stupid Grinch heart pounds, threatening to grow two sizes as one word echoes around in the empty space of my hollow chest.Family. I could have a family. A real one, not just the people who birthed me and raised me that I see out of obligation once every few years.

But Rachel is afraid we won’t stick. She’s afraid the world is going to find out about us—the team, the fans, the media. She’s afraid it’ll all come crashing down. What will we do when the storm strikes our house built on sand? Will we stand together and brave it? Will we hold on for dear life? Or will we let it tear us apart?

The terrifying answer is that I don’t know. Not yet. This is all too new. Mars is right, we need time. We need this bubble of privacy to last a little longer.

“Cay, come on!” Jake yells. “Bring the football!”

Digging in Rachel’s beach bag, I pull out the football and stand. There’s time for me to contemplate the shifting sands of time later. For now, I just want to be where they are.

73

As soon as we get back to the house, we all split off in different directions. I order enough Mexican food to feed a whole hockey team and it’ll be here in an hour. Meanwhile, Jake and Cay are wrestling the beach stuff out of the car and Ilmari wandered upstairs to take a shower.

We’re all thoroughly covered in sand and crusty seawater. I pat my messy bun, watching my sun-kissed reflection in the entry mirror do the same. Jogging up the stairs, I pad down the hall into Jake’s room and drop my sticky beach clothes to the floor of the bathroom, turning on the double shower heads.

The room slowly fills with steam as I step under the deliciously hot spray, the jet of water stinging my sunburned shoulders. I make quick work of scrubbing the worst of the sand off my body. The little green loofah does the best he can to rid me of all remnants of the sea.

I dip my head under the spray, dragging my nails across my scalp as I work in a clarifying shampoo. My eyes are closed, rinsing out the shampoo, when the bathroom door opens.

“Room for one more?” Caleb calls.

“Mhmm,” I say, turning towards the spray to wash the soap out of my eyes.

“I think I have half the beach lodged in my ass crack,” he mutters, reaching around me for the tired loofah.