Page 6 of Unrivaled Love (D.C. Renegades #2)

Bryson

Lost

As the rideshare driver pulls up to the family cabin, I close my book and mumble the traditional greeting under my breath so he doesn’t think it’s weird.

“Welcome to Casa de Svobilton.”

We pass the little sign and I look out the window. I'm struck by how big and small the house feels all at once.

Our families have gathered here for years and I’m always arriving with my parents or siblings. It has never been this quiet.

Ever.

This is what you wanted, remember? The solitude.

I’ll be able to recharge before going back into the spotlight for the parade. I need this.

I also remember why the annual summer trip wasn't planned this year. In the flurry of activity following the championship I completely forgot half the house is being remodeled. The giant dumpster in the driveway serves as my reminder.

My parents and the Hamiltons decided to retrofit the house for their now adult children and their grandkids.

I pull my duffel out of the trunk and thank the driver. I didn't bother renting a car from the airport because I am here to decompress. Stranding myself at the house will force me to sit still. And I think that’s what I need .

Coach Bradford had mentioned burnout early in the off season and told us all to be aware our bodies were going to come down from the high.

Physically, I feel fine. I’ve kept up my routine, especially to offset the additional partying. I’ve been the only one coming into the practice facility on the same schedule as during the season for drills and conditioning. It’s been a grind to fit it all in.

No one can question my dedication. I'm not the biggest guy on the team. But I'm a leader. I'm the first one in the gym, last one out. I might goof off in the locker room but I'm all work on the ice.

And I can read my teammates. I don't get all up in their business like busy-body Felix. Nor do I try to be all sensitive like Emmett. I’m there when they need a shoulder to lean on, of course. But my super power is knowing when they need the mood to be lifted with a joke or a prank.

A smile tickles my cheeks when I remember the classic prank I pulled at our last practice before the final. It’s the oldest fucking trick in the book and I pulled it off flawlessly.

The team was tense as fuck during our morning skate and I knew we needed a good laugh.

I wrapped a drill and skated to the bench.

After taking a sip of water I pulled my glove off and loosened the top.

When Crosby skated over, I handed it to him and watched with pure delight as he dumped a full bottle of water down his front.

Duncan giggled at Crosby’s expense as he skated up but I held it in.

Then, moments later, when Duncan did the same to himself, that’s when I almost collapsed from the laughter.

Coach Bradford even cracked a smile before blowing his whistle and getting us in line.

It might be the proudest moment of my career.

And I’m including winning The Cup and the Conn Smythe.

With a soft smile on my face from the memory I walk up to the front door.

The hide-a-key is in the same place as always so I unlock the door and return the key, like we were taught, before I let myself in.

I feel fragments of my soul settle as I take in the side of the mountain straight out the back through the floor to ceiling windows.

I lift my gaze and peer out at the tree tops.

The view is only interrupted by the timber beams that cross the room.

To my right is the dining room and kitchen, those seem to be in working condition. To my left is where the office and one of the primary suites should be. Instead it's blocked off by clear plastic sheeting.

That's fine, I'll use the other bedroom behind the kitchen.

The home is built into the side of the mountain so while we don't have an upstairs there are three bedrooms downstairs, a rec room, and a little gym that will fit my needs this week, just fine.

I take my duffle with me and quickly unpack.

Most of the guys live out of their suitcases on the road but I can’t.

I always unpack right away. The top two drawers are full of my parent’s stuff so I use the bottom drawers and leave my bag on the top shelf of the closet.

I unpack my bathroom things into the drawers.

When I’m finished, I head down to check it out and see the plastic sheeting situation continues down here so the rec room, and two of the bedrooms are blocked off. To my right is the small room with weights and a treadmill and further down the hall is the bunk room.

Standing in the door brings back all the memories from our summers and holidays spent here as kids.

This was the boys room. My brother Mason, Chris Hamilton, and I got up to a lot of no good in this room.

I step in and see the spot where I sailed a slapshot into the drywall which still isn't perfectly patched.

We scrambled to fix it ourselves before the parents found out, because we knew our asses would get handed to us cold for playing inside.

I peek under the bunk that used to be mine and see the Katniss Everdeen poster is still there. Good. Maybe the next generation of Svobodas and Hamiltons will learn to appreciate the classic beauty of a warrior .

With a nod, and a fleeting wistfulness for days gone by, I turn off the light and walk back upstairs to the room that was my parent's growing up. It's a little weird to be in here but I'm not going to sleep in the bunk room alone. That'd be weirder.

The doorbell rings with my grocery delivery and I get the bags inside. It's basically eggs, bread, protein powder, protein bars, yogurt, and my special treat, vanilla wafers. Lunch meat and a frozen lasagna round out the order and I thank the delivery guy.

I open the cookie package and slide out a few delicate, delicious delights. Can’t hurt to leave the package open on the counter. I’m on vacation and I can have a whole package of cookies over the course of a week.

No one will ever know.

I tap my fingertips on the counter as I chew.

Welp, this is it.

I'm alone.

This is what I wanted.

I came here to relax and rejuvenate.

To sit still.

So, time to do that.

I grab my book off the table.

But my limbs feel all tingly, I don’t think I can sit and read.

I'm going to shoot pucks at the garage.

***

My forearm isn't doing much to swipe the sweat from my brow. I need to find a towel. One of my sticks from high school was in the garage along with a bag of pucks so I've spent the last, shit, three hours, shooting at the garage.

At first it felt weird not to use a stick with the custom curve I've got now but going back to a standard issue blade also challenged my form.

Once I remembered the little adjustments to make in my back swing, I was sending pucks to the pretend topshelf over and over again.

Suddenly the garage light turns on and I realize the sun has set.

It's south western Colorado and the sun can linger in the sky far later than it does on the east coast. I need to head in for dinner.

I select a protein bar and bring it with a glass of water out to the deck. The trees are rustling in the slight breeze and I close my eyes to listen to the nature surrounding me.

This is the time to slow down. To let my system rest. Reset. I try a deep breath but it doesn't feel like it fully fills my lungs. That's alright. I've got a week here. I'll be calm as fuck by the end of it.

I stick the wrapper into my pocket and decide to take a walk down the trail that leads to the little alpine lake nestled in the trees.

A year ago I came here with the rest of my family and the Hamiltons, minus Jo.

I got to swim with the kids in the lake.

Take the mountain bikes out for a spin, even though I was terrified of an injury and hurting my career.

We had lost in the second round of the playoffs. In straight games. It was brutal but Dallas had our number and we couldn’t get anything going. By the time we got to the house in July I’d had two months to regroup and adjust my training plans.

Being here this year feels different. It doesn’t feel like a welcome reprieve. It feels like solitary confinement.

Part of that is being here alone, it’s weird.

Another element is half the house being under construction.

But the biggest difference is how I felt before I got on the plane this morning .

Last year, I got on the plane to Colorado hungry for a few weeks of R&R, knowing it would help me come back even stronger when the season started. I was primed and ready to hit the ice and prove I was the best.

This year, I am the best. I won it all.

And it was so much fucking work to get there.

The path crunches under my feet and I snap back a dead branch every so often so it's not at chest height when I return later.

Through the trees I can see the sky shifting from orange to pink to purple to inky blue as the sun descends.

I reach the clearing and the water shimmers as the evening breeze creates gentle ripples across the surface. The tire swing is tied up to the tree that overhangs the lake. A smile lifts the corners of my mouth as I sit on a large log and lean forward to balance my elbows on my thighs.

This spot was the center of our world as kids.

I remember the time I snuck out of the lake to steal Chris and Mason’s clothes after we spent the morning mountain biking before skinny dipping to cool off. I chuckle now remembering how they tried to catch me while holding their junk.

It’s where Al Hamilton and Mason kissed because of a dare Kaitlyn served up. We all watched and dissolved into laughter as they both wiped their mouths after as if the kiss tasted like brussels sprouts.

It’s where I thought about kissing Jo for the first time.

My head spins and I close my eyes.

I focus on things I can feel. It’s a grounding strategy I learned from a book. The character used it for a panic attack but I bet it would work for whatever I’m going through right now.

The first sensation is the breeze along my skin and the goosebumps that erupt. I inhale the smell of pine and earth.

A mental image of me and my family on the ice after the win a month ago surfaces and suddenly my nose stings with emotion .

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that level of exhaustion and exhilaration all at once. My body was wired but also felt like it could collapse if I let it.

Tears push against my eyes and, alone, here in the woods, I let them fall.

I sink to the ground and lean my back against the log. I let the emotion move through me.

For a month I’ve been fighting this. Battling against the desire to fold in on myself. Pushing to keep my head high, my persona bright.

It was a relief to win The Cup. I earned it. We earned it.

But what do I do now?

It was a fucking war to get to that moment. Am I supposed to pick up and walk to the front line again?

I’m not sure I can motivate myself to do it.

It’s like winning isn’t enough anymore.

I need more.

The question is, will I be able to find it?