“Why the hell did you make us drive to the middle of fucking nowhere to fish at a lake? You know what we should be doing right now? Watching film.” Cruz throws a line into the water, shifting on the pebbles. “I’ve never fished a day in my life.”
“That’s not all that surprising, considering you haven’t caught anything.” Patty squirts some lighter fluid on a log, looking more like a rugged cowboy than a winger in his Stetson and flannel.
Cruz reels in an empty line. “That’s because there aren’t any damn fish in this lake.”
Fireflies blink to life in the sunset, glowing around Patty as the campfire sparks. The May air is just cool enough for a fire. I zip up my Guardians windbreaker, inhaling the crisp mountain breeze as I sort through my jumbled thoughts like I’ve been doing all week.
I spent the afternoon mumbling to myself, trying to figure out what to say to Patty and Cruz, but there aren’t any words that feel sufficient.
Thank you. I love you. I’ll miss you.
None of them are enough. I wrote down a whole-ass speech and threw the napkin away.
Cruz tosses out another line. “So, why did you drag us out here, old man? Someone better be dying, dead, or proposing since it took over an hour to get here with traffic.”
“I wanted to talk to you both about something.”
I dig through my gym bag until I find the bottle of whiskey I packed. With a deep breath, I pull it out, holding the glass like it’s the Cup.
There are only two people I’d share this bottle with, and they’re the guys who’ve stayed late with me after every practice, picking up trash and wiping sweat off benches.
They eye the whiskey, mouths falling open as they register which bottle I’m holding. Cruz whips his head back and forth. “No. No fucking way. You’re not opening that bottle. Put it away.”
Reaching into my bag, I pull out the expensive Waterford glasses still in the original packaging. “Yeah, I am Cruz. This is the only bottle I’d break my sober streak for, and you know why.”
“Like hell you are,” Cruz shouts. A few birds scatter from the pine trees. “No, I’m not drinking that. We’re not opening that bottle, you know why? ‘Cause we promised each other that we’d only open the Hibiki Anniversary Edition if one of us were leaving or retiring from the League, and no one’s leaving, so put the Japanese whiskey away.”
He faces the lake, giving me the back of his sweatshirt with Cruz scrawled across the fabric. Patty stays silent, frowning at the bottle.
“Micah,” I whisper his name like that’ll soften the news. “We’re opening the bottle tonight.”
Cruz glances over his shoulder, brown eyes shining brighter than the whiskey. He starts blinking fast, then yanks his gaze away before throwing his fishing pole on the ground. “Fuck this. I’m leaving.”
Patty grips his shoulder, stopping him. “No, you’re staying. We’re all staying. Sit down.” He settles into the camp chair with a rigid jaw. “Alright, Tremblay. Talk. You dragged us all the way out to the woods, and I’m sure this couldn’t have been an easy choice.”
I sit in my chair. “That’s an understatement.”
This has been the hardest three weeks of my life. But no matter how difficult the day is, my midnights always end in Nina’s arms.
“Let’s hear it.” Patty twists open the whiskey, breaking the seal and sealing my fate. He pours each of us a glass. I bring the crystal to my lips, savoring the rich flavor.
After taking a few sips of liquid courage, I talk as the flames grow and the stars poke out in the sky, laying it all out.
I tell them about the countless late nights in Coach Watson’s office, dissecting the terms of my contract. The meeting with our unflinching general manager as she expressed her appreciation for all the hard work I’ve put in over the years.
Every early morning with Camille, ironing out the details of my press announcement. I admit I’ve been seeing our sports therapist and by the time I finish talking, I’m two glasses in, and the buzz of the alcohol is warming my veins more than the fire.
With a deep breath, I say the words that have weighed heavy on my shoulders since the beginning of the season. “I’m not renewing my contract. I’m retiring from the League.”
I brace myself, preparing for their shouts.
Chirping crickets fill the air.
I wait and wait, and then, I lift my eyes from my almost-empty whiskey. Patty’s staring at a duck floating on the lake the same way Cruz is looking into his glass, like it’s got a hidden meaning.
“Patty? Cruz?”
The chirping grows louder than their silence.
Patty sniffs, then downs the rest of his whiskey and pours himself another glass. His cowboy hat casts a shadow on his face, so I can’t see his expression. “Why this season? You could come back and play with us one more time.”
I gaze into the crackling flames because the heat of the fire burns less than their stares. “We had one hell of a season. I got you to the playoffs, Smithy can take it from here. Everyone knows I can come back from this injury, but this way, it’s my choice.”
Patty nods a few times. “Don’t you want to go out on top? Win the Cup again?”
“Nah. My ego’s not that big. I care more about the team, and I want to make sure you guys are in good hands, which you are. I trust you two to take it from here.”
He sips his whiskey. “Makes sense.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
Patty won’t look me in the eye and Cruz tosses back his whiskey, pouring another, but this time, he fills up half the glass.
“Look,” I continue. “I’ve thought long and hard about this, but I haven’t wanted to admit this because it’s tough, but my body’s falling apart, and I’m exhausted. As much as it hurts my pride to say this, I’ve been watching the games. You don’t need me like I thought. Smithy’s save percentage is right up there with mine, and—”
“I don’t give a fuck about save percentages,” Cruz interjects, throwing back his whiskey. “You think that’s why we need you?”
I dig my heel into the dirt. “Why else would you need me?”
His glare pierces me across the campfire, the flames flickering over his scowl. “We need you because you’re the first one to show up to practice and the last to leave. Because you treat the fourth line the same as the first line. You’re the one we come to for advice on plays and the guy we ask what we should buy our moms for their birthdays. We don’t need you for your save percentage or what you can do in the net. We just need you.”
Cruz downs the last of his whiskey in one gulp. He surges to his feet so fast that the camp chair tips over, and heads toward the edge of the lake. He chucks a stone in the water.
My throat’s too tight to speak, so I don’t.
Patty exhales, causing the flames to crackle. “Let him relax, but he’s right. You’re not like other goalies I’ve played with where you stick to yourself or go off with your coach. You’ve actually made an effort to integrate yourself into this team. You’re our backbone, Tremblay.” He sighs. “But as much as I hate to say it, I get why you want to retire from the League.”
I lean forward, my shoulders relaxing. “You do?”
“Yeah, I do.” He pours another finger of whiskey, then does the same for me. “I love this game, but it takes everything from you because it needs your all. It’s hard to have a life outside of the League, especially during the season, so whatever you need, whatever you want, I’ll support you.”
I try to clear the boulder in my throat with a cough, but that doesn’t work, so I take another swig. “You know I’ll always be here for you, Wyatt. No matter where I go or what I do. I’ll always—” My voice cracks, so I stop.
“I know, Tremblay. I know.” He salutes me with his glass, eyes shining in the flames. He clears his throat and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. That’s fine by me. The tears catching on his stubble say more than words.
I stand from the chair, gripping his shoulder and squeezing as much gratitude as possible into my hold. He lifts his hand, patting mine.
It’s easy to let go of his grasp because I know I’m not really saying goodbye. With one last squeeze, I head over to Cruz.
My footsteps crunch on the pebbles. Cruz glances over his shoulder when he hears me but then whips back around to wipe his eyes. I hand him the bottle of whiskey, gazing out at the moon over the lake. “Take a sip. It helps with the burn.”
He yanks the bottle from my grasp and gulps but then splutters. “That shit’s strong.” He takes another swig. Coughs again.
I thump his back. “Alright, get it out. You want to yell at me? Let’s go.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “There’s nothing to say. I won’t let you retire, so you better find a way to renew your contract. We need you. There. Done.”
A grin forms on my lips despite the anger radiating off his rigid body. “The team doesn’t need me, Cruz. You’ll be alright.”
“Fuck the team. I need you.” He snatches up a rock and, with a grunt, hurls it into the lake. The stone smashes into the water, shattering the dark surface. He watches the ripples grow until eventually, he sighs. “You know why I call you ‘old man’?”
“Because I hate it?”
“No. That’s not why.” He downs the rest of his whiskey and tosses the glass on the pebbles. “It’s because it’s what I used to call my dad before he died. Sorry it made you feel shitty, but I used to joke around with him like that before he…”
He presses his palms to his eyes. “Dammit. This sucks. I don’t talk about him because it fucking hurts, but it slipped out one day with you, and it felt like it was this small way to keep his memory alive, so I kept calling you old man, but you’re not old. You’re the best guy I know, Tremblay.”
“Shit, Cruz. I didn’t know that.” My voice cracks, imagining Cruz, huddled over a casket.
We all know he lost his dad, but no one ever brings it up because he walks out of the room anytime someone tries to offer their condolences. Looking at his red eyes now, it makes me want to repair the bridge with my own father a little faster.
“Yeah, well, now you know, but I can’t talk about this because it’s too hard so we’re moving on, old man.”
“Alright, but you know I’m here for you, kid. Always.”
He throws another rock as he seems to think hard about his next words. “Everyone always brings up the stupid shit you did in your twenties, but you know what I always saw? I saw a beauty of a player.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. There are so many goalies who get pissed when they lose, and I get it, I do. You’ve got the weight of the crowd on your shoulders, but attitudes like that drag the whole team down and make for a losing season.”
“Trust me, I know.”
“Exactly. You get that, and that’s why I wanted to sign with the Guardians.” With a grunt, he throws another stone. “I admire the hell out of you, but not for your skills. It’s because of how you handle the losses. You never let a loss follow you off the ice, and you never let it drag the team down. I know I’ve got a temper, but ever since my dad died…” He chucks another rock. “I’ve always tried to be more like you, Rhode.”
I swipe my burning eyes, glancing at Cruz to see him turned away like he’s hiding. That won’t work for me. “Come here.” I crush the kid against my chest in a fierce hug.
He stands there for a moment, but then Cruz grips me back, wrapping his arms around me just as tight.
“Listen to me, Micah,” I say in his ear. “I might not be on the ice with you next season, but I’ll always answer your call on the first ring. I’ll always give you advice on your slap shots and tell you not to get your mom a shake weight for her birthday. You need something? I’m there. You’re stuck with me forever because you’re my brother, and I love you.”
He sniffs against my shoulder. “I love you, too, Tremblay. Goddammit, I’m crying now. The last time I cried was at my dad’s funeral. I hate you.”
“Don’t worry, Patty’s sobbing by the campfire.”
“Look at us.” Cruz thumps his chest, pulling back. “Men being men.”
I lower my voice, making it overly deep. “We’re the manliest of men.”
“The definition of masculinity.” He hugs me again as his laughter fades. “I’m really gonna miss you, Tremblay. It won’t be the same without you.”
I pull back, gripping his shoulder with mock seriousness because we need to lighten this mood. “Alright, Cruz. It’s time I told you…”
He stares at me, expectant. Patty looks up from the campfire, and I wink at him. “None of us go commando for games for good luck. We’ve been lying to you all season because the veterans pulled that same shit on me.”
Patty bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach. Cruz’s mouth falls open, and he hooks his arm around my neck, wrestling me. “You’re such a dick! My ballsack’s all disgusting from the chafing!”
I fight him off, straight-up chortling. “Sorry, but we had to. You were too damn cocky when you joined the team.”
We make our way back to the campfire with our arms around each other, laughter binding us together. The hours slip away like our bottle of whiskey as we reminisce over stories.
By the time the moon’s high in the sky, my cheeks ache from grinning, and I’ve got a side stitch from laughing.
We’re silly drunk by the end of the night, so I leave my Range Rover and call Nina to pick us up. I feel like I’m floating, and I can’t tell if that’s because of the whiskey, or my decision, or my brothers, or Nina. From here on out, I want all her mornings and midnights.
She drives us all home, and I end the day exactly how I wanted—with her in my arms. Alright, fine, she’s straddling me on the couch.
Gripping the back of her thighs, I pull her forward until she’s grinding on my cock. Chicken’s watching from his cat castle, but I don’t care if he wants to be a voyeur.
I brush my fingers up her waist as I kiss the hell out of her. “I love the way you taste. I’ll never get enough. If I could glue my mouth to yours, I would.”
She laughs against me, running her fingers through my hair. “I take it you had fun with the guys because you taste like a distillery. How much whiskey did you drink?”
I swipe my tongue along her bottom lip, seeking more of her taste. “Too much.”
She moans against my mouth but then pulls away from me. I don’t like that. I don’t like that one bit. “Rhode, you’re drunk.”
“Off you.” I tug her closer.
She rolls those pretty hazels. “I’m not taking advantage of you.”
“Please take advantage of me,” I beg. “Take all the advantage you want. Take everything. I’m yours.”
She laughs again, and I try to capture the sound with my mouth. I think I like making her laugh even more than I like making her come.
No. Yes. Wait, it’s a tie.
My tongue swipes into her mouth, and she welcomes me with a soft sigh. My heart pounds in my chest because I still get a little nervous every time I kiss her, and just like every time, we get carried away.
Her fingers find their way to the back of my neck, tangling in my hair. I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her closer to my chest, but it won’t be close enough until I’m inside her, but for now, all I want is a kiss.
I love her so damn much. I don’t know how it happened, or when it happened, or why it happened, but I’m just glad it happened—that we happened—and great, now I’m repeating myself, and all my whiskey-soaked brain can think about is how much I love her.
She rests her forehead against mine. I struggle to catch my breath as she peers into my eyes with a frown. That’s not the look I want tonight. I want her smiles.
“Was the whiskey for a special occasion?” she asks. “Because if there’s something you want to talk about, you know I’ve got big ears.”
I love that we have our inside jokes. I love her. I tuck a strand of hair behind her perfectly-sized ears. “I love your ears, and your face, and your laugh, and your brain, and your smile, and you. I love everything you.”
She goes rigid in my arms. “What did you just say?”
I stiffen. What did I say? Tilting my head, I replay the words and then freeze.
Shit. Fuck. Double fuck.
That’s not how I wanted to tell her. I wanted to buy her flowers or something, not drunkenly word vomit I love everything you for the first time with Chicken judging from his cat castle.
Dammit. I can’t tell what expression’s on her face, and great, now I’m sweating, but I’m not taking it back because it’s the truest thing I’ve ever felt.
Alright, sober up. You can do this, Tremblay.
“I said, I love you.”
