Kinnunen is a no-show for the rest of the day. I finally hear from his coach as I’m about to head out for the afternoon. Something about extra video review sessions with the second and third string guys. Whatever, it’s fine. We’ve still got plenty of time.
I shoot a text off to Coach Tomlin and we get Kinnunen rescheduled for tomorrow. Now that the roster is set, I’ll need to add Davidson to my list too. He’ll be suiting up as goalie with Kinnunen for the first two games.
My first official day as a Ray went well enough. Aside from the hazing this morning with Langley, the guys were all perfect gentlemen. Jake blew up my phone a couple more times. A picture of a hotdog with mustard he must have snagged from the concession stand. A picture of him with Sy asking which face was more handsome. That got a reply out of me. I said the dog. And he’s continued his game of twenty questions that for now I’m leaving unanswered.
Caleb, on the other hand, remained totally MIA. If he was somewhere in this sports complex, I didn’t see him. Didn’t even catch wind of him. Or Sy. I was hoping maybe he’d change his mind about the driving thing. Not because I don’t want to drive—which, okay fine, I don’t. I was just hoping maybe it might be a sign of him thawing.
I apologized. I meant it. We had our second confusing almost-kiss moment. I don’t want this guy to hate me or be weird around me. We share a team and a wall. We’ll be traveling with each other to 41 away games, here for 41 home games. That’s a lot of togetherness.
Whatever. If he doesn’t want to accept my apology, if he’s determined to think everyone looks down on him and pities him, fine. I can’t change his bad attitude. I huff, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, as I walk out to the parking garage.
Maybe I’ll go to the beach tonight. I’ve been in Jacksonville for almost a week, and I haven’t even seen the ocean—
I still. An odd sensation prickles on the back of my neck, a feeling of being watched. I glance around the parking garage. It’s a bright, sunny day, so the garage is well-lit. I don’t see or hear anyone. I hurry along over to my truck, clicking the key fob to unlock the doors. The big truck beeps in the eerie quiet, taillights flashing.
I rush over and jerk open the driver’s side door. That’s when I let out a scream.
My soul leaves my body as a flood of colorful balls comes pouring out the open door, spilling around me in a cacophony of sound. Red, yellow, blue, green—they’re small and plastic, like from a kid’s play gym.
Someone filled the inside of my truck with a ball pit’s worth of balls!
I shriek, stumbling back. That’s where I hear it. Howls of laughter. I spin around to see ten guys standing a row of cars away with their phones out filming me, including Jake and Caleb. Sy is inside the back of a fancy Mercedes, his head poking out the window as he barks.
“You guys are jerks!” I cry, stumbling over the balls as I come out from between the cars, hands on my hips.
“Welcome to the Rays, Doc!” Novikov shouts.
“I had nothing to do with this,” Langley adds, looking almost nervous to be included in the prank.
“Oh, I know exactly who did this,” I reply. My gaze levels on Caleb, the guy who had my keys all morning.
Caleb says nothing, that sexy little smirk his only tell.
“How long have you all been waiting out here for me?” I say, watching the balls freewheel across the floor.
“Only about an hour,” Jake replies with a shrug.
“J-Lo snagged us some beers to drink while we waited,” Novy adds, crunching his empty can.
“And we made Porter wait in the gym to tell us when you were comin’ out,” says Morrow.
I just roll my eyes. Quite the elaborate prank for the two seconds of fun they got to enjoy.
Jake steps forward. “Come on, Doc. We’re all going to dinner.” He wraps an arm around me, pulling me away from the truck.
I stiffen. “Well, I—”
“Nope, we’re not taking no for an answer,” he says, cutting off my protest. “We tricked you twice today, and that can’t go unanswered. We’re taking you to dinner, and you get to order the most expensive thing on the menu. Novy’s buying.”
“Hey—”
I smile as all the guys start moving towards their cars. “Well—wait,” I call, gesturing around. “We have to clean up this mess!”
There are easily a thousand colored balls rolling across the floor of the garage.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jake laughs, his arm leaving my shoulder as he kicks a few balls away from his car.
“Walsh and Perry are on cleanup,” Caleb adds, stepping in behind me.
I glance over my shoulder to see the two forwards from the ice this afternoon already scooping the balls into big plastic bags. Ah, to be a rookie. I can only imagine how long it will take them to wrangle every ball.
“Come on, Hurricane,” Caleb mutters, gesturing to the passenger side of Jake’s car.
I don’t know which sensation I like more: the warm glow of his tacit forgiveness, his soft use of my nickname, or the brush of his fingers at the small of my back as he opens my car door.
