Page 103 of Cherry Picking
“Official as of the end of the season.”
“That’s a shame, but if you ever want to take up coaching, Mountain Valley over in Hudson County has some real promising players joining up this year.”
It’s my turn to smile. “That so?”
The kid beams brighter, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Freshman as of August. The coach they’ve got now can hardly touch the ice himself. I want to join the NAPH someday, so having a former player on our side would be epic.”
I don’t have any set in stone plans other than re-establish my relationship with Griff and figure out where we’d want to go from here, so I nod and say, “I’ll think about it, kid,” before stepping aside to speak with an amused Rory.
“Micky is gonna show me to the locker room. That cool?” Parker asks.
“Go on. Make friends.”
The two scurry away, and Rory hops up from his seat to envelop me in a tight, squeeze-the-air-from-your-lungs hug.
“We’ve missed the fuck out of you.”
I laugh, hooking an arm around his shoulders. “We’ve literally talked like twice a damn week all season. Plus, you knew I was coming back to help with camp.”
I hear the camp was Griff’s idea, that he worked out all of the logistics and details, and I can’t help but think it’s his way of keeping himself busy. When I asked if he needed a hand, I expected a brush off. Not the quietly sighed, “Yeah … thank you.”
“Are you maybe coming back a little more permanently?” Rory pulls away, stretching his arms behind his back, twisting them together like the limber, anxious man he is.
A quick look around shows not a sign of Mash.
“Where’s your shadow?”
He shrugs. “Home. Says off season is sleep season, and Coach isn’t doing summer practice this go ‘round.”
Practicing during the off season isn’t technically mandatory, especially since a lot of trades and rearrangements are made in the summer months, but thanks to Hawks building some intense teamwork when he first joined, it became an unofficial tradition. That tradition became Coach’s routine.
You don’t mess with Coach’s routine.
“Maybe because Griff bullied him into giving up the space.”
Rory laughs and unfolds his hands, beaming up at me with pure happiness.
“He said it’d be great for team morale. I’m just here because someone made brownies.”
Together, we head to a separate locker room from the kids, but just outside the room, I grab Rory’s arm and pull us to a stop.
“Can you do me a favor?”
He blinks up at me with owlish blue eyes. “Course.”
“Can you help my brother with something? Help him get something set up before we start?”
Rory nods and gives me a playful salute. “Let me get changed, and I’ll sneak out. Quiet as a mouse.”
Stepping foot through the door feels like gliding onto enemy ice for the first time. Tensions high, eyes darting around in rampant anticipation, the stifling air heavy resting on my lungs.
The handful of players helping out with camp greet me, hollering my name and clapping me on the back as I take up a cubby and start stripping out of my street clothes.
A hush falls over the room with a couple snickers in the corner, and the scuff of shoes on the tile is glaring, coming to a stop at the cubby next to mine. Someone throws their body onto the bench, leaning back until their hazel eyes make contact with mine.
There’s some Imagine Dragons song playing in the background, and it’s how I know Griff isn’t in charge of the locker room music today. I have to say, though, thatThunderis most definitely an apt tune to play as invisible lightning races between us.
From his skin to mine and back, wrapping around our souls as a reminder that being apart was some cosmic fuck up the universe feels we need to rectify.
