Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I mean the team. I can’t help my curiosity. I might not have bonded with any of them, but I’m well aware they all wanted the best for me. It’s also a safe subject to talk about because I know Gage has a purpose in being here.
“We’re headed to Colorado next week. Jett’s proposing to Emory, and Jenna and I will be there as a surprise to her.”
Jett plays for the Arizona Vengeance, and Emory is Jenna’s sister. “That’s cool. Love that area… spent quite a bit of time skiing out there in the winter.”
“Baden and Sophie found an old Victorian house, and they’re spending the summer renovating it.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That sounds horrendous.”
“Not to Baden.” Gage laughs. “As long as he’s with Sophie, he’s happy. And Stone and Harlow are getting serious. I doubt it’s long before he pops the question.”
“I’ve actually been in touch with them. Harlow helped me out of that New York arrest, as well as with the purchase of this place from Stone.” I don’t mention that she’s also going to help me with the sale of my condo in Pittsburgh, because that’s a frank admission I’m not going back, and I haven’t had enough beer to cope with Gage’s pitch not to quit. I know it’s coming.
I ask about the other players, and as we finish our first beers and start on the second, he tells me about Coach Keller. He was fired before the season ended for a myriad of reasons, but mostly because he’s an asshole.
“Heard he’s taking a job coaching a minor league team in Michigan,” Gage says. No mistaking the loathing he has for the man within his tone. “Bill did a solid job stepping into the head coach position.”
He’s talking about Bill Perry, the assistant coach. “I watched all the games. You guys held it together well in the playoffs.”
“Not good enough to make it past the first round,” he muses.
“No one ever expected the team to make it to the playoffs. That was a win.”
“True,” he says with a laugh.
Movement catches my eye, and I see Chip bounding toward the deck. Any time I’m out here now, he approaches and easily takes food from my hand. Yesterday, he actually perched on my shoulder as he tore into a peanut. I’m surprised he’s coming, though, with Gage here, but I’m guessing he’s more interested in filling his belly.
I reach over to the sealed container of nuts I keep by my chair and pull out a few. I have them in my palm by the time he’s scampering up the steps.
“Holy fuck,” Gage exclaims as Chip scurries up my jean-clad leg and onto my thigh where he pulls a peanut from my hand. “You’ve got a chipmunk on you.”
Laughing, I glance over at him. “This is Chip. We’re buddies.”
Gage doesn’t respond but grabs his phone and takes a picture of us. “I’m texting this to the team right now.”
Snickering, I use my thumb to stroke Chip’s shoulder gently. It’s the first time I’ve attempted to pet him, but he doesn’t move a muscle, merely concentrates on shredding the peanut shell.
“Seriously,” Gage says, tucking his phone back in his pocket. “That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Not so strange. I’ve got peanuts. He’s hungry.”
“Yeah, but don’t animals have, like, super senses to danger? The Coen Highsmith I knew was more apt to shoot the chipmunk than feed him.”
I bark out a laugh, because it’s funny.
Also true.
“Maybe I’m finding the softer, gentler side of myself.”
He chuckles. “I’ll drink to that.”
When Chip is done and back under his bush, I fire up the grill. Gage heads inside with me while I wrap potatoes in foil, and we crack a third round. I steer the conversation to safe topics—meaning, not about hockey—and things that interest me.
I actually start to relax, due in part to the beers, but mainly because Gage isn’t pushing me to discuss my career.
Or lack thereof.
As the sun sets, we grill and we drink, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve done something like this. Sure, before the crash, I went out with my teammates a lot. But that was to party, hook up with women, and generally bask in the limelight of being a professional hockey player who was a pretty big deal in the city of Pittsburgh.
But just hanging out to talk?
Maybe I’ve never done it.
We’re back in the Adirondack chairs, bellies full and beer number six going down. I lit some citronella torches attached to the decking to keep mosquitoes away, and the softest breeze cools the air.
Gage leans his head back and looks up at the starlit sky. “This is the life.”
“Yup.”
“You’re so mellow, man. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d gotten laid or something.”
“I suppose that’s part of it.” The admission is out of my mouth before I can stop it.