“You sure? ’Cause if that’s what you want, I’ll help you, dude. Don’t care that I used to have a poster of him on my wall, I will end him.”
Madison sent a picture of Nicolette and Bailey, holding a bottle of whiskey between them, smiling wide. Hurry up before they drink your alcohol. I close out of it and slide my phone into my pocket. Dorian and Barbie watch me, waiting.
I rub the back of my neck. “It’s fine.”
“Okay,” Dorian says, but he sounds unconvinced. “Don’t be afraid to cry around us, y’know. We won’t judge.”
“Dori cried when we went to different USHL teams,” Barbie says.
Dorian puts a hand over Barbie’s mouth and pushes his head away. “And Barbie cried when I went to the Kings and he got stuck with the Flames.”
“I was crying for them. Wasted a second round pick on you.”
Dorian tries to cover his mouth again, and this time Barbie ducks out of his reach before wrapping an arm around his waist to throw him on the bed.
They lie next to each other, talking in Spanish and looking at their phones while I finish getting ready. I keep glancing over at them. They’re at a level of comfort that can only come from a lifetime of friendship, the way they spend all their time together and drape themselves over each other and don’t give a damn what anyone has to say about it. They’ll probably dorm together next year, since they’ll actually have a choice in roommates their sophomore year.
I have to clear the jealous knot from my throat before I can say, “You guys going to the hockey house?”
They both look at me. “Are you not?” Dorian asks.
“I’m gonna hang out with my sisters in Bailey’s room.”
Barbie sits straight up, a frantic look on his face. “Wait, is Nova gonna be there?”
“I mean, yeah?” I say.
They share a look, Barbie with both eyebrows raised and Dorian with this smug little grin.
“Uh, did you want to come with?” I ask.
Barbie thinks for a second, then sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t wanna intrude on your family time.”
“Dude, it’s fine.”
Dorian stands up from the bed and stretches his arms above his head. “We should at least make an appearance at the hockey house first. Give it an hour, and then we can go hang out with your girlfriend.”
Barbie slaps at Dorian’s arm, but the goofy smile on his face shows how he really feels.
They transfer the bottles in Dorian’s minifridge to a backpack and we head out. I text Bailey to let her know I’m on my way, so when we make it a short way down the hill to her building, she’s waiting at the front door.
Bailey lives in the mansion that once belonged to Hartland’s founder, now converted into a dorm for junior and senior women. I’ve never been inside.
“Hello, gentlemen,” Bailey says, wedged between the door and the frame to keep it open. She looks happily buzzed with a beer in her hand. “Will you be joining us tonight?”
“Maybe later, if that’s okay?” Dorian says.
“Hell yeah. Our RA is out of town this weekend, and we got plenty of room and plenty to drink.” She opens the door wider and ushers me inside as Dorian and Barbie continue on down the hill.
We’re in an entryway with a high ceiling and a black-and-white-checkered floor. Up ahead is a staircase that curves along the wall and leads to the widow’s watch that’s part of one of the many Hartland ghost stories. They say if you’re crossing the bridge over the creek just outside and the light in the tower goes out, don’t look behind you or you’ll come face-to-face with a murderous spirit.
It definitely feels the way I’d expect a haunted house to feel—a little drafty and a lot echoey. Old framed black-and-white photos of what I’m guessing are the Hart family line the walls, and we pass a couple sitting rooms with tall windows overlooking the lake on our way to the staircase.
Bailey’s got a single on the top floor, and as soon as I step in, Nicolette slings an arm around my shoulders and plants a drunken, sloppy kiss on my cheek. She pushes a heavy glass bottle into my hand. “Mikayla bought this but didn’t wanna give it to you ’cause she’s a professional and you’re a child,” she says, too loud in the relative quiet of the building. I twist the cap off and gulp down a burning mouthful of whiskey.
The room looks like something I’d expect from a fancy old apartment building. Nothing like my freshman dorm with its cold, hard tile floor and furniture pressed up in a line against the wall. Bailey’s got a creaky redwood floor, floor-to-ceiling windows, a fireplace that’s been bricked up, and even a small balcony facing the lake. The door’s open, Nova and Madison leaning against the balcony railing as they talk.
“I’m risking my job just being here,” Mikayla says from her spot on Bailey’s bed. She’s got a bottle of water in her hands, but she watches Nicolette take a swig of her drink with a jealous look in her eyes. “We could be arrested for this, Cole.”
“Dude, relax,” Nicolette says. “No one’s gonna arrest a pregnant lady.”
“Are you kidding? I’d get in more trouble than anyone! Bailey’s a senior and she was in middle school while I was graduating college.”
“Jesus,” I say. “You’re ancient.”
“And you still go to a pediatrician!”
It’s hard to drink when you’re laughing. Delilah pries the bottle from me while I’m distracted and pours a few fingers’ worth into a plastic cup. “Take it slow, my dude,” she says. “Scotch is meant to be savored.”
I narrow my eyes as she’s slow to hand the cup over, holding the bottle out of my reach. There’s a hard look on her face, her lips pinched and eyebrows pulled together. I take the cup from her and look down at the tiny drop of alcohol she gave me.
A couple miles away, my team is probably talking all kinds of shit about me. Commiserating over an embarrassing loss and pinning it all on me. A couple shots of whiskey aren’t going to be enough to loosen the knot of anxiety in my chest.
I toss back the sip of scotch and hold the cup back out to Delilah. She gives me what I’m guessing is supposed to be a meaningful look before pouring me my refill. We repeat the same process until my nerves start to give way to tingling in my fingertips, numbness in my tongue, and a haze in my head. Delilah must see it on my face, because she screws the cap back onto the bottle and says, “Slow down.” She takes it with her when she goes to sit on the floor next to Jade.
There’s some reality show playing on the TV on Bailey’s dresser, but no one’s paying attention to it. Mikayla and Bailey are on the bed talking, Nicolette’s got her legs crossed on the old wooden armchair in the corner, leaning forward to put herself into Delilah and Jade’s conversation. Nova and Madison come in from the cold and close the door to the balcony, rubbing their arms to warm up. Nova’s all red in the face, still looking photo shoot ready in baggy sweatpants and one of my old National Team T-shirts cut into a crop top under a cardigan.
I stand in the middle of the room for a second and just soak in their presence. It’s a little weird, having them all here in a place I’ve started to associate with home. Family and home haven’t gone together for me in a long time.
They’re not leaving until tomorrow, but I miss them already.
SEVENTEEN
Dorian and Barbie showing up is enough of a distraction that I’m able to get the bottle of whiskey back before Delilah notices. I don’t remember much of the night after that aside from collapsing face-first into bed.
Now, Barbie’s on the floor with his entire upper body tucked under my bed. With the sunlight coming through the blinds and the whiskey headache, I’m about five seconds from joining him when panic hits me so hard and sudden it knocks the breath out of my chest.
I scramble for my phone in my sheets and almost drop it, my hands are shaking so bad.
No messages.
I’m the one who should be apologizing to Cauler, making first contact, so I don’t know why the empty screen hurts so much. But it does. Like a sucker punch to the gut.