13. Off Season #3
Connor arrived after work. Maya met him in the kitchen with a highway report, a weather report, and detailed instructions for unloading the truck.
“The roads are fine,” Connor said.
“There are moose. And the weather changes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maya pointed the roll of packing tape at him. “You call when you get there.”
“I think that instruction belongs to Caleb.”
“It belongs to both of you. If the truck ends up in a ditch, I don’t want to hear three hours later because each of you assumed the other one had called.”
“If the truck ends up in a ditch, calling you may not be our first task.”
“This is why you need instructions.”
Riley showed up before they finished loading. She had come directly from the Saturday route, her cap turned backwards and her sleeves pushed above her elbows. She carried a paper bag of sandwiches and three coffees.
“Superior service,” she said, setting the bag on the truck hood.
She handed the first coffee to Maya. Maya accepted it without making her usual complaint about delivery charges.
Caleb opened the paper bag and passed Connor a sandwich.
Once the last box was in the truck, Maya went back upstairs. She returned carrying the lamp.
“I thought that was yours,” Caleb said.
“It is. I’m extending the terms of use.”
“For how long?”
“Until your room has enough things in it to feel like somewhere you live.”
Caleb took the lamp from her. “Thanks.”
“Put it somewhere Connor won’t drop a hockey bag on it.”
“A little credit here,” Connor said, pretending to be offended.
“Calm down, knucklehead.”
Chuckling, Connor took the lamp and carried it to the truck.
Maya checked the boxes once more. “Your forms are in the cab?”
“With my wallet and phone charger. My skates are with the rest of the gear, and I know where the sporting-goods store is.”
“I wasn’t going to ask about all of those things.”
“Yeah, you were.”
With the practical questions exhausted, Maya pressed down a loose edge of tape on the nearest box. The August evening was warm enough that the bar’s back door stood open, carrying voices and amber light into the alley.
She wrapped her arms around Caleb and held him tightly.
“If they say no, you call me,” she said against his shoulder. “You don’t sit alone in that room deciding you’ve failed too badly to come home.”
“I won’t.”
“And if they say yes, you still call. I’m not losing my brother to Thunder Bay because he found a better rink.”
“It’s ninety minutes away, not the Arctic Circle.”
“Hey, that was my line.”
Caleb held her a little longer. “I’m going to miss you.”
Maya pulled back, wiping at the corner of her eye. “Stop it. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
She turned to Connor. “Drive carefully. I know you know the highway, and I’m telling you anyway.”
“We’ll call when we get there,” Connor said.
Riley moved beside Maya and rested a hand on her arm. Maya covered it with her own.
Connor climbed into the driver’s side, and Caleb got in beside him. The truck smelled of hockey gear, coffee, and the pine air freshener Jessie had hung from the mirror three months earlier.
“Ready?” Connor asked.
Through the windshield, Caleb could see Maya and Riley beside the open bar door. Above them were the apartment windows and the narrow room that no longer looked temporary.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”
The highway curved through a long rock cut, the exposed granite still holding the day’s heat. Connor guided the truck around the bend. Warm August air came through the open windows, carrying the smell of pine and asphalt.
“I could be back in a month,” Caleb said. “Frank could decide I’m not ready.”
“He could,” Connor said. “You still go in there and make it difficult for him.”
“That’s where you’re supposed to tell me that, of course I will make it.”
“Whatever, you know what I think. I spent the summer making training plans, drove you every time you needed to go to the city, and argued with you about recovery until you finally listened. I thought my position was clear.”
“I know, but I like to hear it.”
Connor adjusted his grip on the wheel. “I’m going to miss you. The cabin will be too quiet, and the bed will be worse. Is that clear enough?”
“Much better.”
“I’m never going to tell you to come home.”
“I know.”
“I want you to make the team.”
Caleb settled farther into the seat. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you come home, and we work out what happens next.”
“It’ll feel like I failed.”
“It might feel like that,” Connor said. “But not making this roster, this year, wouldn’t mean we failed. It would mean we just have more work to do.”
“You keep saying we.”
“Because I mean we. You moving ninety minutes away doesn’t change that.”
The first lights of Thunder Bay appeared ahead of them. Traffic thickened near the outskirts, and a red light stopped them at the edge of the city.
Connor leaned across the cab and kissed him. His hand cupped Caleb’s jaw, drawing him closer. The kiss was slow, warm, and familiar, but it carried enough hunger to remind Caleb exactly what both of them would be missing.
The light changed. Connor returned his hand to the wheel.
“That,” Caleb said, “was encouraging.”
“Just wait until we get to the hotel.”