Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A sudden jolt wakes me from my nap. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I glance out the window to discover we’ve just arrived in Seattle, wheels down on the tarmac.
I’m minutes away from meeting Eric at the arrival gate.
Yawning, I rub at my eyes and stretch. I’ve been so exhausted these past few days, it’s no surprise I fell asleep during the flight.
When the plane comes to a halt, I slip into the aisle and pull down my carry-on bag.
The plane’s passengers disembark ahead of me at a snail’s pace, so I unlock my phone.
I turn off airplane mode, and seconds later, a message from Eric arrives letting me know he’s made it to the airport and is waiting for me.
As I follow the other passengers off the plane and to the baggage claim area, the butterflies I’ve had in my stomach since I woke this morning grow restless.
I haven’t seen Eric in person since the final Comets-Seadogs game, but now I’m about to spend the summer with him at his home.
However long I stay in Seattle, it will be for far longer than the weekend we spent together during the All-Star break.
At baggage claim, I watch the conveyor belt, waiting to spot my luggage amidst all the others. My eyes drift, and I catch a glimpse of the program playing on the hanging televisions above the carousel—ESPN. My stomach turns, my pulse quickens, and I quickly look away.
It’s not even hockey; it’s highlights from the NBA’s own playoffs happening concurrently, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same. Sports, playoff pressure, expectations, high stakes, dreams of success, squandered so easily in an instant.
…not all goalies are able to play—
No. Not now. Not here, not in Seattle. I boarded that flight to leave those demons behind in Chicago.
A familiar piece of luggage with a tiny goalie stick keychain passes by on the baggage carousel, so I grab it and walk away, keeping my head down to avoid making contact with the screens. I shouldn’t keep Eric waiting.
I follow the crowd to the arrivals area, pulse pounding in my ears.
No amount of long-distance friendship building could have prepared me for this moment, spilling out into arrivals to search for Eric within the crowd.
All around me, families and friends meet up with their loved ones, experiencing happy reunions.
My eyes finally land on Eric, and I’m taken aback by the sight of him without all the goalie gear.
He leans against a thick pillar wearing a dark brown bomber jacket and black slacks.
A pair of tinted aviator sunglasses rest atop his swept back hair which is still a little longer near his neck.
He’s never taken part in the playoff superstitions about facial hair, preferring to maintain his usual stubble.
God, Eric looks incredible, even dressed in casual clothes. What I wouldn’t give to…
I bite my lip to reign in my desire. Once I go to him, I won’t be able to hide my feelings behind a phone, using distance, timezones, and work as an excuse.
I’ll be in his constant proximity, and he’ll be in mine, sharing a living space, eating together, and learning more about each other than we ever could before.
Time catches up as Eric pockets his phone and searches the crowd of arrivals.
When his gaze falls upon me, he grins and waves me over.
Compelled, my feet move on their own. I weave through the throngs of people to reach him, slipping past a family of five welcoming home a college student and a couple embracing and sharing a long kiss.
Eric’s my heading, and all waypoints lead to him.
When I reach Eric, he pulls me in for a tight hug, catching me by surprise. I can’t help but sink into him, more desperate for physical contact than I realized. How can being held by Eric always feel like a warm homecoming?
“I’m glad you came,” he says, lips close to my ear. “It’s great seeing you again, James.”
The way he murmurs my name sends ripples down my spine, and I could float on air. I shouldn’t let myself be swept away by just a simple, normal gesture of kindness, but I can’t help it. I breathe in deep, taking in lungfuls of his cologne.
When Eric steps back, he gestures with a nod to my duffel. “I can carry that if you want a break. You’re probably tired and hungry.”
My duffel slides off my shoulder, and I offer it to him. “Thanks. I’m starving.”
He smirks. “Good news, then. I’m making a big dinner for us to celebrate your first night here.”
If anyone had asked me minutes after being benched in the last game of the Western Conference Final if I would be celebrating anything that weekend, I would have laughed and shaken my head. Celebrate? For what reason? Losing?
Yet on the cusp of the weekend, here I am in the middle of an airport, shoulders brushing against Eric’s, unable to hold back a grin despite all the fresh sadness and grief from a few days ago. That’s just the effect Eric has on people, the effect he has on me.
Brilliant sunlight greets us when we step outside. The Seattle-Tacoma International airport bustles with people coming and going. Summer hasn’t officially started according to the calendar, but Memorial Day weekend is the beginning of the season as far as travelers are concerned.
Seattle is quite different from Chicago in culture, geography, and climate.
Everything I read online stated summers in the Pacific Northwest are not too hot, not too cold, a total contrast to the usual stormy weather I’ve experienced during visits for regular season road games.
Eric has spoken at length in the past how he loves living in the Pacific Northwest, and I can’t wait to discover why.
After stowing away my bags in Eric’s truck, we slip inside, and my nerves come back with sudden force. Is it possible to feel so much excitement and joy it comes back around as fear?
Eric notices. His hand slips away from his keys in the ignition, and he leans back in the driver’s seat to face me.
“Everything alright?”
My hands clench the strap of the seat belt, and I let out a sheepish laugh. “Yeah. Sorry.” When Eric hesitates further without starting the car, I sigh and shake my head. “I guess… I guess I’m still stunned you invited me to Seattle.”
Eric runs his hands over the steering wheel and exhales. “Was this too soon? Did I pressure you into coming out here?”
“Oh, no!” I answer a little too quickly and cough politely. “No, seriously, you didn’t. I’m just… It’s hard to explain.”
There aren’t enough words in the dictionary to define my gratitude.
“You didn’t have to come to my rescue, Eric, but you did.”
“Hey, goalies need saving too, sometimes,” Eric says with a smile, setting my heart ablaze. How could I be this lucky? There are countless other players in the NHL I could have become friends with, but none are as compassionate as Eric Sinclair.
“I’ve been looking forward to this day since you first brought up the idea. If our summer is anything like our time together in LA… then it’ll be just what I need.”
My face flushes the moment those words tumble out.
“My point is, you know, what I’m trying to say is—” I’m babbling, losing my ability to form coherent sentences “—is that I want nothing more than to be here with you, Eric, so thanks.”
Eric’s fingers flex against the steering wheel, and as he reaches across the center console, I hold my breath, certain for a fleeting moment he’s about to cover my hand. Instead, he settles on grasping my shoulder. Even this touch alone through layers of fabric makes me shiver, craving more.
“We’re going to have a great summer together, James,” he murmurs.
Eric’s words make my heart swell, threatening to turn me into a puddle in his passenger seat.
For the next few months, I won’t have to worry about the fate of my hockey career.
If this is my chance to get away from it all, then I’m packing everything about the league away for the summer—the Comets, the Seadogs, hell, even the outcome of the Stanley Cup Final.
I don’t care who wins. LA, New York, both, neither.
It doesn’t matter. I’m not visiting Seattle for business as the starting goaltender for the Chicago Comets.
I’m just James Harrison, a regular man visiting Seattle for pleasure.
“You ready to get out of here?” Eric asks with a grin.
Vibrating with excitement, I nod, so Eric turns the key in the ignition and his truck roars to life. We drive away from the airport, heading for the highway. Eric mentioned that he lives outside the city, but he never shared further details.
As we drive through Seattle, Eric points out interesting landmarks we pass.
It’s only a brief glimpse, but Eric’s familiarity and confidence makes it all so magical.
He turns on some music in the background, mostly synthwave songs I recognize from playlists Eric’s shared in the past. With every song, I feel more and more certain about my decision to leave Chicago behind, becoming swept up in the steady beats and poetic lyrics about escaping, running away, starting over, taking a chance, and finding yourself again on the road of life.
When a new song I don’t recognize begins, Eric turns up the volume dial. “This is one of my favorites. It’s by the same group I recommended before. Hope you like it.”
Our conversation pauses so I can focus on the song.
When a powerful saxophone joins the synthesizer, I’m hooked.
A man’s voice follows, low and sensual, singing moody lyrics which paint a vivid, dreamy picture of two people sharing a fleeting, all-too-brief romance.
The beat is steady, driving, and I can’t help but drum my fingers along in time against my knee.
I catch Eric’s glance, and I can tell he’s nervous for someone so confident and charismatic.
Well? he mouths silently.
I give him a thumb’s up, and he grins back at me, overjoyed.
The second stanza of lyrics gives way to a lengthy saxophone solo which keeps building and building, driving onward, telling a story of its own.
I’m floored the whole time, swept up in an instrumental narrative, something I’ve never experienced before.
I never want the song to end. I never thought there could be a type of music perfect for driving, but this is it.
And as the song fades out, reality hits me: I’m going on an adventure with Eric, and this will be the soundtrack of our summer.
Having read fantasy novels all my life, I always wanted to go on a journey across vast distances, meet new people, see new lands.
Maybe I would never be able to jump into a world of wizards and dragons, but I always hoped to travel across North America and discover more from the many cities I have only ever scratched the surface of, Seattle being one of them.
Eric’s made that dream a reality. I’m living out one of those stories with the perfect man as my companion and guide. He promised to pull back the curtain and show me what the Emerald City has to offer.
Not even an hour outside the city, I’m already struck by how natural and truly evergreen the environment is on either side of the interstate. For some people, this level of beauty constitutes their everyday commute into the city. I feel like a kid again, awestruck and full of wonder.
“It’s so beautiful,” I remark, my face all but pressed into the glass.
Eric hums in agreement. “I’m grateful to be able to live here and spend my summers somewhere quiet.”
In Chicago, I rent an apartment which is a short drive from where my team practices. It’s not much, but I’ve tried to make my apartment something of a home—at least until this past week. If I had stayed in Chicago, I might have carved a track into my floor from all my restless pacing.
“I hope you’ll come to find it as peaceful as I do, James.”
For my own sake, I hope Eric’s right.