Chapter 1 Harris #2
It glistens under the setting afternoon sun, calm and still, like a scene straight out of one of those cheesy brochures they use to convince people this kind of place is relaxing.
Hefting myself up, I sigh. “Maybe if I go out to the end of my pier, I’ll get my signal back.”
I’ve sat around long enough.
Clutching my phone in my hand like a lifeline, I head out the back door, trudging down the small path to the dock. The boards creak under my feet as I walk, the lake lapping softly against the posts, all peaceful and serene—exactly the opposite of how I feel right now.
When I reach the end, I hold my phone up, as if added elevation were going to magically bring those bars back.
It does not.
I check again, praying for at least one measly bar, but nope—nada. As I’m about to give up and accept my fate, I glance around and notice some familiar faces on the piers nearby.
A few of my buddies are scattered along the shoreline, talking so loudly I can hear them planning something that will surely end with someone in the water—or covered in mud.
It’s like they’re already in some survival mode.
“Hey, nut sack, you made it!” Two docks over, Quinton Wallace throws his middle finger up in greeting, grinning like the asshole he is. “Was hoping you wouldn’t!”
“Fuck off.” My voice echoes across the lake, bouncing back at me with perfect comedic timing.
Fuck off . . . off . . . off . . .
I can hear Quinton laughing and see his head thrown back as if my echo is the funniest thing he’s heard all day. His laugh roars back at us, too, ricocheting from tree to tree, the water an acoustic portal.
“Careful, dude—the lake is listening!” I shout.
“The lake is the least of my problems.” Quinton was busted for possession of marijuana before his rookie year began. I’m no saint, but I know not to do shit like that.
I’m about to turn back to my cottage when I hear footsteps on another pier. One of my teammates—Elijah—is strolling barefoot, his always-present grin on his face because nothing bothers this dickhead.
He stops at the edge of his pier, clutching a coffee mug in his hand as if it weren’t too late in the day for caffeine. If I was drinking coffee right now, I would be wide awake until two in the morning.
“Sup, bro.” He yawns.
I point in the direction of his mug. “It’s almost dinnertime. You trying to pull an all-nighter?”
He shrugs, taking a sip like it’s no big deal. “Helps me wind down.”
Wind down? Coffee?
I resist the urge to laugh.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I gesture toward the lake. Mostly because I have no idea what else to say. I suck at conversation.
Elijah looks out over the water, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah. Makes you appreciate the little things, you know?”
He sounds so profound. Like Yoda.
We stand there in silence for a minute, the sound of the water gently lapping against the pier, and for a second, it actually is kind of peaceful. Then Elijah, without any warning, takes a giant gulp of coffee and turns toward me. “You gonna make it to yoga tomorrow?”
I stare at him for a second, processing the question. “Uh. Wasn’t planning on it.”
He shakes his head. “Seriously? It’s a team-building activity.” He stretches one arm above his head and groans. “Sunrise yoga by the lake.”
I snort. “There’s no way in hell I’m waking up at the crack of dawn to do downward dog with you idiots.”
Elijah shrugs—and I can hear him slurping his coffee from here. “Suit yourself. Coach says it’s mandatory, though. Something about flexibility improving performance.”
“He said it was strongly encouraged—not mandatory. And I’m so sure flexibility is the only reason he wants us there.” I roll my eyes. “Not because the photos would be good PR.”
Elijah grins, unbothered. “Hey. I don’t make the rules.
I show up.” He stretches his arms behind his head, twisting his body to the right, then to the left, like he’s already warming up for his next yoga session.
“Plus, there’s a women’s waterskiing team on the lake—I’m hoping they practice early so we can watch. ”
I blink at him. Women’s waterskiing team? What the fuck is that? Like . . . gymnastics on water? I mean, I’ve heard of synchronized swimming, but synchronized skiing? Do they do backflips while getting dragged behind a boat?
“That’s a thing?” I ask, genuinely baffled.
“Apparently,” Elijah drawls. “Saw it on the camp itinerary.”
“Camp itinerary?” Is it me, or did my eyes bug out of my skull? “Is that the sheet of paper hanging on the fireplace?”
How did this go from a relaxing retreat to one with required activities? With prizes for most participation? Are we earning badges now, like the Boy Scouts?
What’s next? Arts and crafts time? Making friendship bracelets out of sea-glass beads, sourced from the beach and polished?
Elijah shrugs again, completely unfazed. “Nah, there’s a whole list of stuff we can sign up for at the main cabin. Where Coach is staying. Waterskiing, canoe races, archery. You know, camp stuff.”
“Camp stuff,” I deadpan the words. “And here I thought we were supposed to relax.”
“Relaxation through participation, man,” Elijah says, sounding way too Zen for my liking. He obviously doesn’t realize we’re trapped in a web of competitive wilderness survival masquerading as team building.
“Dude. Are you high?” I ask him, hoping my voice won’t carry across the lake.
High . . . igh . . . igh . . .
“No. I’m embracing the experience.” He laughs, a little too laid back for my taste. “You should try it—maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”
I shake my head. “The only thing I’m going to enjoy is my bed while the rest of you are doing downward dog at dawn.”
Which sounds fucking terrible.
Elijah shrugs again, still grinning. “Your loss. More for the rest of us.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive.”
I watch as Elijah pulls out his phone, stares at it for a beat, then stuffs it into the back pocket of his athletic pants. He looks over at me with a nonplussed expression he’s perfected. “Dex texted. A few of us are going downtown to a pub for a burger. Wanna come?”
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m gonna grab groceries. Think I’ll pop an old movie into the ancient VCR back at the cabin and, you know—embrace the experience.”
He chuckles, giving me a little salute. “You do you—but don’t be jealous when the rest of us return home enlightened.”