Chapter 18
18
RUBY
After our yoga adventure, I make another beeline for the reception desk, my legs a little wobbly from all the warrior poses. This time, the desk is staffed by a cheerful young woman with a bright smile. Must be part of the job requirements here at Pura Vida.
"Good morning!" she chirps, her voice as sunny as the Costa Rican weather. "How can I help you today?"
I plaster on my best polite smile, the one I reserve for difficult library patrons who insist their overdue fines are a government conspiracy. "Hi, I need to book a flight home as soon as possible. There's been a mix-up with my reservation."
Her smile doesn't falter, but her eyes flick to something behind me. "I see. Would you like to check flights on our guest computer?”
She leads me to an ancient desktop that looks like it was cutting-edge technology... in 1998. As I wait for the glacially slow internet to load, I hear a familiar voice.
"Still trying to ditch me, Brooks?"
I turn to see Chuck leaning against the reception desk, a knowing smirk on his face. His hair is damp from a post-yoga shower, and he's wearing a fitted T-shirt that does nothing to hide his athletic build. Not that I'm noticing. Of course.
I wish he would just stop looking at me. Maybe even go away. I can’t think straight with him so close.
I roll my eyes, hoping my face isn't as flushed as it feels. "Don't flatter yourself, Newcomb. I'm just trying to get home."
"Uh-huh," he says, clearly unconvinced. "And it has nothing to do with my stellar yoga performance this morning?"
I snort, remembering his less-than-graceful attempts at downward dog. "Oh yes, your ability to nearly take out half the class with your flailing was truly awe-inspiring."
He clutches his chest in mock pain. "You wound me, Brooks. And here I thought we were bonding over our shared love of... what did the instructor call it? 'Finding our inner warrior'?"
"I think you misheard," I retort. "In your case, it was more like 'floundering inner worrier '."
Our banter is interrupted by the ancient computer finally spluttering to life. After what feels like an eternity, I manage to pull up a flight booking site. My heart sinks as I scroll through the options. The earliest flight isn't until tomorrow afternoon, and the only shuttle to the airport left at the crack of dawn this morning anyway.
I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "Why…?" I whine.
Chuck peers over my shoulder at the screen, close enough that I can smell him. His is a pleasant, woodsy scent that's entirely too distracting. "Looks like you're stuck with me for another day, at least," he says, and I swear I can hear a smile in his voice.
I shoot him a glare. I should probably be nicer. "Fine. Now what?"
As if in answer, this morning’s desk clerk appears with a colorful brochure. "We have a wonderful 'Trust Falls' class starting in an hour. It's all about building connections and opening yourself up to new experiences!"
I eye the brochure skeptically. Trust Falls? With a bunch of strangers? In a place that thinks "sensual meditation" is a normal activity? Pass.
But to my surprise, Chuck pipes up. "Sounds great. Sign us up."
I whirl on him so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. " Us ?"
He shrugs, that infuriating grin taunting me, sucking me in. "Come on, Brooks. If you're stuck here, you might as well make the most of it."
I open my mouth to argue, but something in his expression gives me pause. There's a hint of hopefulness there, buried under his usual bravado. Against my better judgment, I find myself nodding. "Fine. Trust Falls it is. But if you drop me, Newcomb, I swear I'll..."
"Relax," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his touch seeps through my shirt, and I have to resist the urge to lean into it. "I've caught plenty of falling bodies on the ice. How different can this be?"
As we head to breakfast, I admit to myself I know next to nothing about this guy beyond his on-ice reputation and what I've gleaned from team barbecues. If I'm going to be stuck here with him, I might as well be civil. Plus, he has been surprisingly... not terrible through this whole fiasco.
We settle at a table overlooking the ocean, plates piled high with tropical fruit and some kind of local egg dish. The view is breathtaking – crystal clear water stretching to the horizon, palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze. It's the kind of scene you see on postcards. But it’s way better here because it's real .
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to do. Making small talk has never been my strong suit – I'm much more comfortable lost in a good book than navigating social niceties. But here goes nothing.
"So," I begin, trying to sound casual, "exactly what brings you here? I wanna hear the details, about the team and everything. Not the PR answer."
His eyebrow quirks up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "A plane, last I checked, a plane brought me here."
I level him with a look that could freeze vodka. "I'm trying to be nice here, Newcomb. Work with me."
Something in my tone must get through to him because his smirk softens. He sets down his fork, running a hand over his haphazard man bun—a nervous gesture I've never seen from him before.
"Yeah, yeah," he says, surprising me with the sincerity in his voice. "My sarcasm is force of habit. Truth is, the team thought I could use some... perspective, if you know what I mean. A chance to 'find my center' or whatever new-age BS all the kids are into these days. The alternative was potentially ending my hockey career. So you can say they lit a fire under my ass."
I nod. "Wow. Sounds hard core."
He shrugs, poking at his eggs. "It's not like they're wrong. I've been... let's say 'spiraling' for a while now. Too many nights out, too many close calls with the press. This is their not-so-polite way of saying shape up or ship out."
His vulnerability catches me off guard. This isn't the cocky, untouchable Chuck Newcomb I know. This is someone more… relatable.
"I see.”
“And what about you? How’d you end up here? And I don’t want your PR version either.”
Fair enough. "This trip... it was supposed to be my chance to do something just for me, you know?"
Chuck looks up, curiosity replacing the defensiveness in his eyes. "What do you mean?"
I hesitate, then figure I may as well go for it. "I grew up with just my dad. Well, my dad and Tyler. Mom died when I was a baby. And don't get me wrong, I adore my father, but... most of our family resources went to Tyler and his hockey dreams."
Chuck nods slowly. "And you got… a little left behind?"
I nod, shifting in my seat. I've never really talked about this with anyone before, aside from my bestie Matthew, and the last thing I want is to come off as an ungrateful complainer. "When it comes down to it, it makes sense. Tyler had a shot at something big, and he made it. I'm proud of him, I really am. He’s my best friend. He deserves all the good that comes his way. But sometimes I wonder..."
"What might have been if you'd had the same… encouragement?" he finishes.
"Yeah," I say, relieved that he gets it. "I’m not begrudging my brother. I want to make that clear.”
He nods.
“This trip is one of the first things I've done for myself in ages. And I can’t even say I really did it for myself, because Tyler footed the bill."
Chuck is quiet for a moment, then reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. The gesture is unexpected and gentle. Moisture pricks at the corners of my eyes.
"I'm sorry I messed it up for you," he says.
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. I look up, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, I'm struck by how intense they are. How have I never noticed that?
"Not your fault," I say. “My brother’s the one who got the damn dates wrong and sent me here a week early. But hey, at least I'm not bored, right?"
He laughs, a sound that does funny things to my insides. "Never a dull moment with Chuck Newcomb around. That should be my new tagline, right?" he says.
As we finish our breakfast, I study Chuck when he's not looking, something I’ve done a lot of in the last twenty-four hours. The way the sun catches his hair, the curve of his smile when he's genuinely amused, not just putting on a show. The strength in his hands as he gestures while talking about his last game, eyes lit up with passion.
Shit.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge these dangerous thoughts. This is Chuck. Hockey player extraordinaire. My brother's teammate. Definitely off-limits. Not to mention, probably not even interested in someone like me, anyway.
But then he looks at me, catching me staring, and there's something in his expression that makes my heart skip a beat.
"What?" he asks, a small smile tilting his lips. "Do I have papaya in my teeth or something?"
I feel my face flush. Busted. "No, I just... I guess I'm realizing there's more to you than I thought."
He frowns for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether to be flattered or insulted. Then he shrugs as if either way, he’s fine. "Right back at you, Brooks. You're full of surprises yourself."
As we head to our Trust Falls class, with Chuck's hand on the small of my back as he guides me through a doorway, I can't help but wonder… what if he's not the person I always thought he was? What if there's more to Chuck Newcomb than meets the eye?
And more importantly, what am I going to do about this?
As we enter the classroom, I steel myself. Trust Falls, here we come. Let's just hope I don't fall in more ways than one.
We arrive in a gym-like room set up with various stations—cushions on the floor, low platforms, even a small rock-climbing wall. Our instructor, a willowy man named Leaf, claps his hands to get our attention.
"Welcome, friends,” he exclaims. "I'll be guiding you through your journey of trust and connection today."
I exchange a glance with Chuck, biting my lip. He winks at me, and I feel a flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with the egg dish from breakfast.
"Now," Leaf continues, "let's pair up with someone we don't know. Today, we'll be challenging our boundaries and opening ourselves up to new connections!"
A stranger? Oh shit.
But before I can even think about finding a partner, Chuck's hand is on my arm. "Dibs," he says with a grin, ready to blow off the instructor’s directions.
I roll my eyes, but I can't suppress my smile. "Okay, okay, Newcomb. No need to fight over me."
Leaf takes us through trust exercises, I find myself relaxing. Chuck and I fall into an easy rhythm, our banter flowing naturally as we navigate each challenge. When it comes time for the actual trust fall, I hesitate at the edge of the platform.
"I've got you, Ruby Brooks," he yells, his commitment sending a shiver down my spine. "Trust me!"
And the thing is, I do. I actually do. As I let myself fall backwards, I know with absolute certainty that Chuck will catch me. And he does, his strong arms wrapping around me securely.
For a moment, we stay like that, my back pressed against his chest, his breath warm on my neck. I turn my head slightly, meeting his eyes, and the intensity I see there takes my breath away.
"See?" he murmurs. "I told you I'd catch you."
As I straighten up, my legs wobbly—adrenaline from the fall, no doubt—I realize something. I came to this retreat looking for myself, but I think I found something, or someone, I never expected.
The question is, what am I going to do about it?
***