CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lennox
I didn’t quite realize how badly I needed a night like tonight until I kicked my feet up onto the fancy camping chair footrest and put the cool glass of the beer bottle to my lips.
An overwhelming rush of relief swept through me until tears pricked the backs of my eyes.
I exhaled long and loud, and stared out at the glittering sea.
Jagger’s big, meaty hand gripped my shoulder and gave it a friendly shake. “Right?”
All I could do was nod and close my eyes.
The hissing sound of a bottle being twisted open to the other side of me filled my ears, but I didn’t bother to open my eyes.
The sun beat down with welcoming rays on my face, and the breeze was warm and inviting.
This was why we came to the island. For moments like this.
For this feeling, of peace. For this feeling of community.
When they first invited me, I kind of thought it might be like a sharing circle or something, but nobody had said a word in close to ten minutes. We just sipped our beers, stared out at the ocean, and scratched Portia’s butt when she came over and grunted at us.
Maverick cleared his throat, and the other two guys turned to face him. Was this his way of saying he had the talking stick and wanted to discuss his feelings?
“Been thinking about sports camps,” he muttered, almost more to himself than anybody else.
Jagger and Tom both grunted and nodded.
Then they were quiet again.
I glanced in confusion at all of them.
“Are you going to elaborate on that?” I finally asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.
Jagger and Tom snorted.
“Well …” Maverick started, “I’m a former pro-athlete. So is Tom. Jag played college football. And while there isn’t a place for it on the island yet, there could be.”
Jag and Tom nodded again.
“Is this a conversation you guys have had in the past and are circling back on, or is this brand new? Because I feel really lost here,” I said.
“Brand new thought,” Maverick said. “Just popped into my head.”
Jagger glanced at me. “You played basketball, right? College?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Until an injury. And Mabel’s ASD diagnosis. It was just too much to do it all.”
Tom made an amused noise in his throat. “We all got injured it seemed.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
He bobbed his head and sipped his beer. “Jagger’s knee. My knee. Maverick’s back.” He glanced over at me. “What about you?”
“My knee,” I said with a huffed laugh. “Tore my ACL and developed bad patellar tendonitis, which is known as ‘jumper’s knee.’ Also, the beating from my dad fucked up my elbow pretty bad. Despite the surgery and hardware, it was never really the same.”
“Fucking hell,” Jagger said on an exhale. “Sorry about that, dude. Hope he’s paying for it now.”
“He is,” I confirmed. “Didn’t help that he stabbed and killed his cellmate, which prolonged his sentence.”
Maverick whistled. “Christ almighty.”
“Bloody knees,” Tom mused, slamming his palm down on top of his left one. “Why do they make them so weak?”
“To remind man that he is not invincible?” I replied, grateful for the conversation pivot away from my father.
“That is what the Achille’s tendon is for,” Tom said. “The knees should not be so weak.”
More sounds of amusement echoed throughout our foursome.
“Back to the sports camps,” I said, turning to Maverick. “What do you mean?”
“Well … we are all athletes. Our careers ended when we were in our prime. I believe we still have a lot that we can contribute.” He met Tom’s gaze. “And Tommaso and I have pro-athlete money.”
Tom’s head bobbed.
Maverick sipped his beer, then started speaking again after a satisfied ahh.
“What about like summer sports camps for kids? There’s still land we could look at using or getting, even building like dorms and stuff.
Hiring other athletes to come and coach.
It wouldn’t have to be pro-level. These kids don’t necessarily have to be destined for the big leagues, but they’re passionate about the game, you know? ”
“You want to offer hockey, football, soccer, and basketball?” I asked. “You’d need a massive space for all of that.”
“Not all at the same time. Two weeks of hockey, then we melt the ice and it becomes a basketball court. Two weeks of basketball. Two weeks of football. Then it becomes a soccer pitch, and we do two weeks of soccer. We have grants and scholarships for kids who might not be able to afford it, so that all socioeconomic classes are eligible.”
“This is a big idea, bro,” Jagger said, staring out at the water and tipping his beer back. “The ladies won’t go for it until the Bonn Remmen land project is done and up and running.”
“I think big,” Maverick said. “And of course. One thing at a time. But I’m allowed to dream.”
Tom’s head bobbed. “Big thoughts are good. Dreams are good.”
“Where is the land you think we could build on?” I asked. “We had a hell of a time finding somewhere to rent on the island. Almost gave up. Spencer said land is really difficult to come by here. Has to be passed down and shit.”
Maverick smirked. “I’ve been listening to some little birdies. And the land on the other side of Tom’s here might be coming available.”
Tom’s brows shot up. “The terrible old principal’s house?”
“They want off the island. They want to cut ties, and they’re in a bit of debt, apparently.” He was wearing sunglasses, so he couldn’t just slide his gaze our way, but had to actually turn his head. “Sometimes that Island Mouth can be useful. Most of the time she’s just a pain.”
“And there is nobody else in the family who wants it?” Jagger asked, sitting up in his seat.
Maverick lifted a shoulder. “Not that I’ve heard. It’s not a huge chunk of land, but it’s flat and if we knocked down a bunch of trees, leveled the house, and got creative, we could potentially make it happen.”
“Do you think they’d sell it to us, after everything that happened?” Tom asked. “After my donkey ate her tulips?”
Jagger barked out a laugh that made a snoring Portia jump. “Yeah, ’cause that’s why they’ve got it out for you.”
“And you two would fund this whole thing yourselves?” I asked them in disbelief.
Maverick pursed his lips and shook his head. “No. I’d find some investors. But I know loads of other hockey players who would be cool to throw money at something worthwhile like this. Roman Woodman is always looking for a good cause to contribute to.”
We fell back into companionable silence for a while, each of us nursing our beer and watching the sun sink below the horizon.
“The injured bird is healing nicely,” Tom said, breaking the quiet. “Sam is taking good care of it.”
“I know Mabel wants to come back over and check on it,” I said. “She really enjoys being here with the animals.” Portia was next to me, so I reached down and scratched her butt. “She’s taken a liking to Miss Piggy here.”
Tom gave a small nod. “She is welcome anytime. Even if we are not here. She knows the house and the gate code now.”
A godawful scream, like a cat being ripped in two by starving hyenas, pierced the frog and cricket lullaby.
Portia jerked to her feet with an abrupt snort and took off in the direction of the small barn where the goats were kept.
Tom, Jagger, and Maverick were all on their feet and chasing after Portia as well. I tossed back the rest of my beer and joined them.
“Do you think it’s Pinata?” Maverick asked, running next to Tom.
“Of course I do,” Tom said. “Like a mother knows the cry of her child, I know the scream of my stupid donkey.”
Maverick glanced back at me with an amused smile before keeping pace with Tom and rounding the first barn.
Jagger fell behind, as he still had a bit of a limp and wasn’t booking it around the property like the rest of us. So I slowed my roll and stayed with him.
“You don’t have to slow down for me,” he said, grimacing a little. “I’ll make it there … eventually.”
“All good.” I dropped my pace to his, which was more of a fast walk, and we took the corner around the goat barn to find Pinata the donkey stuck inside the goat house of their outdoor enclosure.
It was a bit bigger than a doghouse, with a peaked roof, and multiple wood planks and climbing structures surrounding it so the goats could do what goats did best.
Only the goats were all standing under the lean-to part of their outdoor shelter off to the side with the hay, staring at this stupid donkey as he struggled and screamed to get out of their fort.
“Ma porca puttana!” Tom exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “Stronzo!”
“How in the hell did he get himself in there in the first place?” Maverick asked, following Tom through the gate into the goat enclosure.
“He is the dumbest magician alive,” Tom said. “That is how.”
Jagger and I entered the enclosure through the gate as well, but stood back with the other two men to assess the situation. My ears hurt from how loudly the donkey screamed as he struggled over and over again to stand up, but couldn’t because the structure he was in was too small.
Tom wandered around the little goat house, shaking his head.
“Do we need to take the thing apart?” Jagger asked. “Seems like the safer thing to do. Otherwise, that ass might kick me in the nuts, and I quite like my nuts.”
Tom stroked his sparkly silver scruff in thought, then finally nodded. “Si.”
“I’ll go grab your tools,” Maverick said, taking off back out of the enclosure. “Need to get away from this sound anyway.”
Portia had already gotten out of Dodge to preserve her hearing and was nowhere to be seen, even though she’d been first on the scene.
Carefully sinking down to his knees, Tom inched forward toward Pinata’s back legs, which stuck out of the goat house and rested on the dirt.
He didn’t seem to have enough room to really kick, but his body was jostling enough that it looked like he could still do some damage to anybody that got too close.
Maverick came running back with a dinged and dented red metal toolbox and set it down near Tom. “What now?”
“We shoot him,” Tom said. “Or at least, we should.”
Jagger made a loud “Ha!” that was barely audible over the donkey screams.