Chapter 10 #2
It took a little bit of convincing to get the guys to come to lunch with me after practice, but I really needed to shake off the heaviness from earlier.
Luckily, they love the little hole in the wall down the street as much as I do.
So we walked while I sang “We’re following the leader” the entire way.
Their moanin’ and groanin’ only spurring my desire to sing louder and more off-key.
I swear they secretly love sing-alongs with Lucas. They'd rather swallow glass than admit it, but they would be so bored without me. I continue, marching with my pretend baton all the way to our favorite hideaway. Ironically called The Hideout.
“Do you ever shut up?” Sammy grumbles as I pull the door open. He’s still salty about his unannounced photoshoot. Abby showed me the picture, though, it’s gold. I’ll be hanging it up in my house, too, maybe Lettie would want a copy. She could throw knives at his face or something.
I send him a saccharine smile. “I do not.”
He rolls his eyes as I follow him through the door. “Admit it, Sammy. You’d be lost without me.”
He scoffs as we sit at our usual table in the corner. “You looooove my singing. Wish I could be your ringtone, huh?”
I shimmy my shoulders with the enthusiasm of a knock off Shakira, swaying in my seat as I dramatically sing, “Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like m–” oof.
His elbow meets my rib with annoying strength, earning me a full table of laughs from my teammates.
The sound wraps around my soul, hugging it enough to settle after its latest round of motherly rejections.
The owner of the Hideout doesn’t even come to our table when he sees us anymore. He just puts our order in and goes about his day. We all order the same thing every single time. I swear, we’d be the perfect candidates to be stalked and murdered because we are all creatures of habit.
From our schedules, to what we do on our days off, where we can be found between the hours of two and five PM Eastern Standard Time, to what we eat when we go out.
Of course, that last one depends on whether we're in season. We’re too high profile for the most part for anyone to get away with it, at least on our home turf.
“Do you want to tell us what prompted this random Thursday lunch date?” Reed asks.
“What? A guy can’t want to spend time with his broskis?” I lob back.
His eyes narrow, letting me know he doesn’t believe a damn word I’m saying.
I drag my hand down my face, letting out a sigh while I search for words that won’t make me look like a helpless idiot.
“I went to see Mom the other day. It’s getting harder and harder to go.
” My chest starts to ache, the truth is sitting right in front of me.
These visits aren’t doing anything for my mental health, and I need to start choosing myself a little more.
“I don’t know what to do about it. Honestly, I just don’t want to sit alone with it right now. ”
Wilder’s hand comes down on my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “We got you, buddy.” He jostles me a bit before dropping his hand and turning to the baskets of bread Mr. Pat just dropped off at our table.
My eyes meet Reed’s across the table, his head tilts slightly to the side, his signature silent “are you okay?” He’s the king of nonverbal communication, we’re all so in tune with each other on and off the ice, and I swear it’s because of his leadership.
I nod before grabbing a piece of bread and shoving it in my mouth.
“Can we take a very serious vote?” I ask, drawing the eyes of my five closest teammates. Wilson raises his eyebrow as to say get on with it. It makes me smile. We aren’t a patient bunch, that’s for sure. “Is candy corn an actual candy or just meant for decoration?”
Sammy drops his head on the table, letting it softly bang against it a few times before he sits up, giving me the most exasperated look he’s got. “Candy corn is an abomination, and you know it,” he says flatly.
“Now wait a minute…” Reed cuts in, earning him a sharp glare. “I tried a cupcake the other day, and it had candy corn frosting. It was pretty freaking good.”
Samuels’ head tilts to the side. “Huh. Cecy made candy corn cupcakes earlier this week. Where’d you get yours?
I’ll tell her to go try it out.” He snags a fry from the basket that’s being lowered to the table.
“Hell, maybe she can rope one of you guys into being her taste tester. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister…
but my stomach does not love this baking phase she’s in. ”
I watch Reed’s gaze drop, suddenly very interested in the chicken pesto in front of him. “Just something from that new bakery downtown,” he says around a mouthful of food.
“Bullshit,” Andrews says, as he terribly tries to hide it under a cough.
Suddenly, there’s food being thrown. A wet noodle slaps me in the face while I watch in horror as Reed takes a handful of ice and shoves it down the back of Andrews’ shirt.
“AHHHH! Cold! Cold, coooolld!” he shrieks as he jumps up, hopping around to dislodge the ice.
Unrestrained laughter breaks free as we watch our goalie and captain run around the table like overgrown children, flinging handfuls of ice at each other. The clatter of chairs, the thud of their footsteps, and Andrew’s outraged yelp. It’s all a soundtrack that perfectly fits the chaos of our team.
“This isn’t very captainly of you, Reed,” I manage between my own laughter, flicking a cold chip of ice off my shoulder. I swear one of his love languages is tormenting everyone on this team in a way that only makes sense when he’s involved.
He skids to a stop behind me, breathless, and slings an arm around my neck in a loose headlock. He leans in enough that I can feel the grin in his voice. “Oh yeah? How’s this for captainly?”
He throws a few mock jabs to my ribs, but he forgets one little fact: we’re the closest in size. I push my chair back with a little more force than necessary, catching him off guard and easily flipping the script. His head now sits between my arm and ribs.
“Match point,” I say, tightening the hold I have on him just enough to make him grunt and laugh at the same time.
Two taps on my leg and he surrenders. I let him go, he stumbles dramatically back to his chair. “Alright, alright, I’ll take my loss,” he says, flapping his napkin a few times before placing it in his lap as if he’s some distinguished gentleman.
But no one lets him actually take his loss. “So,” Wilson starts as he pops a sweet potato fry in his mouth. “Where’d you really get your cupcake?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say our dear captain was blushing. Sammy catches it. “Hey, wait, he’s right. Have you been eating Cecilia's goodies?”
Reed chokes on his food, slapping a hand against his chest to dislodge it from wherever it's stuck. His hand shakily reaches for his water as he tries to get a handle on himself.
My head falls forward as a shudder rolls through me. “Good lord, Sammy. Please don’t talk about your sister's goodies while we’re eating.”
His eyes widen before they narrow, and he tosses his balled-up napkin in my direction. “You absolute degenerate,” he says in mock outrage. “That’s my sister. I don’t want to be thinking about her goodies.” He puts them in air quotes like that makes it any better.
Wilson groans. “Can we stop saying goodies? I’m trying to enjoy my freaking panini.”
“Sure, but we never got to vote. Candy or Decor?” I ask, smiling around the fry I just took a bite of.
All five of them throw their napkins at me. Oh, to be loved in such a way that my teammates shower me with paper balls of adoration. I love it here, and for the time being, it’s done its job.