Chapter Sixteen Mateo
(I Went to New York)
"Ishould go there."
Sophie rolls toward me and squints. She spent the night in my bed after we got wine-drunk and watched too many sappy movies, but the sun is cutting through my closed blinds, and what I've said makes no sense until she looks at my phone.
"You want to go on a boat ride?" she mumbles, and maybe it still doesn't make sense.
"No. I mean, I would. And I have. But I don't really care about the boat. Just that Jamie's on it. That's Taylor McKeon's boat."
"When was the picture taken?"
I shrug as well as I can while I'm still lying down. "Yesterday? The day before? It doesn't say. But according to a 'source,' they'll be there all week."
"So, he's on vacation again."
"Apparently."
"But he didn't invite you this year."
"Apparently not."
"And you think you should go there anyway."
I sigh. "I don't know. Everything is wrong between us now, and it would probably be so stupid to show up at one hockey superstar's lake house just to make things right with another hockey superstar."
"Probably so stupid," Sophie echoes. "But?"
"But maybe it's my turn to chase proof that somebody loves me."
She shoves me sideways and then leaves me, still talking when she stumbles into the bathroom and shouts from there.
"We both know he loves you, but if you really want to fix whatever got fucked up at your grandmother's funeral, wouldn't it be easier to knock on Jamie's own front door?
Like, when he's not on a trip with his famous coworker? "
"Yes, but no," I shout back, finally sitting up. "Surprising him at his house means I risk interrupting him and any of a dozen women. Maybe a couple of them at once. At best, the risk is that he doesn't come home at all."
Sophie reappears and leans against my doorframe. "And if you surprise him at Taylor McKeon's house, you only risk interrupting his fourth or fifth beer."
I look at the picture again, three of the five men recognizable to me even when only two of them are named.
It's not unlike the time I spent with them on that same boat, probably full of the same obscene jokes and incredible views.
If I arrive unannounced, it's entirely possible I'll be turned away with a derisive laugh, but I may also be welcomed by someone who thinks I'm just the idiot Jameson Sinclair befriended when hockey didn't keep him busy enough for higher standards.
"Will you give me a ride to the airport tomorrow?"
"Is this the dumbest thing you've ever done?"
"Oh, I don't know about that," I sigh. "I think some people would question that first decision to wait four years for someone I'd known for less than four weeks."
"Do you regret it?"
"No."
She nods as if it was the only way I could've answered. Maybe it was. "Yeah, of course I'll give you a ride. Just let me know what time."
Sophie leaves a few minutes later, her apartment close enough that she doesn't need to raid my kitchen when hers is probably better stocked.
Before I can think everything through and make better choices, I go online to book a flight at a price that should humiliate me, and forward the confirmation to her.
For a brief—and even dumber—moment, I consider giving Harper a heads up just so somebody in Jamie's family has been warned, but I drop my phone onto my nightstand and take a shower instead.
I jerk off under the near-scalding water, a straightforward means to an end when I need to relax.
At least some of the tension returns quickly when I rehearse all the ways I can say a couple of casual hellos—an apologetic one due to Taylor McKeon before I offer something hopeful to Jamie—and I wonder whether either could be helped by a small gift of some kind.
Then I remember the hit my bank account just took, and I decide my words will have to do.
A day and a half later, I'm navigating an unfamiliar road to an unfamiliar home in an unfamiliar state.
I rented a car to keep one element under my control when so little else will be, but I've been shaking since I boarded the plane in California, and I don't expect that to stop soon.
It's already later than I'd like it to be, three time zones and a layover working against me, and even given a long summer day, the sun is already down.
I want to lean into the darkness and trust it to keep me safe, but my heartbeat suggests something more foreboding, and I'd turn around if I weren't afraid that would be worse.
When I park, there are more cars than I remember from a year ago, but nothing registers as a problem for me yet.
I go back and forth about whether to leave my duffel bag in the back seat.
I've booked somewhere else to stay in case I offend anyone beyond repair, but I'm unfairly praying I don't have to leave before I've said all I need to say.
We. I think we need to say things.
I walk away without my bag, and I become more concerned when I hear laughter from somewhere closer to the lake, at least one woman's voice among others.
It has me looking back toward the cars before I frown about how wrong I might've been.
Five men had been on the boat, but the party has grown beyond that now.
I pause and listen for Jamie, but it's impossible to tell whether he's out by the dock or the fire pit or giggling in the grass with a handful of admirers.
He could be inside, recording another voice note for me. Maybe he misses me tonight.
After another step, I pause again. I don't know whether I should walk around the house to see who is out back, or just knock on the door like any other visitor.
It doesn't escape me that my terrible indecisiveness might have served me better before I booked my flight, but I'm here now, and I finally force myself to march toward the front door.
I ring the doorbell. Someone swears inside. If there's still a chance to leave, I don't take it. Seconds later, I'm face to face with Taylor McKeon, and I realize my boring life became a little wilder when I wasn't paying attention.
"Ah. Mateo. From California," he says, his head cocked as he licks his lips. I feel like his prey, and maybe that's exactly right. "This is unexpected. Were you in the neighborhood?"
He hasn't welcomed me in, nor has he opened the door enough for me to see who else is inside. There's music playing somewhere and the sounds of people shooting pool, though I don't remember a table being here before.
"Is Jamie here? Jameson. Sinclair. Obviously." I stumble over everything, and Taylor smirks.
"You must already know the answer to that. It's a hell of a fucking trip to make otherwise, even if you've missed your friend while he's been gone."
"I do. Miss him, I mean. But I—if I could just talk to him."
Taylor looks me up and down. I'm wearing decent jeans and an old INXS t-shirt under an open flannel, and I've only got my phone and the rental car keys in my hand. He leans for a view over my shoulder, though I'm not sure he can see much without better lighting, and then he meets my eyes again.
"Did you bring a bag?"
"I—yes, but I don't have to—contrary to whatever this looks like, I wouldn't demand that anyone let me stay."
"This looks like a few different things," he says.
"I miss my friend. We've covered that much."
"Of course. And after you've said hello to your friend, I could introduce you to some of the beautiful ladies who've come to spend a few days with us."
My eyes fall shut, but I'm quick to open them again. "I appreciate it, but you don't need to go to any trouble for me."
"No," he says, that single syllable dripping off his tongue. "I don't suppose I do. So—no women. Just one man. By all means, come on in."
Taylor waves me through the door and says nothing else when he leads me upstairs.
I can still hear noise from downstairs, but there are voices in front of us too, and we stop just outside the same door Jamie and I had once kept locked.
I'm not stupid enough to believe it's unlocked now, and I'm only distracted from my brutal imagination when Taylor knocks loudly enough to startle me, and probably the two people inside.
"Later, you will have to tell me whether it was worth it," he says.
I can't answer before I realize I'm wrong about the lock.
Taylor cracks the door open without waiting for an invitation, and I guess that's his right as a host, however dickish he is about it.
I'm just off to his side, thrown by how stoic he can be while I'm feeling too many things—at the very least, I would've bet he'd be excited to have a front-row seat to this show—but I'm content to study him for another second or two.
My step closer to a room full of heartache comes just as he speaks.
"Lena, how about you go see what Bailey's doing downstairs?"
A woman—Lena, apparently—scoffs. "Bailey doesn't need me to check on her."
"No, but I need you to leave."
"Come on, Taylor," Jamie groans. "We're just—"
"You're not just anything. Not anymore. I need her to leave."
Taylor pushes the door further open, and while both Jamie and Lena can see me now, only one of them gasps. Only one of them remembers what happened on a late-August night six years ago. Only one of them understands that tonight might become more impossible to escape.