Chapter 4
chapter four
“What do you think?” Ryland asked, bracing himself as he stood in the field between the farmhouse and the farm shop.
On his phone, his team captain chopped vegetables, presumably for his dinner.
“A team retreat, huh?” Desmond Raymond said, his voice so deep it might as well have its own register. “Let me preface my response by saying that I like the idea.”
Ryland’s shoulders drooped. “But?”
“But . . . I’m conscious of timing. A team retreat this summer is problematic. Not only do most of the guys have their summer plans firmed up, but we’re scattered to the four winds right now.”
“True.” Ryland blew out a breath and tipped his head back, blinking up at an overcast sky. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
While Ryland hadn’t been impressed with Dabbs’ proclamation that teamwork was the only way to winning the Stanley Cup, the more he’d thought about it over the past few days, the more it began to make sense. As a cliquey team, the Columbus Pilots could use more cohesion.
Not that Ryland knew anything about how to bring a team together. Sure, he’d been team captain for a year in college, but he’d been a shithead back then and had mostly led via arrogance and optimism.
Every blog he’d read about team building had suggested a team retreat. Ergo, this call with Des.
But he hadn’t considered the timing.
“And it’s not like we can do it during the season,” he said, thinking out loud. “So we’d be looking at next summer.”
“Unless we can fit it into training camp. But I doubt it.”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Not for this season, but I’ll talk to Coach about including it in next season’s training camp.”
It was over a year away, but that was fine. It wasn’t like attending one team-building retreat this summer would miraculously create team cohesiveness.
But they had to start somewhere.
“I liked your idea for show-and-tell.”
“Oh man.” Chuckling, Ryland sat on the grass. “I was worried you’d think it was too juvenile.”
“I think it’s great.” Des traded a carrot for a zucchini and began chopping. “Every player picks a day that they’ll bring something in before a game or team meeting. It’ll create connection, and that’s what we’re missing.”
“That was my thought too. Like, Miles has this chessboard that used to be his grandfather’s.
It’s the one his grandfather taught him to play on before he died, and it’s basically his most prized possession.
And a while back, I overheard Lang mention that he used to be on his high school chess team.
They have something in common that could bring them closer together, but they don’t even know it because they’ve never hung out outside of the arena.
“Oh, and I had this other idea,” Ryland rambled on, “that you might actually think is juvenile. But what about . . . I’m not sure what to call them.
Team spirit trophies? Things the team can vote on and we can give the trophies out at the end of the season.
Rookie of the year, most improved, most sportsmanship, best at getting everyone motivated.
And then irrelevant ones like best smile, best flow, cleanest stall, and smelliest socks.
I’m just trying to think of ways to create common threads between us. ”
“I love it,” Des said. “And we can look at doing small-group activities outside the arena too. Mini golf, pub trivia, escape rooms. That sort of thing.”
A cry came from Des’s side of the line—his newborn demanding attention.
“I gotta go,” Des said. “We’ll talk about this some more in the next few weeks, yeah?”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Des.”
Hanging up, Ryland lay back in the grass and stared up at the sky. The clouds were heavy with rain, and behind him, the forest underbrush rustled, likely from a squirrel or chipmunk.
He was aware that nothing he hoped to implement would be a quick fix. That wasn’t the point. His goal was to get the guys working together in a way that would make it easier for them—and him—to instinctively know where their teammates were on the ice during a game.
Ryland had watched the Stanley Cup Finals last month when they’d aired, and he’d rewatched them over the past couple of days with a new perspective.
Watching the Trailblazers dominate the finals was like watching a choreographed dance.
If one knew to look for it, it was obvious that the players had put a lot of time into building their interrelationships.
Ryland didn’t want the Pilots to be the Trailblazers—but they could certainly learn from them.
A shadow fell over him, followed by his best friend frowning down at him.
“What are you doing?” Denver asked.
“Brainstorming ideas for how to bring my team closer together. What are you doing?”
“I was just chatting with Jason about the New Hampshire markets he’d like me to cover this month.” Denver lay down beside him. “Want to come? It’ll be less boring with you there.”
“Yeah. Let me know what dates.”
“So,” Denver drawled out the word and nudged him with his elbow. “Saw you with Kyle Dabbs at The Striped Maple last week.”
“I figured.” Ryland turned his head to look at him. “You didn’t come say hi.”
“I didn’t think you’d thank me for interrupting your flirt-on.”
Ryland laughed.
Dabbs had left on the Fourth, after the two them, Jason, and Bellamy had grabbed lunch from one of the vendors at Frozen Fest, which they’d done after Ryland had tracked down the grossest ice cream flavor he could find for Dabbs to try.
Macaroni and cheese.
Ryland still wished he could un-taste that.
But although Dabbs had left, Bellamy had stayed behind. With Dabbs heading to his hometown this week to visit his family, that would leave Bellamy alone in the townhouse they shared. So he and Jason were driving to Burlington later this week to play house.
“Did I tell you me and Dabbs shared a bed the night of the campout?” Ryland told Denver.
“You shared a tent?”
“No, a bed.”
Ryland told him how they’d ended up there—leaving out the conversation about his parents’ divorce and Dabbs’ dad—finishing with, “I woke up snuggled up to his back, but I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Very sarcastically, Denver said, “Uh-huh.”
“I swear. Turns out he’s a cover hog. I guess I was cold during the night and he was the only source of heat.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Dabbs had felt so good against him. Hot and smooth and hard, his back rising and falling steadily with his every breath. Ryland had awoken only a few minutes before him, and he hadn’t moved away because . . .
Well, he hadn’t wanted to. Sue him.
The clouds drifted above as Ryland thought about everything Dabbs had told him while he’d been visiting. Dabbs valued his private life, which Ryland could respect. Hell, he still felt bad about including him in his Instagram live at the festival.
It must’ve reminded Dabbs about his childhood and about that friend who’d told their classmates about his dad.
Being the subject of gossip, especially as a kid, could be traumatizing.
And there Ryland had been, cheerily including Dabbs in his livestream without his consent because he was so goddamn happy that Dabbs was there at all—putting Dabbs front and center to potentially have his private life gossiped about.
Dabbs had been understanding about it, but . . .
Ugh. Ryland had handed him a stupid crocheted ice cream cone named Shannon while Dabbs must’ve been fuming inside.
Dabbs had said they were too different to make a relationship work, and although Ryland had been determined to prove him wrong . . .
What if he was right?
But more than that—what if Dabbs never saw him as anything other than a bully? Ryland wasn’t stupid; he’d taken what Dabbs had said and come to his own conclusion.
Thing the first: Dabbs had called his own father a bully.
Thing the second: This past spring, he’d told Ryland that he didn’t date people who were mean to his teammates.
Conclusion: Dabbs thought Ryland was a bully, and if his dad was as awful as he’d made it sound, he no doubt didn’t want another bully in his life.
But Ryland wasn’t a bully. Okay, yes, he’d been terrible to Bellamy, and although he’d never labeled the behavior, he could look back on it and admit that he’d had some major bully-ish tendencies where Bellamy was concerned.
That wasn’t who Ryland was, though. Not really.
How did he make Dabbs see that?
“Ry! Denver!”
Jason’s frantic shout had them scrambling onto their knees to find Jason racing toward them. That shout could’ve meant anything from There’s an emergency at home to You’re about to be eaten by Mabel.
Not that the Maplewood Monster was known for being carnivorous.
“Everything okay?” Denver asked him.
“Oh my god.” Jason slid to a stop a few feet from them and braced his hands on his knees. He heaved in a breath. “I thought you were dead.”
Ryland shared a look with his best friend. “You . . . what?”
“You were just lying there in the grass.” Jason sounded almost angry. “Not moving. I thought something had happened to you.”
“To . . . ” Ryland shared another look with Denver. “Both of us?”
“I don’t know, okay? It wasn’t rational. You weren’t moving, so my first thought was They must be dead. Jesus, I’m never going to recover from this.”
Ryland tried to hold in a laugh at the overreaction, but a snort escaped.
The panic left Jason’s face, and he rolled his eyes as he gave Ryland a shove. “Asshole.”
“Sorry,” Denver said, sounding genuinely contrite, a sharp contrast to Ryland’s hiccupping laughter.
Jason straightened with an air of dignified nonchalance. “Thank you, Denver.” He pointed a finger at Ryland. “You could take pointers from him.”
Ryland snorted. “He used to eat grass.”
He was shoved again, this time by Denver. “Fuck you. I was six. You were the one who thought it’d be a good idea to put a fake cockroach in the cookie jar.”
Ryland didn’t know whether to laugh or wince. “Not my brightest idea. I meant it as a prank, but my dad threw out the entire jar.”
“Yeah,” Jason said in a very duh-like tone.
“Cockroaches carry and spread disease-causing pathogens, including bacteria like salmonella and E. coli, and they carry viruses like polio. They’re also known vectors for illnesses, and they can trigger asthma and allergic reactions in people who are susceptible. Of course Dad threw out the whole jar.”
“But . . . But my cockroach was fake,” Ryland protested.
“Dad didn’t know that. Not until it was too late. That’s what you get for a dumbass prank: no dessert. And speaking of food, Bellamy and I are heading to Red’s Restaurant for dinner. Want to join us?”
“Sure.” Denver hopped to his feet and ran a hand over his shaved head. “I could eat.”
“Me too,” Ryland said. “And I won’t even put a cockroach in it this time.”