5. Shawn
Shawn
My bedroom window is dotted with rain when I wake up, and even though I can’t check the forecast, I’m sure Blaze was right and today won’t be a hiking day.
I roll onto my back, then stretch out in the big king-sized bed.
The mattress is more comfortable than any hotel mattress I’ve ever slept on.
I guess that’s because this isn’t a hotel.
It’s some magical alternate universe where I’m cut off from the outside world and there’s nothing to do but enjoy the moment.
I find myself more okay with that by the minute.
Last night after our almost cornily wholesome fishing experience, I went back to my cabin to find the magical elves had struck again, leaving a meal warming on low in the oven.
I ate every scrap of it, hungrier than I realized after being out in the fresh, chilly evening air in shorts and a polo shirt. Next time I’ll wear layers, like Blaze.
Just when I was regretting not ordering dessert, I looked in the freezer compartment of the half-sized kitchenette fridge and found a pint of salted caramel gelato.
I happen to have a weakness for anything salted caramel, and for a second I thought maybe this cabin was actually magical and I could conjure up anything I wanted if I thought about it hard enough.
Then I made the connection—Callie. She must have given them a list of my preferences or something.
I ate half the container, took a shower, and went to bed before midnight.
Eventually, I force myself off the comfortable mattress, head to the bathroom to execute my morning routine, even if I have no plans to see anyone today.
I hesitate over the razor. Blaze’s handsomely bearded face swims into my mind, and I scratch my barely bristly chin.
Should I take this opportunity out of society to see if I could grow my own beard?
Then I remember how patchy it came in the last time the team made a no-shave pact when we were on a winning streak.
Jett made fun of my peach fuzz for days.
It’s stupid, but that easy camaraderie is what I miss the most about being on the team. I don’t have siblings. My team was my family, and I took it for granted it would always be that way.
A knock comes at my door as I’m patting my freshly shaven cheeks dry.
I answer to find an insulated hamper on the steps.
I bring it inside and set up my breakfast on the living room coffee table so I can enjoy watching the rain from my window.
The mushroom omelet I picked at random from the suggested menu is there, as is my brook trout.
The other fish aren’t present, and I hope Blaze is somewhere getting to enjoy his catch.
It’s odd to eat another meal alone. Which is odd in itself, since I’ve been eating the majority of meals alone lately.
But this is different. I’m used to the TV always blasting the sports networks, or deliveries, or cleaning people coming in and out, texts and emails and phone calls to return.
Here, it’s just me and my breakfast and the soft sound of rain on the glass.
It should be lonely, but it feels peaceful.
Then again, as I eat the best mushroom omelet I’ve ever had and bite into the tender, lightly breaded briny trout, I think about Blaze and how it would make sense if he were here to share this with me.
He seems like a good guy. Easy to be around.
And after that one strange, intrusive thought about kissing him, my brain came back online.
He’s just a nice, easy-going, and, yeah, objectively good-looking person.
Hopefully, I’m not annoying him with my enthusiasm.
But isn’t that his job? To help me stay busy?
I wonder what I’m going to do all day, then remember the spa.
I call and book a massage for after lunch, then look up my mom’s number and call to let her know I can’t get texts for a few days.
She takes down the phone number of the cabin in case of emergency and tells me to take advantage of this time.
I ask if Dad’s there, and she makes an excuse.
I sigh and let it go. I’m not the only one struggling with my being cut from my team.
I poke around the cabin and find some puzzles in a trunk underneath a heavy throw blanket.
There’s seriously no TV, not even one to hook up to a DVD player.
I’m generally a big movie watcher—it used to give me something to do when we were on the road.
But I suppose I can catch up on anything I’ve missed when I get home.
I did bring a rain jacket, at least, so I throw it on and jog over to the lodge.
I try the side door Marika and I used yesterday and let myself into the ballroom.
I close the door quietly so as not to disturb the half-dozen people inside.
I register Blaze immediately, throwing beanbags across the room toward a plywood target.
He’s playing cornhole. His opponent is a teenage boy with acne on his chin wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt.
He scowls when Blaze gets one of his bags through the hole.
Blaze crows and says, “You’re up, Max. Let’s see what you got.”
A man and a woman, who I assume are Max’s parents, sit in front of the oversized fireplace on the opposite wall, talking. Marika is at a nearby dining table of rough-hewn wood, typing into a laptop. Another woman folds linen napkins into neat piles on the other end of the same table.
I watch Max throw some not-bad shots, and then Blaze notices me.
“Shawn, hey, you wanna play winner?”
I laugh and feel slightly uncomfortable when every head in the room swivels to look at me. “Maybe I should play loser with the way you two are going.”
Max clocks me, and his eyes go extra wide. His gaze darts to his parents, who give me a polite nod.
I figure I should just get it over with and walk over to Max. “Hey, I’m Shawn.”
“Cool,” Max says, his eyes still wide. “I’m Max. I’m, like, a really big fan. The Laurels might go all the way this year. Well, not you—I mean. Sorry.” His face flushes red to match his pimples. “I just meant you’re like one of my favorite shortstops.”
“Thanks,” I say with practiced ease. The reminder that my team’s headed to the playoffs without me gives me a feeling akin to heartburn right under my breastbone, but I ignore it and paste on a smile. “Let’s hope they go far, right?”
“Totally. We’re leaving tomorrow because we have tickets to the game on Saturday.”
“Have fun at the game. Wish I was going to be there.” I mean watching the game in person, but I could also mean wishing I was going to be on the field. I cringe at my transparency.
Max just grins. “Thanks. So, you want to play cornhole?”
“Why don’t you join Max’s team?” Blaze suggests.
“Two against one? Is that really fair?” I say, smiling at Blaze.
“You tell me after I whip you,” Blaze says cockily.
I laugh. “You’re on.”
I get caught up on the score. Blaze is up 8 to 5, and they’re playing to 21.
Blaze is good—he gets two bags in the hole, but overshoots on the other two.
On our turn, I let Max take the first two shots.
He gets one on the board, and one in the hole.
When it’s my turn, I weigh the bag in my hand carefully.
It’s not a baseball. I adjust to the weight and shape accordingly.
I aim for the top hole and let it fly. The bag lands heavily short.
I laugh. “That was my warmup,” I say, and tweak my throw on the second bag, which sails through the bottom hole clean.
Max whoops. “Yes, we scored!” We high five and Blaze claps.
“Okay, so you’re a contender,” he says good-naturedly.
We fight it out to the bitter end, when Blaze misses his last shot and Max and I eke out a win.
“Yes!” Max yells, joy radiating out of his body.
I clap him on the shoulder. “Good game, kid.”
“Oh my god, I played cornhole with Shawn Camden. This totally makes a week without my phone worth it.”
He fist-bumps me and then goes over to his parents, who look happy that their son is happy.
Blaze heads my way to pick up the bean bags. “That was nice of you.”
“It was fun,” I answer honestly. “And it’s not like I had anything else on my agenda.”
“Still,” he says. “They came here because it’s the anniversary of his sister passing away. I think you made his entire year.”
“Jesus.” I glance at the family by the fireplace.
They look so ordinary, I would never have known they’d dealt with that kind of loss.
I feel like a dick and a half to be so wrapped up in my own problems. Making Max’s day didn’t take much from me.
I used to love that about being on the team, too.
We’d do volunteer work together, visiting children’s hospitals, donating to fundraisers for all kinds of causes.
I let all that fall away when I got cut.
But there’s no reason I can’t still do that stuff.
I’m a jerk not to have thought of it sooner.
“Want to play again?” Blaze asks, tossing a beanbag in the air and catching it with one hand. Soft black hairs peek out of the flannel shirt rolled up over his forearms. I blink and look away.
“Nah. Oh—I wanted to ask you something.”
He turns his hazel eyes to me in question.
“Did you get to eat any of the fish we caught? I had some with breakfast, and it was seriously good stuff.”
“No, Nolan didn’t share,” he says, sounding unconcerned.
“That’s not cool—you caught that fish fair and square.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had plenty of fish from the lake before.”
It still feels wrong, but I guess it’s another thing I have to let go. “Well, next time I’m going to make sure you get some.”
“Next time?”
“Yeah. That was fun. I’m totally doing it again before I leave.”
“Sounds good.” He waves goodbye to Max and his parents as they leave the ballroom.
“Wait a second, I’ll be right back.” I jog over to Marika. “Hey, sorry to bother you. Do you have some paper I could use?”
“Of course. There’s stationery at the front. I’ll get you some.” She closes her computer and stands. I follow her to the front desk, where she passes me a stack of recycled-looking paper with Sanctuary Lake Retreat printed at the top.
I write a few sentences with the heavy blue ink pen she provides and scribble my signature.
It’s a note for Max to give to ballpark security.
Later I’ll call Manny, the Laurels fan liaison—on the landline, of course—and ask him to make Max’s visit to the ballpark on Saturday extra special.
I don’t work for the organization anymore, but I can still call in some favors.
“Can you give this to Max before he leaves?”
“Sure.” She doesn’t read it, puts it in an envelope. “He’s a good kid.”
“Seems like it.”
“What else do you need?”
“Need?” I think about my stay so far. “Nothing. This place is kind of perfect—except for the rain.”
She smiles. “Tomorrow’s supposed to be clear.”
That reminds me of the other thing I want to talk to Blaze about. I excuse myself and head back to the ballroom, where I find him dismantling the game.
“Hey, I was hoping we could set up that hike for tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure. I’m taking another guest kayaking in the morning, so could we do it in the afternoon?”
“My schedule is wide open,” I say, though tomorrow afternoon sounds like a long way away. “What should I bring?”
“Just some decent sneakers or hiking boots and a warm layer. I’ll take care of everything else. Snacks, water bottles, bug spray. Flashlights.”
“Flashlights?”
“Just in case.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, putting his forearms front and center. “You know, the lookout is a great spot for stargazing if we want to make it an evening hike.”
“Like, in the dark?”
“We’d walk up before it gets dark, but yeah. You’ll definitely need a jacket for that, though.”
“I have one.”
“Great. It’ll be fun. I’ll bring Misty.”
For some reason, I tense. “Misty?”
“My Australian Shepherd.”
I instantly relax. For a second I thought he meant his girlfriend or something. “Sounds like an adventure.” I’m not sure about this at all, but I trust Blaze.
His hazel eyes twinkle. “See you tomorrow then, around four?”
“Great.” I don’t move, and he doesn’t either, and we end up staring at each other for a long, awkward second until he finally backs up a step and gives me a sort of half-salute.
“Okay, see ya, Shawn.”
“See you.” I turn and head out the way I came in. Outside, rain drips onto my face, cooling my unnaturally hot cheeks.