Chapter 6
Six
Storm
“Push me higher, Mom!” I hear as I shove myself down the twisting disaster that’s the big slide.
My back protests and my knees crackle and it’s reminded me I need to get my ass back in the gym.
And even as I’m thinking that, I’m wondering what the point is.
Why I’m still playing. Why I care. What it all means.
I could retire now, could live off the interest of my savings for the rest of my life, could—
Do what?
Theoretically, I’ll see a few more decades, maybe even more than that, considering how long my dad lived even while doing his best to pickle his liver.
So, I’ll just be done with hockey and what?
Sit around in the dark, twiddling my thumbs?
Jerking off until I’m raw and feeling like the ultimate loser of all time?
Or maybe I’m already there.
A fucking loser.
A failure.
A—
“You’re funny,” Chloe says and I snap back into the present, realize I’ve managed to shove my way to the bottom of the slide. The little girl smiles down at me and starts chattering about a kid named Jake, who apparently is allergic to oranges.
Why she’s imparting this bit of knowledge onto me, I don’t know.
Or maybe it’s just that she likes to talk.
I’ve learned she lives down in Oakland with her dad who plays for the Eagles, but her former nanny and now soon-to-be stepmom, Finn, does craft fairs, including the monthly one that Blossom puts on at Bits & Bobs.
Christ.
I cannot believe that Bits & Bobs is still around.
And further that, I cannot believe that Blossom is running it.
She…well, when we were classmates she was about as far from the crafty type as I could imagine—black lipstick, fishnet tights, shit-kicker Doc Martens, and a constant scowl that didn’t exactly scream selling yarn and sparkly fabric and little signs with inspirational sayings on them.
But…time’s change, yeah?
This slide hasn’t, though.
Of course, it just used to be a lot bigger. Or I used to be a lot smaller. Or—
Chloe extends her little hand, as though to help me up. Meanwhile, I’m two-hundred-plus pounds and could flatten her with barely a thought.
For some reason, though, I still wrap my fingers around hers, let her tug at my arm.
She grunts softly, her brows pulled into a tight V, as she “helps” me up to my feet.
“You wanna go again?” she asks.
“I think the slide would rather I didn’t.”
Laughter from my side, but not from Chloe or Holly.
From Poppy.
And for a moment, I’m frozen.
Because there isn’t concern on her face, or stress clinging to her shoulders, or anger lingering in her smile, and her eyes don’t seem to be doing their best to deliberately avoid mine.
It’s just…laughter.
And it’s fucking beautiful.
And then I’m right back in that moment.
Right back to that summer.
Right back to that night—
The sun has finally gone down and it’s a relief.
It’s been blazing hot the last week—with daily temperatures above a hundred for a full seven days in a row. And the weatherman predicts it’ll last at least a few more.
I’m avoiding going home.
We don’t have air conditioning and my dad is a grumpy bastard on the best of days, but on these ones? Where the relentless heat means that we can’t even open the windows at night to get a reprieve, he’s going to be even more of an asshole than normal.
So, I’m lingering on the beach long after my closing shift at the snack bar—known as The Shack—has ended.
And it’s as I’m shoving my feet into the sand, bypassing the still-warm surface to feel the cool grains beneath drift between my toes, that she walks up.
Poppy.
“Hey,” she murmurs as she plunks down next to me.
My eyes linger on the parts that jiggle—her ass, her tits, her thighs—and my dick goes hard.
Fuck.
I angle my hips away from her, hoping she doesn’t notice.
But she seems too preoccupied to realize I’m sporting wood.
And, gradually, as we sit here in the warm summer air, my dick starts to behave.
“Are you going to come to the barbecue?” she asks softly.
I frown, look over at her. “What barbecue?”
“Clover and Clem and some of the guys are cooking.” A smile. “We’re celebrating the end of summer.”
“Tell that to the weather,” I mutter.
She giggles. “I know. It’s been ridiculously hot. So?” she prompts a few moments—or maybe a few minutes—later.
I’m focused on the mere inch that separates our bodies, on the vanilla scent of her sunscreen, the silky tease of her hair as the light breeze tickles it over my arm.
So, I have no fucking idea what she’s talking about.
“Wh-what?” I stammer.
“The barbecue,” she says, amusement in her voice. “Are you going to come?”
I did go.
I hung with her and the others.
Ate some charred hot dogs we “grilled” over the fire pit, consumed my body weight in s’mores, drank enough beers that climbing the cliffs and jumping off Grizzly Rock under the light of the full moon into the water below seemed like a great idea.
The cold seized our lungs, took that buzz right off.
And it left Poppy shivering.
And me holding her close under a blanket I stole from the beach supplies we all keep at The Shack.
It was the most efficient way to keep her warm.
Especially since I purposely didn’t grab towels.
And anyway, we were teenagers.
It didn’t take long for the cold to be forgotten, for the warm summer air to dry our bodies, for my lips to find hers.
Frantic. Glorious. Embarrassingly short.
But I made it up the second time.
And fell asleep with my arms around her, feeling like I’d found the first good thing in this town.
Until I woke up.
Alone.
Almost as if she hadn’t been there at all.
Except for the memories—the feel of her skin, the taste of her body, the scent of her sunscreen.
Those had lingered.
For far too long.
“Watch out!”
I blink, realize that I’ve lingered far too long here at the park too—in my thoughts, anyway.
And now I’ve come face-to-face with the Cedar Hollow Mafia.
“Honk!” the beady-eyed fucker…well, honks.
“Shoo, Gerald!” Holly says and he trains his gaze—and beak—on her.
Shit.
Cedar Hollow may be safe, may be mostly crime free.
But that’s only when taking into account the human population.
The avian one, on the other hand?
They steal and pillage and generally create chaos.
And the leader of the collective of Canadian Geese who migrated here a few decades ago—and then never left—is Gerald.
Who’s currently focused on Holly.
I move without thinking, stepping forward and reaching for her, intending to pull her behind me.
Too late.
Or maybe it’s right on time.
Wings flapping, Gerald launches him forward and—
“Ah, fuck!” I cry as pain explodes in my ass.
“That’s a bad word,” Holly says, her eyes wide.
Wide enough that I truly notice them for the first time.
Truly notice their color.
Everything inside me seizes and I freeze as…
It clicks.
Why I let Holly drag me to Scoops. Why I accepted the invite to the park. Why I lingered when the only thing that made sense was leaving.
Holly is Poppy’s doppelganger, in looks and in spirit—having Poppy’s tenacity, her joy, her smile.
But she also has…
My eyes.
A truth that hits me so hard I don’t move.
Can’t move.
I just stare as it all rushes through me—that night, the years since, the fact that Poppy. Didn’t. Fucking. Tell. Me.
All of which—unfortunately—gives Gerald another opportunity to be an asshole.
“Ow!” I cry as he pecks at me again, his wings beating against my legs, his claws…well, clawing at my pants.
Holly screams.
Chloe gasps.
Poppy shouts.
And…
Well, I end up face first in the tanbark.