6 - Haven
HAVEN
The lights were still on by the time I got back to the house, but the noise had settled into something lower and less chaotic. It wasn’t quiet, by any means. Just… contained.
Mercer had kept me longer than I expected. We went over films, notes, patterns — all manner of data we could analyze to form our plan of attack. The man was in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, but he had the energy and enthusiasm — at least, when it came to hockey — of someone half his age.
Or maybe he was just excited at everything he’d seen tonight.
By now though, I was mentally and physically drained. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, bracing myself for the now-familiar wave of heat and stale air. It swung a punch at me just as before, only this time I managed to duck out of the way by partially holding my breath.
Deeper in the house, a few voices floated in. They were faint in pitch, against low, overlapping laughter. A television, maybe. Or something else.
I shut the door and slipped off my coat. As I did, something moved.
It was low. Low and behind me.
I whirled, just in time to see a round black disk glide slowly across the floor, heading straight for my feet.
I stepped back instinctively, but the disk adjusted. It kept on coming.
“Don’t take it personally,” a voice called from the living room. “He doesn’t like new people.”
I looked up. Asher was sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown casually over the back. He was holding a beer in his hand, and was watching me like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all night. Caleb sat nearby, half tuned into the television but also mildly interested in me.
Just then, the thing on the floor bumped right into my boot.
I paused, looking down. The thing rotated in a slow, deliberate circle, as if reconsidering its life choices.
That’s when I noticed the piece of cardboard taped to the top. It was crude, but someone had drawn a wooden shield on it, in black marker. On the other side of the machine, someone had taped something that looked like a cardboard sword.
“What is that?” I asked.
“That’s Sir-Cleans-a-Lot,” said Caleb.
He said it so casually. Like it explained everything.
I stared down at it some more, watching as it bumped into a table leg. The little robot turned again, then continued its slow, determined path across the floor. I had to admit, the thing had personality. It moved like it had somewhere to be.
“Trash panda’s been acting up all night,” Asher added.
“Trash panda?”
“Depends on the mood,” he said with a shrug. “Sometimes it’s floor goblin.”
“Sometimes it’s a liability,” Caleb muttered. “Remember that time Riley tripped over it, and ended up at the Urgent Care?”
Asher shook his head, with a scowl. “We don’t talk about that time. Remember?”
“Oh yeah.”
Sir-Cleans-a-Lot rolled directly into my other foot. I stepped over it, to give it room, and it continued on its course, undeterred.
“Careful,” Asher warned. “He’s armed.”
The little sword flopped lazily, at a point where the cardboard had been bent. Then my stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten all day.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.”
They went back to watching television, and I headed into the kitchen. I set my bag down, popped open the fridge, and took a good, hard look.
The fridge, it turned out, was beyond full.
Top to bottom, left to right, it was packed with containers, open boxes, and half-eaten takeout.
There was a plate of dangerous mystery with aluminum foil slapped over it, the top peeled back just enough to let me know it had been there for weeks, not days.
I considered grabbing the milk and looking for some cereal, but even that couldn’t be trusted.
I closed it, and opened some cabinets instead.
“Looking for something?”
I didn’t turn. I kept on rummaging.
“Food,” I said.
There was a long pause.
“Yeah,” the voice said. “Good luck with that.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Dorian was leaning through the doorway, arms crossed, his expression neutral. I got the distinct feeling I was being judged.
I grabbed a water, and closed the fridge door.
“Got it.”
Leaning back against the counter, I twisted the cap off and took a long swig. If ever it was obvious I wasn’t a part of this, it was now.
Groceries, I thought to myself. Tomorrow.
Now half empty, the plastic bottle crinkled in my hand.
Early. Before they could—
A door slammed, somewhere behind the house. Not on the inside, though. On the outside.
Curious, I followed it. It came from the narrow hallway toward the back of the kitchen that I hadn’t explored yet. Halfway down, I heard laughter. Voices. More laughter, even louder than before.
Then a burst of steam rolled in, gathering around me like a cloud.
I blinked in confusion. A scent made it to my nostrils; something warm, something sharp. Like wood.
Another peal of laughter floated in, followed by more steam. For a moment I considered retreating. Just grabbing a second water, and heading back to my room.
Fuck that.
Resolute, I continued on down the hallway. A door blocked me. I pushed it open.
Cold air rushed over me first, then a wave of heat. I paused, confused at the contrast. Then I stepped onto the back landing.
There was a structure attached crudely to the back of the house. It was completely unoriginal, made up of rough wood and slatted boards. It was box-shaped, and not very large. Almost like a shed, tacked onto the house.
Then I saw steam rolling out in waves, from the slightly opened door.
The voices inside grew louder. I took two steps closer, peering in the direction of the opening.
Cedar. That was the first thing I registered. The inside was lined with it; warm-toned wood, reddish brown, stained darker in places where things had soaked in over time. Two benches ran along the sides, and also the back wall. The inside shimmered faintly with heat.
Ares sat closest to the door, shirt off, wrapped from the waist down in a white towel. He had his elbows braced on his knees. Sweat ran down his broad back, making the powerful muscles there glisten.
Grayson was in the center, leaning against the back wall. He had his eyes closed, and a smile still on his face from laughing at whatever Zack — sitting beside him — was talking about. His friend was gesturing with his hand, tracing something in the air. I couldn’t catch what he was saying, though.
A sauna.
For some reason the place made them look wholly different than back at the rink. They were much more in their element here. Relaxed, in a place that was all theirs.
I took one last step forward, trying to get a better look—
A body moved. Fast. It blocked the entryway completely.
When I looked up again, Ares was there. His glistening body filled my entire field of view.
“Player only,” he said.
His words were flat, but not aggressive. That was worse, I think. Aggressive I could understand.
I held his gaze for a moment. Maybe it was the heat rolling off his exposed skin, but his eyes seemed to blaze with an inner fire.
“You… use this for recovery?” I asked.
He didn’t move. He only stood there.
“Player only,” he repeated.
Somewhere behind him, one of the others snorted. I stepped back.
“Right.”
Ares didn’t move until I’d retreated back into the house. When I did, I heard the door shut behind me with a dull, solid sound.
Without the steam, I was cold again. And somewhat wounded. And more than a little bit angry.
Storming back through the kitchen, I grabbed my bag and headed for the stairs.
No one stopped me; not even Sir-Cleans-a-Lot, who was spinning lazily between the legs of the couch.
I got to the second floor landing when I bumped into Sebastian, with a towel slung over one shoulder.
He mumbled an apology, then shifted his body to one side so I could pass.
“Late night?” he asked, more out of a requirement to make small talk.
“Something like that.”
I continued up. After two more steps, I stopped and turned around.
“You heading down to the sauna?”
He paused to look up at me. “The hot house?”
“Whatever.”
My attitude was on full display. Not like I was trying to hide it.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed for a moment.
“They didn’t let you in.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
“Nope.”
He nodded once, like it confirmed something.
“They won’t,” he said quietly.
I shook my head slowly.
“Ever?”
There was another small pause.
“Not right away,” he said.
I studied his gaze, and found judgment in his eyes. At least he was being honest.
“Are you going to tell me why?” I asked.
His eyes shifted momentarily, then returned to mine.
“You know why.”
I did… but I also didn’t. I opened my mouth again, but he spoke first.
“Look, the hot house is theirs,” he said simply. “It’s the one place—”
“I got it,” I cut him off, sharply.
Turning back to continue my climb, I could feel his eyes still on me.
“Haven…”
This was getting to be a thing: him calling me back. I almost kept going, but then sighed and stopped.
“What?” I asked, without turning around.
“They’ll get over it,” Sebastian said.
Another pause. More awkward silence.
“Will they?”
With that I trudged upstairs, feeling the colder air embrace me like a new but annoying friend. I crossed to my door, pushed it open, and stepped inside.
Somehow, it was even colder than before.
“Fuck a duck.”
I closed the door, leaned against it, and let the silence settle in. At least I’d gotten a lot done today. There was still more to do, if I wanted to pop open my laptop and download the data I’d entered into my tablet. But I was also tired.
More laughter drifted up from the first two floors — a faint reminder that everyone else was having a much better time than me. The wind rattled my window. Frost began to form at the edges.
And somewhere, downstairs, Sir-Cleans-a-Lot was bumping heads with hundred-year old floor moldings.
Groceries tomorrow. Layers tonight.
But for now, sleep.