Forty-Nine
September
Porter
These last few months had been good. The first of the year brought some strain between Asher and me, but I refused to let her push me away.
I understood her needing to keep her past in the past. It just took some time convincing her of it.
By Valentine’s Day, everything was back to normal between us. We were ‘us’ again.
By the end of hockey season, I was counting down the days until she was taking my name.
I wasn’t even all that upset about the Rockets not making it out of conference during post-season. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with my soon-to-be-wife.
Everything was set. This coming weekend, Asher and I would get married up at the lake house. Logan was my best man, and Carter was going to be Ash’s maid of honor.
I hated leaving Asher up in Wisconsin, but I had three days of camp I had to get through before an extended weekend. We were planning on taking a honeymoon later in the year because timing just didn’t allow it right now.
As it was, I would fly back to Wisconsin in three days’ time. Marry Asher on day four. Spend the weekend making love to her. And she and I would fly back down to South Carolina, where I was going to present to her a wedding gift—
The signed deed to the house.
I talked to our landlord about buying the property from her a few months back and she, surprisingly, agreed. I couldn’t fucking wait to share the news with Asher.
My current contract was going to be up after this season, but Avery, as my agent, assured me that there was talks about re-signing me to another five-year lucrative deal. Ash and I could continue to make Charleston home.
Until then, I just needed to get through camp.
“Again.” Coach’s voice echoed through the public rink. We started training camp every season at an ice rink in one of the local malls. The stands were littered with fans, hoping to catch sight of the next-big thing.
The sounds of sticks and skates against the new ice was a balm to my soul.
I loved offseason. But I loved hockey season more.
Everything about it brought peace to me.
All fifty guys on ice raced from the goalie line to blue line, to goalie line, to central line and back.
Nico and I always made a game out of it, competitive bastards that we were. There was a new kid on ice who kept up with the two of us.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he made roster out of camp.
The first day at camp was about speed and agility. We’d be broken off into three groups before today’s session was through—black, gray, and yellow. This would be our group throughout the rest of camp, and our team when scrimmaging.
Coach whistled and everyone moved from the goalie line to where he stood, the far blue line. Some guys took a knee on the ice. I stayed in the back, standing and leaning on my stick.
He held up a white board and explained our next drill. For the veterans of the team, it was a drill we knew well.
It was a drill that we utilized in play often.
“Okay, forwards, split off in three groups. I don’t care if you normally play center, that does not mean you need to put yourself in the middle group. We need wingers. D-men, separate in two groups.” Coach put his board down. “Let’s go!”
Everyone hustled to move but before I could push off, Coach called my name. “Prescott.”
I moved toward him, sliding to a stop on one skate. “Yeah, Coach?”
“You’re in the running for Captain this season. Prove you want it.”
I couldn’t give him words fast enough; he pushed off on his own skates before I could.
With a grin to myself, I followed behind.
This year was going to be so fucking great.
***
Day one at camp always felt long.
Exciting, but long.
It was the getting back on your skates, getting back with the team. Sometimes Coach would bring in new drills, and it was learning them.
But camp was always exciting.
Nico and I were in the weight room attached to the rink doing light cardio afterward. He was running on a treadmill—it was ‘light’ to him—and I was slowly peddling away on a bike.
Another kid was lifting, but he’d be sorry about that in the morning. He was some eighteen-year old kid, who didn’t have a clue what he was in for.
Things weren’t the same as they were in high school. After the pushing in camp, further pushing your muscles right after wasn’t the way to go on day one.
“Prescott.”
I turned my head at my name. The new assistant coach, Gonzalez—or Gonzo, as he introduced himself—walked in and waved me over.
I turned off the bike and grabbed my towel and water bottle, chugging as I walked over.
“What’s up?”
“You have a phone call. Family.”
I wiped the towel over my face. “All right.” I sighed and followed him to the makeshift office. It was probably Avery making sure my suit was ready.
Not only did she take charge in my professional career, but she pretty much planned this wedding. To hear Asher talk about it, Avery nearly had it planned before Asher could get a word in edgewise.
Gonzo left me in the room and I picked up the receiver that was lying face down on the desk. “What’s up?”
“Porter, you have to come home.” It was my dad.
I frowned. “I’ll be home in three days.” Dad knew the ins and outs of camp. He knew—
“It’s your sister and Asher. They’re gone.”
“Gone?” I frowned, moving to rest a hip against the desk. “What do you mean, gone?” Asher was fucking excited about this wedding. Where would they have left to? Surely, he didn’t mean Asher was leaving me. The thought was fucking absurd.
“Porter,” Dad said. He was using his voice of reason with me. “This isn’t something to be said over the phone. You need to come home.”
Suddenly the gravity of it all hit me in the chest. “Dad, what’s wrong? What happened?”
“Porter.”
“Where are they?” My voice raised with the growing panic in my body.
Dad was silent. He didn’t want to tell me over the phone. What the hell happened that he couldn’t say over the phone? What was going on?
My heart began to race.
Where were they? What happened?
“They were taken.”