Chapter Four
Logan
When I used to play hockey, I was always paranoid that people were only hanging out with me because I was Logan Balanchuk, future NHL Star. I told myself I could tell when people were being too friendly, like they had an ulterior motive or something. I thought I was pretty good at seeing through all that, but then I met Scott and Oliver and began to question my judgment. Because, honestly, they seemed way too friendly for normal people, but there was no hockey-related reason for them to be overly interested in me. So maybe I’d been kind of a jerk to some other naturally friendly people in the past. Damn.
Still, I wasn’t going to let past bad behavior hold me back forever, so when Scott and Oliver invited me to meet up with them at the beach that night, I said sure. Partly, I admit, because they’d mentioned they were at the course visiting Dawn and I was hoping maybe she’d be hanging out with them that night. But mostly because they seemed like decent guys and I was, as always, hoping to be distracted.
Definite points in their favor that they didn’t mention hockey a single time that afternoon.
So I went back to the camp and checked in with Brady. He said I was booked during the day but since I wasn’t one of the counselors in charge of a bunk of kids I had my evenings free. Strange that I hadn’t asked about that when I’d taken the job; I honestly hadn’t been able to imagine wanting to do anything social. Or anything at all, really. Lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about hockey—that had been my main leisure-time activity for the better part of a year. But now, after spending a little more than one day in Corrigan Falls—beach party. Huh.
Scott messaged me directions to a restaurant by the lake, and I climbed into my Jeep. It was a standard, so I hadn’t been able to drive it for good chunks of the last year while my knee was wrecked. I took the long way to the restaurant, relaxing into what had once been the simple pleasure of driving. No pain in my knee as I worked the clutch, and I had to admit that maybe all the surgeries and physiotherapy had been worth it. I couldn’t play hockey, but I could still function.
The parking lot at the restaurant was surprisingly big and surprisingly packed for a place that looked like not much more than a shack, but I understood what was going on when I walked around the side and saw the huge deck, crowded with people of all ages chasing what was left of the day’s sun. Girls in bikinis at one table, a multi-generational family at the next, a bunch of bros that looked like they’d just come from a softball game after that. I heard a piercing whistle and turned my head, along with most of the rest of the crowd, to see Scott half-standing at a table by the far railing, Oliver looking vaguely embarrassed next to him.
“You found us,” Scott said. He sounded proud, as if I’d achieved something huge and he’d been part of my journey. Stanley Cup? Sorry, no, not for you. But you can work on your restaurant navigation abilities—everyone has their own way to be great.
I tried to block out the voice of bitterness, and that got a little easier when I saw Dawn working her way through the crowd toward us wearing the place’s uniform of black shorts and black tank top, with a red apron slung low on those lean hips. She looked good in dark colors. Of course, she’d looked good in white that morning, and she’d looked great in nothing the night before. She smiled when she saw me, which had to be a good sign. Of course, she was at work and it was probably her job to smile at customers, but I liked to think there was a bit of extra there for me.
Damn, I was grasping at straws.
By the time she got to the table, I was already sitting down and it was nice to be able to look up at her, to get a whole new perspective. The smooth skin on the underside of her chin—I hadn’t been able to see that before, and it was worth looking at. There wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t worth some attention. Including, I was pretty sure, her brain.
“Let me give you the warning before we go any further,” she said, and I stared at her, baffled. Go further? A warning? Sure, I’d be happy to go further, but…
“I’m not going to lose my job because my friends want to order alcohol,” she said firmly, and there seemed to be a glare directed in Scott’s direction with the words. “If you’ve got ID—good ID, real ID—I’m happy to serve. But if you’re underage?” She shook her head. “You can wait half an hour and get drunk on the beach with all the other underage lushes.”
“I’m of age in Quebec,” I said. I didn’t really want a drink, but it was nice to have an excuse for conversation. “Does that count? Seems kind of weird that I’ve been happily drinking in bars for most of a year, then come here and suddenly be too young.”
“Must feel even weirder when you go to the States and have to wait ’til you’re twenty-one, but it’s not my job to solve the world’s weirdness. I just follow the rules where I am.”
I wondered if there was a rule about skinny-dipping in public, but I didn’t ask. Instead I smiled and said, “I’m not nineteen until August. Can I have a Coke?”
“Yes,” she said graciously, then turned her gaze on Scott. “Wasn’t that a pleasant, reasonable way for him to address the situation? Wasn’t it respectful and polite that he didn’t try to sulk his way out of it, didn’t try to persuade me to ‘be a buddy,’ didn’t try to bribe me?”
“Didn’t sneak around all night trying to get other people to serve him,” Oliver contributed and was rewarded with a smile. Damn, it would be nice to have something clever to say, something that would earn that response. But I had nothing.
Still, I got another smile right before she turned away, and she was going to get my Coke, so that was kind of nice.
“This is a tough weekend for her,” Oliver said, and I realized I’d been staring after Dawn a little too obviously.
“How do you mean?”
“It’s a tough weekend for anyone who doesn’t think the sun rises and sets from Toby Cooper’s ass,” Scott added.
Oliver frowned at him. “No. You being a jealous bitch because your cousin is getting a little hard-earned attention is not the same thing as Dawn’s situation.”
Scott swallowed the insult easily. I was having some trouble figuring out their relationship. Oliver had made it clear earlier in the day that he was gay and then stared at me as if daring me to have a problem with it, and I got the feeling Scott would have backed him up if I’d been an asshole. But I didn’t get a gay vibe from Scott, and I definitely didn’t think they were a couple. I suddenly wondered if Scott and Dawn were together, but then— Damn. I needed a guidebook to keep track of all this. I decided to start with what was right in front of me. “Dawn’s situation?” I prompted.
Oliver took a quick look in the direction Dawn had left in, then leaned in enough to make it clear that what he was about to say was confidential. Then he frowned and leaned back. “It’s not like everybody doesn’t already know all this. And it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just…Dawn and Toby went out forever. Like, I think they started in seventh or eighth grade and were pretty serious by ninth. He was alternate captain for the Raiders, which made him essentially a king in this town—” He cast a look in Scott’s direction and added, “whether some people like it or not. And Dawn was his queen. Totally involved in all the hockey social stuff, keeping him in line and supporting his training—whatever. His off-ice partner. And then earlier this year they broke up. And now he’s down at the draft with another girl, who’s great and everything and Dawn likes her, but—you know. Kinda tough, probably, that Dawn put in all the work and Nat’s getting all the glory.”
“Dawn dumped Toby,” Scott said. “If he’d dumped her, sure, she’d have reason to be upset. But as it is?” He shrugged. “She’s probably celebrating her good fortune, escaping a life where she’d have to be his damn ‘off-ice partner’ forever.” He looked at me, then at Oliver, before shrugging as he turned back to me. “But, yeah. Probably best not to mention hockey to her, if you can help it.”
Well, that worked out perfectly. But Oliver took another look toward the building to be sure Dawn wasn’t close, then leaned in again. “And not a good weekend for—for anything that might be borderline behavior. You know? There are times when people hook up and it’s not a big deal and everyone just wants something casual. That’s cool. But right now? Dawn might think she wants casual, but she might not really.”
Scott gave Oliver a scornful look. “Dawn’s a big girl, and she can make her own decisions. She’d kick your ass if she found out you were cockblocking her.”
“I’m not—” Oliver looked a little flustered and lowered his voice to an outraged hiss. “There’s no need to bring cock in to it!”
Scott laughed at the outrage and I might have, too, if I’d known them both better. As it was I tried to stay neutral and look innocent, which probably just made me look constipated or something. By the time Dawn came back with my drink they’d mostly calmed down, but she still gave them a look and then asked me, “Is there no one at the camp you could be hanging out with? You know, normal people?”
“Normal’s overrated,” I said.
We all ordered our meals and when she brought the food back out there was a fourth plate on the tray that she set across from me and slid into the seat with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Long shift?” I asked.
“Not yet, but it will be. Especially ’cause I already did six hours at the golf course today.”
“You work too much,” Scott said as he arranged his meal. “You’re young—you should be living a little, having fun before you get all responsible and your body betrays you and you start the fifty-year process of sliding into the grave.”
“Yeah, because tuition’s free to people who are having enough fun, isn’t it? The schools know we should spend our summers living a little, so they don’t charge for the dorms? Is that how it works?” She didn’t seem mad, just sort of tired. Like, not tired from work so much as tired of having to remind Scott about reality.
“Your parents are assholes,” Scott said calmly. “They should be at least helping you pay for school.”
Dawn forced a smile in my direction and I wanted to apologize for eavesdropping on what seemed like a kind of personal conversation. But I wasn’t eavesdropping, not when they were both sitting at my table talking in normal voices, and she didn’t seem embarrassed. Instead she said, “Scott and I have had this conversation roughly seven million times. When he’s not telling me how terrible my parents are, I’m telling him how terrible his are. Please, say something new. Like—what are you doing in the fall?”
Yeah, that was a question I should probably have an answer to. But committing to six weeks at the sports camp had been a pretty huge achievement already; I really hadn’t thought beyond the end of the summer. “I’m not sure.” But I could tell she was going to ask more questions if I left it at that so I added, “Traveling, maybe. Not school. Not next year.” I wasn’t ready to start working toward a future that didn’t have hockey in it.
“Gap year,” Scott said with a sage nod. “Excellent choice.”
“Nice to have the money for it,” Oliver said. He sounded sincere, like he did think it was nice and was happy for all involved, but Dawn’s expression was a little less comforting.
“What do your parents do?” she asked.
It felt like a test. This was the chance for me to tell the truth—my dad was a retired NHL player who dabbled in whatever projects he and his friends came up with, my mom stayed at home and did charity stuff because there was absolutely no need for her to bother working, and the money I’d be spending on travel wouldn’t come from them but from my own pocket. I’d signed a contract before I’d gotten hurt and I’d been injured playing the game, so the team, combined with insurance, was still paying me. I should have explained all that to her, even if it meant bringing up the dreaded hockey. But I didn’t.
I just said, “My dad’s kind of an entrepreneur. Lots of different businesses.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie, but sure as hell wasn’t the whole truth.
She nodded and let the topic go, and I sat there wishing I could go back and change my answer. I didn’t know her too well, but what I knew, I liked. I wanted to give her something more than not exactly a lie. But by the time I’d realized my mistake, it was too late to do anything to change it.