Pucking Around: Chapter 72

“What are you saying, Hurricane?” I glance at her from over the top of my aviators.

She’s looking like a snack wearing a pink bikini, a big sunhat, and oversized sunglasses. She takes a sip of her Diet Coke, glancing back at me. “Exactly what I just said. I think we all need better communication. And I think we need to start by talking about the big stuff. The dreaded ‘R’ word stuff,” she adds, giving me a pointed look.

“God, do we have to talk about radishes right now?” says Jake from my other side. “Come on, Seattle, it’s beach day.”

“That’s not the ‘R’ word I meant, and you know it,” she deadpans.

“Yeah, Jake. She clearly means refrigeration,” I reply, leaning back in my chair, eyes closed as I soak up the sun.

The little sea siren dragged us all to the beach today. It’s the only shared day off for all four of us for the next three weeks. The guys are about to head into a major sprint: one week of four games, two weeks of three. It’s gonna be brutal.

So today we’re lined up in a row of beach chairs, Poseidon running and jumping in the surf after the tennis ball Jake keeps throwing for him.

“I’m not following,” says Mars from his spot on her other side, hiding under the shade of the big rainbow beach umbrella with his sensitive Finnish skin. “What is this ‘R’ word?”

Jake and I both snort. “Radiation poisoning,” I say, as Jake says, “Racquetball.”

“Will you stop?” Rachel huffs at us. “Relationship, Ilmari. I’m saying we need to talk more about relationships.”

“Our relationship?” he replies.

“It doesn’t have to be our relationship as in you and me or even about us,” she replies, gesturing at the four of us. “I just think there are questions we need to be asking. I’ve never done this before—”

“None of us have, Seattle,” Jake says, tossing the tennis ball again. Poseidon goes speeding after it, barking like an idiot.

“Right, so it won’t hurt us to just be open and honest about a few things,” she says.

I sigh, knowing it comes out more like a groan. “Like what, Hurricane?”

“Like…kids,” she says, and now all three of us are frozen solid. “Hey, protest all you want, but this conversation is happening.” She leans forward in her chair, which does amazing things for her breasts. “Jake, do you want kids?”

His mouth opens in surprise. “With you, Seattle? Fuck yeah, sign me up. I love kids.”

Mars and I both tense.

“I wasn’t necessarily implying with me,” she adds quickly, hiding behind the brim of her sunhat.

“Is this like a weird hypothetical then? Like, am I designing my super woman to have these fictional kids? Can our house be on top of a waterfall? That game isn’t as fun as me just picturing you under me, Seattle. Fucking you until you get pregnant with my—”

“Enough,” Mars growls, throwing a flipflop at his head.

“Hey—she asked, asshole,” Jake huffs, throwing it back. Now Poseidon thinks it’s a game and chases after it.

“Ilmari, what about you?” Rachel turns to him. “Do you ever see yourself wanting kids?”

“No,” he replies, wrestling the flipflop from the dog and shoving it on his foot.

“Like it’s a hard line for you? Kids are totally out of the picture? You can’t be with someone who wants kids?”

Slowly, he turns to stare at her. “This will go faster if you just tell us your position, Rakas. Do you want children?”

“This isn’t about me,” she says again.

“Don’t even try it, Hurricane,” I say, tugging her hat off and tossing it to Jake. “We all know what this is about. You’re measuring us all up. Any guy who doesn’t check all the boxes on your list is getting cut loose, right?”

She huffs. “You’re so far off base, Cay.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

I lean over in my chair, matching her glare for glare. “Am I?”

“Yes!”

“Then answer the damn question. Do you want kids, Rachel?”

She huffs again, crossing her arms under her boobs. “Okay, fine. Yes. I think I’d like to have a kid. I’m not sold on the idea of kids plural. But twins run in my family, so there’s a pretty good chance I’ll get a two-for-one deal.”

“Oh, here’s where I take one for the team,” Jake says with a laugh, tossing her hat back to her. “Put me in, Coach, and we’ll double those odds.”

Mars leans over. “You’re a twin too, Compton?”

“Yep. My twin sister Amy lives in Japan. She’s a total brain. Big time robotics engineer. That’s actually how Seattle and I met. Does he know the story?” he adds, glancing at Rachel.

“The CliffsNotes version,” she replies.

“Does he know we did it six times that night?” Jake teases. “I feel like it’s the most important detail of the story. Hey Mars—did you know it was six times? We did it that last time up against this window and, I swear to god, my soul left my body for a full minute.”

“Please shut him up,” Mars mutters, staring out at the waves.

“If only that were possible,” I reply, shaking my head.

Jake punches my arm.

“Ask Mars your question again, Hurricane,” I say, rubbing the spot on my arm.

She goes still, her can of Diet Coke halfway to her lips. “What?”

“Kids, Mars. Yes or no? Well, kid singular, with the serious risk of twin action happening,” I add.

He grunts. “Fine.”

“See? Done. Next question. This time, Rachel answers first.”

“Nuh-uh,” she huffs. “No way. We are not playing the game this way—”

“Marriage—yes or no, Jake?” I say over her.

“To Rachel? Fuck yes. In Seattle I was ready to call down to the front desk for an Elvis minister,” he adds.

This pulls a laugh from her. “Where were you planning to find an Elvis minister in Seattle?”

“Baby girl, I’m a millionaire NHL star,” he says, tipping his sunglasses up off his face. “That’s not me bragging, it’s just a fact. If I want an Elvis minister, I’ll find one. Better be on high alert, or I’ll have him jump out from behind a bush and make you say your vows.”

“I swear to god, Jake Compton, if you shotgun marry me with an Elvis minister, I will kill you on the honeymoon,” she replies.

Now we’re all laughing as Jake settles back down in his beach chair.

“Noted. So, it’s not a matter of if you’ll marry me. It’s a matter of formality,” he reasons. “Spontaneity is clearly out. And no Elvis. I take it you’re strictly a lace invitations and four-tiered wedding cake kinda girl?”

“I don’t mind a little spontaneity,” she murmurs. “But I’m definitely not a lace invitations girl.”

“She’s a barefoot at the beach, close friends and family only, champagne toasting down the aisle kind of girl,” I reply, stretching my legs out in the warm sand. “And she wants a backless dress to show off her toned muscles. She’s worked hard for them, and she wants to remember how great she looks when she’s old and grey…right, Hurricane?” I say, tipping a smile her way.

She purses her lips, crossing her arms again. “Don’t pretend like you know me, Cay.”

“I do know you,” I reply with smirk. “Plus, you may have left your tablet open on the couch yesterday and I sat on it. My ass accidentally pulled up your Pinterest app.” I glance over at Jake. “She’s into Christmas. Like, it’s bad. Worse than you and Amy.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, pumping his fist. “Hey Mars, you like Christmas? They celebrate that in Finland, right?”

The three of us snort.

“Yes, Compton. We have Christmas in Finland,” Mars replies patiently.

“You can’t be so nice to him about everything,” I say at Mars over Rachel’s head. “You gotta punch him, or he doesn’t get the message that he’s being annoying.”

“I get it fine, asshole,” Jake huffs. “I was just trying to be nice to the new guy. But hey, you want me to sit here and shut up? I can do that too.”

Rachel and Mars both laugh.

“No, you really can’t,” I reply. “But she’s gonna make a big deal about it, so just be ready. She’s already pinned a bunch of Finnish Christmas recipes to her Pinterest—”

“God, Cay! Stalk much?” she cries, pouting in her chair.

“Rach, just ask the question you really want to ask so we can move on from the twenty questions portion of beach day,” I press.

“You’re one to talk,” she snaps, narrowing her eyes at me behind her designer shades.

“You want to know where this is going,” I reply. “You don’t care about whatever vague visions of the future we saw for ourselves with some faceless hot wife and bratty kids. You want to know whether we see you. Whether we see this…whatever this is,” I add, gesturing to Jake and Mars.

“I’m terrified I’ll ruin all your lives,” she admits. “There’s too much baggage…too much scrutiny. And this is too…”

“Unique?” I offer with a shrug.

“Weird,” says Jake. “But cool. Like, I’m cool with it,” he adds quickly.

“It is wholly unexpected,” says Mars.

We all glance his way.

“Not one person sitting here ever expected this,” he says. “It is fitting, I think, that we have this conversation at the beach,” he adds, turning to gaze at the three of us. “All our lives now rest on shifting sands. This arrangement between us is fragile. The most perilous part is that we all come wielding hammers for hands. One strike, and it will all come crashing down. I can’t control your swing of the hammer just as you cannot control mine,” he adds, looking right at me and Jake. Then he turns to Rachel, taking her hand. “All we require from you, Rakas, is time. Building firm foundations on sand takes patience and time.”

She nods, covering his hand with hers, giving it a squeeze.

“Aaaaand that is a new fucking record!” Jake says, clapping his hands. “Mars, that was amazing! Seriously, it was inspirational.”

“Don’t be a dick,” I mutter.

“Who’s being a dick?” he says. “I’m one hundred percent serious right now. That’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk. Dude, you’re like the wise old owl from a cartoon movie.”

“You’re such an idiot,” I laugh, knocking his hat off his head.

“Come on,” Mars mutters, grabbing Rachel’s hand and pulling her out of her chair.

“Where are we going?”

“This is a beach, is it not?” he replies, tugging off his shirt and tossing it aside, showing off that wicked cool back tattoo. “We’re going swimming.”

“Fuck, finally,” says Jake, jumping out of his chair. “Come on, Cay. Get your floaties on and come swim with us!”

I take a spray of sand to the crotch as he runs off, Poseidon chasing after them. As I watch, Mars scoops Rachel up with one arm and drags her into the water. Jake holds out his arms and Mars tosses her. She and Jake both go under, smashed by a wave. Poseidon stands in the surf barking his head off, furious at being left out.

Meanwhile, my stupid Grinch heart pounds, threatening to grow two sizes as one word echoes around in the empty space of my hollow chest. Family. I could have a family. A real one, not just the people who birthed me and raised me that I see out of obligation once every few years.

But Rachel is afraid we won’t stick. She’s afraid the world is going to find out about us—the team, the fans, the media. She’s afraid it’ll all come crashing down. What will we do when the storm strikes our house built on sand? Will we stand together and brave it? Will we hold on for dear life? Or will we let it tear us apart?

The terrifying answer is that I don’t know. Not yet. This is all too new. Mars is right, we need time. We need this bubble of privacy to last a little longer.

“Cay, come on!” Jake yells. “Bring the football!”

Digging in Rachel’s beach bag, I pull out the football and stand. There’s time for me to contemplate the shifting sands of time later. For now, I just want to be where they are.