“I’ll try.”
It takes us five minutes to come up with this gem.
Ian: Glad you had fun. Hope you don’t have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.
And yes, that’s the text I first came up with twenty minutes ago. I hit send, and that’s when the panic sets in. Because even if my text comes off as casual and friendly, the butterflies invading my stomach are anything but.
* * *
Booker
It’s officially my twenty-first birthday. That’s cause for celebration, no doubt.
But it’s also a Thursday night, and I have class tomorrow.
And it’s hockey season. We’re heading into playoffs, and these are the weeks that count the most.
Add to that the fact that my roommates are all coupled up and practically married, and well, my twenty-first will look pretty different than Ty’s or Whit’s in the fall.
It’ll be low-key. Maybe Whit made salmon, my favorite. We’ll kick each other’s butts at NHL Ice, drink more than is advisable, and crash.
At least, that’s what I figure when I walk into The Chapel after practice.
It’s quiet, though. And The Chapel is never quiet, especially this year. People are always laughing, teasing. The T.V. is always on. Rose is always squealing. Often, there are sex sounds emanating from at least one corner of the house.
I wander through, calling out for my roommates, but I get no answer. That’s strange; there are three vehicles parked outside.
“Ty! Whit! Where the heck are you guys? Knox! If you three got locked in the basement again, I swear I—”
“Dude, that happened one time,” Whit answers me. I can see him though the sliding glass doors that lead to the patio. I drop my bag and head out.
“Let’s set the record straight,” Knox chimes in from his post on one of the outdoor sofas. “That wasn’t all three of us—just you, Whitman.”
“Could’ve happened to anyone,” Whit says defensively.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Ty tells him, taking the steps two at a time to join us. “Holy fuck, it’s cold out here. But I think we’re all set. Knox, hit the lights.”
“Fuck you, I just sat down.”
Ty rolls his eyes and crosses to the far wall. Who knows what these three are up to. I’m guessing Whit has roasted a whole pig on a spit or something. But when Ty trips the lights, I see it.
“Holy crap. Is that what I think it is?”
“Your very own ice rink? Yep,” Whit says with pride. “We rented a water pump and watched an online video. We’re basically pros now. But enjoy it tonight, man. The temps are supposed to warm up tomorrow and when that happens, this rink will turn into a puddle.”
“And it’s not regulation or anything, but it’ll do for what we have planned,” Ty says, looking out at the giant frozen puddle that used to be our backyard.
“And what’s that?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
“We’re skating,” Knox says, pulling a pair of skates from a box I didn’t see.
“But you….”
“Suck?” Whit supplies.
“Uh, yeah,” I wince.
“Who cares?” Ty says. “It’ll be fun. Besides, I’ve been practicing for an hour. I can skate circles around these clowns.”
