They all just look at me, and suddenly, I get it. I’ve spent all day in the kitchen with Whit just to hang out. I let Ty drag me to a lecture about the history of punctuation, and I stayed awake. And I’ve spent hours in comic book stores while Knox browsed.
“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. Layer up, boys. It’s bad enough you’re going to break your ankles. I don’t need you whining about how cold it is.”
We all suit up, and I’m impressed that they had the forethought to ask Ollie to borrow some equipment from the rink. There’s only one net set up, but that won’t matter. By my best guess, we won’t last more than half an hour. My suspicion is confirmed when Knox starts setting up a bar on the patio.
“Wait, we’re drinking?”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Zabek, it’s your twenty-first. Hell, yes, we’re drinking.”
I pop a squat on the steps and lace up my skates. “Of course, we are. Because a homemade ice rink and novice skaters aren’t dangerous enough… Tell me the girls are at least on call to haul you three to the ER when necessary.”
Knox shrugs. “Kinda. Willa picked up a shift tonight so Ian could have the night off. He’s been working like crazy, I guess. So Phoebe and Lucy took Rose to story time. Then they’re grabbing dinner. They should be home in a couple hours, but I doubt they’ll come out here. It’s been so cold lately that Pheebs said she was starting a petition for us all to transfer down to Florida.”
Soon, we’re all suited up and we head out on the ice. The surface is uneven, of course, but they actually did a pretty decent job. When I was a kid, one of the guys on my hockey team had a homemade rink in his yard. He and his three brothers played, as did their mom. I’d go over to skate whenever I could because it was awesome. I remember mentioning something about it to my dad over dinner, and the look he gave me made me feel two feet tall. He said Brannon’s dad was a fool to tear up his yard like that because his landscaping would never be the same. I remember thinking that Brannon’s dad cared more about his wife and kids than his landscaping, but I kept that observation to myself.
Ty teeters a little when we take the ice, but he recovers quickly enough. Knox goes all out, as expected, and nearly slides into the net.
“This isn’t baseball, asshole,” Whit calls, skating toward what passes for center ice. Out of the three of them, Whit’s definitely the most skilled. That’s probably because when we were growing up, he did what I did and vice versa. So he was forced to play pee-wee hockey while I was made to sing in the choir.
“All right, besties,” Whit says, “I’m freezing my dick off out here, and I’m gonna need it later, so let’s get down to business.”
I shake my head. “I know I’m gonna regret asking this, but what kind of ‘business’ are you talking about?”
Knox smiles. “Birthday boy, this is your celebration. You’re twenty-one and we’re getting you shitty…on ice.”
There’s no way this is going to end well, but it’s gonna be fun.
“Ok, so we split into teams of two, right?” Ty, ever the organizer, is taking charge. “We’ll take turns shooting, and if you miss, you drink.”
“Dude, that’s basic as fuck,” Knox says, shaking his head.
“You wanna freeze your balls off while we play some complicated drinking game and try to stay upright?”
“Fair point. But Book has an unfair advantage.”
“We could make him go to the other end?”
“Yeah,” Whit agrees. “Ooh, wait. I’ve got another idea. Hang on.”
And that’s how I end up at the far edge of the ice, blindfolded, while my roommates shoot from center. I still make nine out of ten shots, whereas Whit’s in the lead with three and Ty and Knox are tied at two.
“Ok, new rules,” Ty declares, taking a shot. Halfway through the first round, they got tired of skating up to the bar (and a little too wobbly to make it there), so now a bottle of Jack sits on the ice next to four shot glasses. “How’s this? You only drink if you make it.”
“You’re a genius,” Knox says, after taking a shot and missing terribly. We agree to Ty’s new rule, which is how I end up downing four shots in a row. After tossing back the last one, I slip a little and Whit calls it, thank God.
“You feeling good, Zabek?”
I know what he means, and I’m definitely buzzed. But I’m thinking about the last twenty-four hours of my life, how an evening with Ian and a crazy hockey game with my boys erased the crappy dinner-that-wasn’t at my parents’. “Definitely,” I tell him.
We clean up the booze, and strip off the pads.Knox starts to bring his inside, but I stop him. “Trust me, keep the sweaty hockey stuff out here. There’s a screen and it’s not supposed to rain until the weekend. If you go in smelling like you just played hockey, Willa will make you sleep out here.”
“Thanks for the pro tip,” he says, leaving his gear in a pile and heading in.
I’m not sure I qualify as a pro, considering those three won’t be sleeping alone tonight and I will.
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s my birthday, or that I’m just shy of drunk, but that has me fishing my phone out of my jeans pocket. Ian texted me this morning, and it had me smiling before I got out of bed.
I texted back before I could stop myself, and when I reread my words from this morning, it seriously looks like I’m asking him out. Jeez.
