“You grabbed my arm so hard you left a bruise,” Jake says, pulling up his sleeve.
“That was a reflex. I was reaching for the armrest.”
“My arm is not an armrest, Novak.”
“It was the closest thing available.”
I pull out my phone under the table and open the family group chat. It's been going all day. Mom sent fourteen messages yesterday, each one more frantic than the last, and Dad sent one that said,Glad you're safe. Call when you can.
Dom sent a string of texts and then a voice note that I listened to this morning. “Don't ever do that to us again,” he said, and Sarah's voice in the background shouting, “We love you, Logan!”
Nolan's messages are the most Nolan thing possible.Bro if you died I would have had to be the favorite son and I'm not ready for that kind of pressure.
I type into the group chat: Won tonight. 4-2. Scored a goal. Everyone's good. Heading home tomorrow morning.
Mom responds immediately:So proud of you sweetheart. Please fly safe tomorrow. I love you so much.
Dad: Good win. I'll watch the replay tomorrow. Your positioning on that goal was textbook.
Even after his son was on a plane with a dead engine. The man cannot help himself.
Dom: Nice goal bro. Sarah says hi. Get home safe.
Nolan: Scored against the Chargers? Cool. I scored a hat trick against them last month. Just saying.
I close the family chat and open my messages with Jasmine.
Me: Just finished dinner with the team. Flying home tomorrow morning. Should be back in New York by noon.
Her reply comes fast:How was the game?
We won 4-2. First goal in fourteen games. Felt overdue.
I wish I could have seen it in person.
Next home game. Family section. I want you there.
There's a pause before her reply and I can picture her on her couch in her sweats, holding her phone with both hands the way she does.
I'll be there.
I can't wait to see you tomorrow.
Me either. Now go celebrate with your team.
I glance to my left. Blake is eating his steak and staring straight ahead, but the corner of his mouth is turned up.
“Tell Jasmine I said hi,” he says without looking at me.
“I'm not texting Jasmine.”
“You've been smiling at your phone for five minutes. You don't smile at your phone for your mother.”
I put my phone away and finish my beer. I order another one and the night rolls on. Liam starts telling the story of the emergency landing from his perspective, which involves significantly more heroism and calm than anyone else on the plane remembers.
By midnight, the group thins out. Blake and I are the last two at the table. He finishes his beer and stands up. “Can’t wait to get back home,” he says.
“Yeah, me too.”
