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“Nice,” I say, impressed.
“Thanks. I’m a pro at this. My family goes camping a lot. And not fake camping, like G’s family. They’re all like, We’re roughing it, and then rent a mansion in Lake Tahoe. Nope. My family needs to be sleeping on literal rocks, or my dad says it doesn’t count.”
I can’t fight my laughter. Then it fades when I realize by “G’s family,” he’s referring to the Grahams. Meaning he’s likely spent a lot of time with them.
Gigi brought him around her family. And here I am, fucking her in total secrecy.
“I got a bunch of shit.” I drop the supplies on the ground near the stone pit and start building the fire.
He probably wouldn’t believe it, but I know how to start a fire too. For other reasons, though. I didn’t have a family to go camping with.
“You set that up nicely,” he says, nodding. “You’ve done this before?”
I nod back.
“Scouts? Camping?”
“Hiding,” I say wryly.
“What does that mean?”
I shrug. I’m not a big sharer, but for some reason I decide to elaborate. Maybe Gigi’s rubbing off on me.
“I lived in this one foster home growing up where the dad got violent with his wife a lot. Sometimes it got pretty bad, so whenever that happened, I’d grab a tent and take my little foster sister and brother out to the woods behind the house. Some nights it was cold, so we’d start a fire to keep warm. Most of the time it was more smoke than flames, though. We knew how to start it, but not how to maintain it.”
“Don’t worry, I got the maintaining part down pat.”
He pulls the lighter out of his pocket, bending over the fire. He blows on the spark and soon he’s nurturing a flame that rises taller and taller. Within minutes, we’ve got a blazing fire going.
I peel out of my coat and lay it on the ground before sitting atop it. Case does the same. And then we sit there in silence. Well, not total silence. My stomach is producing a Dan Grebbs–worthy symphony of growls and rumbles. I usually load up on protein after a game and I’m famished.
As if reading my mind, Case says, “Should we go try to hunt a cheetah or something?”
I chuckle. “Yes, all those cheetahs out here in the New England forest.”
“We could forage,” he suggests. “I think some berries are still around in October. And black walnuts should still be in season.”
“Dude, I’m not foraging. That’s a you project.”
He snickers.
“We can survive until morning. I think I’ve got a granola bar, though. We can have it with our bag of chips.”
“Awesome,” he says glumly.
And so we split a late dinner consisting of potato chips and the peanut butter chocolate granola bar from my jacket pocket.
This is gonna be a long night.
Not surprisingly, it’s Colson who eventually brings up our issues. He seems to like talking more than I do.
“We can’t keep doing this shit.”
I shrug. “I know. But I can’t make the Briar guys welcome us.”
“It goes both ways. You need to want to be welcomed.” He hesitates. “When you guys first got here, we were worried you’d take our slots. And—let’s face it, you did. Fuckin’ Miller’s gone. He was a good friend.”
I nod. “So was our old captain. Sean. He transferred when he heard about the merger because he didn’t want to deal with exactly what we’re dealing with right now.”
“Then we both lost good guys. But that part’s over now. We’re all starters. And we’re all good,” he says, albeit grudging.
“All of us?” I say dryly.
“Yes. Fishing for compliments?”
“No, I know I’m good.” I pause, grimacing. “You are too.”
Case grins. “Hurts to say it, huh?”
“A little.”
“All I’m saying is, we’re cocaptains. We need to set an example for the other men. And a little flattery and encouragement goes a long way.”
“Maybe we can change Jensen’s mind about the no-pet decree,” I say mockingly.
That gets me a loud snort. “Highly doubtful. Gigi’s dad told me the story behind that.”
My interest is piqued. “Dude. Tell me.”
“I guess a couple decades ago the team had a pet pig, and one of the guys entered him in an event at a county fair in New Hampshire. He thought the pig would just get a ribbon for being the cutest or whatever. Plot twist: the winning entrant got turned into bacon.”
Holy shit. Shane was right. They did eat their pet.
“That’s traumatic,” I say.
“For real.”
We fall silent for a while, staring at the fire. Case adds another log, poking it with a skinny branch.
“What happened on the bus?” he suddenly asks. “That story Nazem was trying to tell before Jordan shut him down. Why do you guys do that thought experiment thing?”
I chuckle to myself. “Oh. That’s all thanks to our resident idiot. So, Patrick, right, the Kansas Kid, falls in love every other day. At the beginning of last season, he meets this chick at a party, and of course within seconds he’s planning to marry her. He accidentally ends up with her phone—I guess he was holding it for her because she didn’t have a purse. Somehow it ends up in his backpack, which he’s got on him when we’re on our way to play St. Anthony’s. We’re halfway there when the cops speed up, sirens blaring, and pull the bus over.”
