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‘I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,’ Gabriel repeats as the ice floats to the surface.
Bernard appears at the doorway of the bathroom and says something in French. Gabriel rolls his eyes and slumps into the water in response. When Bernard’s gone, I lean in close.
‘What did he say?’ I whisper.
‘He said I deserved it for playing like an idiot.’ He purses his lips as Victor returns with another bag of ice, and this time, it’s unceremoniously dumped over Gabriel’s head. I’d only managed to see the highlights reel on my way to meet Gabriel after my shift, but I thought he’d played well.
‘I played . . . risky,’ Gabriel explains. ‘And pushed myself too far.’
‘And now he’s going into a quarter-final against Lukas,’ Victor adds. He tosses me the eggtimer. ‘You’re on timer duty. Make sure he suffers for fifteen minutes.’
‘What does this do, exactly?’ I ask as a large chunk of ice bobs up against Gabriel’s swollen knee.
‘It helps muscle recovery and prevents inflammation.’ Gabriel shifts slightly, wincing. ‘Distract me. Please.’
‘You wanna talk about what our next Melbourne adventure could be?’ I bring up the TripAdvisor article. ‘Oh, we could go to the IceBar!’
‘Not funny,’ he says through gritted teeth.
‘We could go to Phillip Island for a day trip. Or is that too long?’ I ask. ‘The article has other suggestions. We could—’
‘I don’t care what the article says,’ Gabriel snaps. ‘I wantyouto show me why you like this city. I wantyouto show me around, not some app.’
‘But the tourist experience—’
‘I want theNoahexperience.’
That is possibly the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me. Still mindful of Bernard and Victor, I reach forward and catch his fingers, lacing our hands together.
‘The Noah experience, huh? I’m sure I can manage something.’ I lean down and swish the cold water. ‘But now what do we talk about for the next fourteen minutes and thirty seconds?’
‘I have an idea.’ Gabriel leans forward in the bathtub. ‘Victor!’
‘Yes?’ Victor’s head pops around the doorframe.
‘Do you still have your tarot cards? I want a reading.’
‘A reading?’ I echo.
Victor nods, disappearing to fetch a deck of tarot cards. When he returns, he sits cross-legged on the cold tiled floor—this is quickly becoming a bathroom party—and shuffles the colourful deck of cards eagerly.
‘Victor reads my future before every game,’ Gabriel explains. ‘Ask him to read yours.’
‘I dunno . . .’ I’ve never really believed in this kinda stuff, but I also don’t want to offend Victor.
‘It’s okay, I don’t really believe it—it’s just fun,’ Gabriel reassures me even as Victor huffs.
‘So far, the cards haven’t lied,’ says Victor.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I’m game.’
Victor shuffles the deck then hands them to me. ‘You have to trust the cards. Ask them what you want to know.’
I push my scepticism to one side and take the deck from Victor’s hands. ‘Do I have to ask my question out loud?’
‘Yousubconsciously push it into the cards,’ Gabriel replies, imitating Victor.
‘Quiet, you, or I’ll go and get another bag of ice.’ Victor turns his attention back to me. ‘The cards can help you chart a path forward. Think about somewhere in your life where you want clarity. There are no bad readings.’
