by Kallie Frost
“There's that smell,” Brooks said.
Home, as far as I was concerned. “The marshes at low tide,” I told him. “You’ll get used to it.”
We drove up over a bridge that arched above a small channel, which cut through the marshes. The wolf in me surged with excitement as a duck broke out of some bushes near us, and flew out in front of the car suddenly. I cleared my throat to cover any involuntary growling sound I might have made at the sight of prey. It was almost my turn to spend a full moon running free on the island and I think the wolf knew it. It was something we could only do one at a time. But the private island was carefully designed so that a wolf could spend the evening free of the bunker. My family and I rotated full moons, each of us getting a turn to run. Unlike my older brothers, whose wolves remembered being free before the bunkers were designed, my wolf had never gotten that chance. All he knew was the bunker and the occasional taste of the outside. Granted, the bunker technology had improved over time. It was a far cry now from the crappy shipping containers that we once stayed in.
The final drawbridge loomed before us and I drove slowly over, and onto Half Moon Island. There were no cars behind us, so I gradually came to a stop at the intersection. Going straight would take me across the width of the island, to the beach, while going either way would take me to each end of the island.
“Do you want to go ahead and get that coffee?” I asked. My cousin's coffee shop was to the left. Since Brooks told me that he lived in an apartment, he was most likely to the right.
He considered it for a moment and then, to my relief, nodded. “Sure, why not?”
I turned left and took him the short distance to my cousin’s coffee shop and pulled in to the parking lot.
“Have you been here before?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I just moved here about a week ago, I've been unpacking.” He smiled wryly. “And looking up the local hockey schedule, of course.”
“Priorities,” I said with a chuckle.
He looked up at the sign on the coffee shop as he got out of the car. “Felines and Fine Grinds?” he read, with an amused and curious inflection.
“You're not allergic to cats, are you?” I asked.
“No,” he laughed. He looked at the little coffee shop again and unsurprisingly spied a cat sitting in the window. “Is that real?”
“And up for adoption.” I gestured for him to head toward the door. “My cousin owns this place. There are always a few cats running around and you can adopt any of them, except the shop mascot.”
“That's pretty cool,” he said.
He followed me into the shop. I spotted Kessel and Mesha, two of the local wardens, in the one corner. They both caught my eye and nodded to me. I nodded back grimly, knowing they weren’t here for coffee. My eldest brother had just come back into town with his new true mate and daughter… with a pair of hunters on their tails. The wardens had taken down one, but his partner got away. The hunters had photos of some of my family with them, including one of me in this very coffee house. The wardens had been hanging around the place in case he came back.
Mesha narrowed her eyes at me and gave her head a single shake. I knew it was disapproval. I was taking a risk going back and forth from the mainland so often without a warden, especially since the hunter knew what I looked like. I shrugged one shoulder at her, semi-apologetically. I wasn’t going to let the “what-if” of a hunter scare me away from my last season of hockey.
I looked around for Cambry, but didn't see him behind the counter. Hobie, one of his shifter employees, was there instead.
‘Who's your friend?’ The question echoed in my head. I looked around for the source of my cousin’s voice. ‘Rafters,’ Cambry said lazily. I looked up and spotted the silhouette of a cat perched up high. I inclined my chin, just slightly in greeting, before turning my attention back to Brooks.
“Let's order,” I said. Maybe bringing him here wasn't the greatest idea. Of course, Cambry would hound me with questions about him as soon as he left. Why had I brought him here, anyway?
Chapter Two
Brooks
It was a cozy little café. Even though the entire point of moving to Half Moon Island was to get a change of scene, and I was hoping to immerse myself in a new place, I hadn't actually gotten out of my apartment much, other than to go to practice. A smile tugged on my lips as I looked around. This was exactly the sort of thing I was hoping to find. It had a small-town charm, obviously with a little beachy flare. And of course, plenty of cats. The walls were painted a cozy shade of mocha, decked out with paintings of cats and coffee, all with a seaside theme. There was one of a cup of coffee on a table in front of an ocean sunset; and another of a cat on a beach towel; and one of a cat with a coffee, and several similar ones. Then there were the cats themselves; I could see at least three, not including the one I saw in the window. The walls were lined with booths and there were two cats curled up in patrons’ laps there. The third was curled up front of a small fire in the fireplace. I laughed at the sight of a fire. I personally didn't think it was that cold here, but then a mid-Atlantic September wasn't exactly a Minnesota one.
I looked up at the menu above the bar. Okay, so there was a reason I didn't really frequent coffee shops. The entire menu was a mass of Italian words. Everything else was a pump of this and a shot of that; flavors I had never heard of and things I couldn't pronounce. I kind of missed the days where coffee was just coffee, maybe with a dash of cream or sugar. Christ, even cream had flavors now. I immediately felt old and looked around, noticing that I was indeed the oldest person here.
“I’m not really sure what to get,” I said, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the menu.
“Not to worry,” Carrick said confidently. “If my cousin is here, he’ll take care of you.” He raised his voice as he said it, with an air of someone who is hoping to be overheard. With that, he led me up to the counter to order. Just moments after we got there a young man came out of the back room, in the process of tying on his apron.
“Thank you, Cambry,” Carrick said smugly. I wondered if Cambry had indeed been within earshot when Carrick said he would help me with my coffee choice. At any rate he obviously knew why he was being thanked. He smirked and splayed his hands on the counter, drumming his fingertips as he regarded me.
“So?” Cambry drawled.
Cousins or not, they were obviously good friends. Carrick knew exactly what he meant. “He’s new on the team and to Half Moon. Figured I'd take him out for coffee, since I've taken him under my wing as our newest defenseman.” He turned to me and smiled. “And this is my twin-cousin, Cambry. Owner of Felines and Fine Grinds, barista extraordinaire.”
Cambry rolled his eyes, but did so fondly. “So, what can I get you? Post-practice favorite, Carrick?”
“That'll do for me,” said Carrick. “What about you, Brooks?”
I looked up at the large menu. “What's good?” I asked.
They both laughed. Cambry grabbed a cup and gave it a couple of skilled flips, before setting it on the counter in front of me. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked. I honestly wasn't sure. He watched my blank look for a moment, then grinned. “You want something that'll knock you out or keep you up all night? Or neither. Bitter? Savory? Sugary? Do you want to be cooled off, heated up? Or…” His arm shot out lightning fast and he hooked a mug around one finger, whirled it around and set it down next to the cup. “Or do you just want black with a dash of cream? Go ahead,” he purred. “Challenge me.” He fixed me with an almost predatory grin.
With both of them looking at me expectantly, I tried to put into words what I was in the mood for, without admitting that I really wasn't a huge coffee drinker. “I don't think I’ll have trouble falling asleep after that practice, but I also don't want anything that's going to make me jittery, and keep me up half the night. Um, nothing too sweet… I guess probably something hot. None of that fancy unpronounceable stuff. Um…”
Cambry winked at me.
“I got you covered,” he said. He grabbed a bunch of stuff and started mixing drinks. He was flipping cups around, tossing them behind his back, spinning spoons, and putting on a hell of a show. Here, I thought it was just bartenders who did the fancy stuff, not coffee makers. I noticed the quiet establishment seemed even quieter as several patrons stopped to watch him. He plunked down a finished drink in front of Carrick. “One post-practice special for my favorite twin-cousin.” With a couple more flourishes he dropped a mug in front of me. “And, one doesn't have to help you sleep, but won’t keep you up, not too sweet, not fancy or unpronounceable, but just right: coffee.”
“Thank you…” I picked it up and gave a cautious sniff. It smelled good! Actually, it smelled really good. I took an experimental sip. Somehow it was exactly what I was craving. “This is… it’s delicious!”
“You’re welcome. If you'll excuse me…” He shot a significant look at Carrick. “I’ve got some stuff to do.” He disappeared back into the back room.
Carrick headed back to our table, leaving me to practically jog to catch up. “Hey,” I called after him, worried he was going to do something like try to treat me. “When do we pay?”
“We don't pay,” he chuckled.
“Of course we pay.”
He shook his head. “I'm family, and you’re with me. Cambry would tan my hide if I tried to pay.”
“Oh, well thank you. I appreciate it.” I considered arguing, but since he wasn’t paying, it wasn’t as if he were treating me.
We sat down, and I took another sip of the delicious coffee. It really did hit the spot. I wondered what I told Cambry that enabled him to zero in on exactly what kind of a drink I would like. As I recalled the conversation I remembered the odd turn of phrase he and Carrick both used.
“What do you mean when you say he's your twin-cousin?”
Carrick laughed, then cleared his throat, looking almost embarrassed. “I guess I probably shouldn't make too light of it. Cambry's parents died when he was a baby. My parents raised him like one of my brothers, and he was born just a couple of months after I was, so we basically grew up like twins. We've always joked that we're more like twin brothers than cousins.”
I joined him in another laugh. “No wonder you don't pay. You have other siblings then?”
“Two sisters, two, I mean three brothers,” he corrected with a wince, “And then, Cambry.”
“Wow, that is a big family.” I had a feeling there was more to the miscount of his brothers than a simple slip-of-the-tongue, but didn’t want to pry into a near-stranger’s life. “Where do you fall in that line?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Aside from Cambry, I’m the baby.”
I laughed and took another sip of my drink. “Thanks for this. It has been a while since I got out.” It was true, but it was also kind of a lie. I hadn't ‘gone out’ because it really wasn't my thing. It was nice to be making a friend, although it would have been nicer if he was closer my own age.
“So, what brings you here? Seems a little far from home.”
“I'm just in the mood for change, I guess.”
“What's got you down?” he asked astutely.
“Pretty much… everything.” I don't know why I told him that. It wasn't exactly something I really opened up to anyone about. There was just something about him. Something brotherly maybe. He was easy to talk to. I felt almost as if I had known him for ages, like he was already privy to half of my secrets. His brown eyes narrowed in concern and I forced a smile. “I’m alright.” I wasn’t really alright, quite honestly. I was getting down and out about my path in life. I couldn't hold back a sigh. “Okay,” I said. “So, maybe I'm not so alright.”
“It can't be all that bad.”
“It isn’t exactly. I guess I just… didn't think I'd be here.”
“Here, like on Half Moon?”
“Here.” I gestured around me. “I almost played for the National Hockey League. At least, I think I did. My name was floating around with them and the American Hockey League as a potential draft pick.”
“Really?” He looked impressed. “What happened?”
“I started having knee pain,” I told him. Before I knew it, the entire story was spilling out of me. “I missed the rest of the season as they took me on and off different kinds of rest and physical therapy, trying to work out whatever caused my knee injury. It was practically time for the next season to begin when it occurred to someone that maybe my injury wasn’t caused by hockey, but there was something happening internally instead. It took them a couple more months to figure it out.” I sighed heavily at the memory. “It was this rare thing, much more common in guys much older than me. I’m still on the young side for it. Basically, stuff inside my knee was hardening and causing joint damage. They operated, and I missed the entire season recovering and doing physical therapy. I started the next season and…”
His shoulders slumped. “It came back?” he guessed.
I smiled darkly. “Super low odds of it returning, but it did.” He shook his head sadly. Normally sympathy annoyed me, but instead I was touched that he was this affected by my story. “Another surgery, more bedrest, more PT, and by the time I got back I had missed almost three entire seasons.” I pursed my lips and added, “and I sucked. I was out of shape. Imagine the game earlier tonight, except instead of twenty years, it has been three. When the new season came around I tried out and didn’t make the cut.”
After all this time it still hurt. My voice was flat, emotionless. “I was devastated. I look back now and… I wonder if I could have put my nose to the grindstone and come back stronger the next season. I was young and stupid. No offense.”
“None taken.” He looked oddly amused by the comment.
“If I had tried hard, kept practicing, maybe I could've made the team again the next year. But instead, I just got… really depressed. I blew most of my inheritance on the medical bills. My parents died before I graduated from high school,” I clarified. “I had a girlfriend who stayed with me for a few months. But, I pretty much lost all my drive. I had no hockey, no job, no… anything.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I said bitterly. “I eventually got an IT position that a monkey could do. Then I realized the other day that I'm about to be forty-six.”
I could tell he was unsure of the significance. “Too close to fifty?” he guessed.
“I was twenty-three when I quit playing hockey. So, now it's been the same number of years since and… I don't know. It just seems significant to me… in a stupid, depressing kind of way. I woke up one morning and realized I'm forty-six. I’ve got a shitty job, I never followed my dreams of playing hockey, I never got married, now I'm too old for kids… I don’t really have any good friends, so I figured I'd leave and go somewhere totally different. I’ve never lived near water, so I thought the coast might be a good move. I was just exploring different islands and I happened to see that there was a hockey league near here and I thought maybe… but I think that it just made me feel worse.”
“You can't not play hockey for twenty years and then step back on the ice and expect to be great again.”
“I know,” I said. “It's just… I guess I feel like all of my good memories of playing are being replaced by the ones of failing. And now all I’m doing is making more bad memories.”
“Maybe you just need to rethink what you're looking to get out of hockey.”
“What?”
“Well, I mean your goal was to play for the NHL. Now, like it or not, that's never happening. But you still love hockey, so you say. So, why should it matter if you're good? That was important when you were still trying to get drafted. Now, maybe for the first time, you can just play for the love of the game. Just make some friends, have some fun, have as much fun off the ice getting drinks with everyone as you do during the game… You don't have to be good, you can skate to have fun.”
For a moment, all I could do was blink at him. It was good advice. Honestly,
really good advice. I really hadn't thought about it like that before. I smiled at him and then turned my attention to my coffee, tumbling his words over in my mind. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, but I didn't actually use it. I just stood there looking at myself in the mirror. I narrowed my eyes for a moment at the aging face I saw there. Then I smiled. Maybe I could just have fun playing hockey again, instead of pushing myself to be the best.
As I came out of the bathroom I was confronted by a strange sight: one of the cats was sitting on our table. I suppose, that itself wasn't strange, considering we were in a cat café. What was strange was that the cat seemed to be staring at Carrick and Carrick’s lips were moving as if he was talking to it. The cat glanced at me then stood, stretched, and hopped off the table.
“Alright?” Carrick asked as I returned to the table.
“Yeah, thank you. For everything, I mean it.”
“I'll give you a lift home. And I'll see you next practice?”
I returned his shy smile. “Sounds good.” We returned our mugs to the counter, and headed out.
“See you, Cambry! he called over his shoulder as we left. I looked around, but didn't see his cousin anywhere.
“Bye,” I called too, just in case he could hear me.
On any other night, I would have declined Carrick’s offer to drive me home, and walked back to the apartment, but I wasn't sure my knee could make it after skating. Even so, I wrinkled my nose when we pulled up to my building just a couple of minutes after getting into the car. I stood and watched Carrick drive away before heading into my apartment.
Once inside, I gazed out the window for a while, watching the lights of a couple of boats go by in the dark. I wasn't sure if it was because I had gotten on the ice again, as disastrous as that felt, or because Carrick’s advice really struck home, or even because I drank a really good cup of coffee… but I felt happier than I had in a long time. I stood and stretched, flexing my sore knee, while rubbing out of tight spot near my collarbone. If I was going to keep playing hockey, I needed to get back into shape.