by Sophia Henry
A hot nurse who climbs mountains, drinks craft beer, and wants to fuck 24/7 is definitely someone I can see myself with long-term.
Where the fuck did that come from? Settling down has never been something I craved. A lot of people want to settle down, eventually. I’ve never really thought about it. People usually base what they want out of life on the relationships they saw growing up.
My parents had a decent relationship until my dad died. Then my life went to shit—along with any ideas I had about marriage, and relationship longevity. I can’t say with certainty that I’m opposed to settling down, I just haven’t felt that strongly about anyone I’ve dated.
Until now. All I can think about around Bree is fucking her and when we’re going to hang out again.
“I love hiking and climbing, but I’m not hardcore about it. It takes about two and a half hours to hike to the top of Mount Lassen. Nothing too crazy, but the view is spectacular once you get up there. Mountains and sky for as far as you can see.”
“Sounds amazing. I love being outdoors, but I’ve never actually been mounting climbing. I usually spend time in the water. Surfing, rafting, boating.”
“You surf?” she asks, with wide, hopeful eyes.
“A little. I’m not great, since I don’t get a chance to get to the ocean much during the season. But I keep trying. It’s a lot faster to drive to the mountains from here. Sometimes when I’m bored, I’ll hop in the car, head up to the Blue Ridge Parkway and drive until I feel like stopping. I’ve hiked in all the main touristy places within a few hours of here. Grandfather Mountain, Blowing Rock.”
Bree leans closer, obviously interested, as I name famous landmarks in North Carolina’s part of the Appalachians. “I haven’t even looked at going to the mountains here yet. Are those places cool?”
“Yeah. The trails are probably easier than you’re used to, but you gotta do it while you’re here. And Blowing Rock has the whole star-crossed lovers legend behind it.”
“What legend?”
I turn a bit, so we’re facing each other. “I can’t remember the exact story, but the legend is about two people from opposing Native American tribes who fall in love. They’d meet up secretly in the mountains so no one would see them. Then a war starts between the tribes. The dude knows that he’s going to have to choose between his duty to his tribe and his love for her, but he couldn’t do it.” I pause. “So he jumped off the cliff.”
Bree gasps and sets her hand on my thigh. “What?”
“But don’t worry,” I say in a rush to make sure she knows there’s a happy ending and to keep my mind off her hand. “She prayed to the wind gods to work their magic and they lifted him up and gave him back to her. Then the two of them traveled their lands talking about the power of love. They ended up bringing peace and kumbaya-type shit to both nations. The winds still blow pretty hard at Blowing Rock, which is supposed to be their spirits.”
“Wow. They’re like the indigenous Romeo and Juliet without the tragic outcome.”
“It’s sad, right? That the different tribe was even an issue. Just love who you love, right?” I ask.
“I agree. Let the power of love—and kumbaya-type shit—prevail.” Bree catches my eye. I see the sly smile she’s hiding behind her beer glass. This girl is so fucking sweet even when she’s teasing me.
“It’s the moral of the story. So if you remember nothing else, you’ll always remember that line.”
“That I will, Mr. Daniels.” She tilts her glass to me before taking a sip. After setting her drink down, she leans over, reaching into the wide bamboo tote bag she’d set on the floor. A pale purple journal lands on the table with a thud. She pulls out a pen next.
“What’s that place called again?” she asks, poised to take notes.
“Blowing Rock.” As she scribbles quickly, an idea pops into my head. “Maybe we can take a drive up there and explore it together sometime. Is asking that breaking any of your temporary-arrangement rules?”
Bree’s hand halts and she lifts her head. “I’d like that.”
Score! Despite having a great job in the Aviators organization, I’ve been having a rough time figuring out where I belong and what I want to do with my life. I’ve felt lost within my own world. Moving back to Vancouver isn’t an option, and Charlotte just doesn’t feel like home. I can’t pinpoint the reason. In the eyes of other people, I have it all here: great job, friends, nice condo. Still, something has been missing.
Making future plans with Bree feels a bit like digging a hole in the ground and planting a tree. Maybe I can put down some roots here.
“What does your work schedule look like?” I ask. “Do you have days open to travel?”
“On four days and off three. I usually work weekends, but I can try to switch shifts with someone.”
“I work a lot of weekends, too. It’s better to check out the touristy places during the week, anyway. Less crowded.”
“I’ve always been amazed at the crazy travel schedule of a professional athlete. How can you possibly stay at the top level with all the travel back and forth?”
My first thought is to answer as a player, because that was my life for twenty years. The mental game off the ice is just as important as the mental game on the ice. But Bree’s all about honesty, so I decide to reveal my current schedule, not the past.
“I don’t play anymore,” I admit. “I work with guys coming up through the Aviators organization. My official title is Director of Player Development.”
“Sounds like an important position,” she says, seeming genuinely interested, not condescending.
Thankfully, she doesn’t seem put off by the fact that I’m no longer a player. I can breathe easier after that’s on the table.
“It is, I guess.” I shrug. “It’s not as important as first line center, but I’m responsible for making sure our draft picks are ready when they get here.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Bree touches my arm. “Are you coaching them?”
“More like mentoring. Some of them are still kids. They’ve still got a year or two left in Juniors before they can get to us.”
“So you go to the different cities they play in now to assess them and make sure they’re adjusting well.” Bree nods her head, telling me she understands the basic concept of my job.
“Yep. It’s still a lot of travel, but I make my own schedule. If I take a West Coast swing, I try to see three or four guys. They don’t all play on the same team, but some are in fairly close proximity to each other. A few are in Europe, but I usually let our European scout meet up with those guys, since he’s already there.”
“Have you—” Bree begins, but is interrupted by a porter who has plates in each hand.
“California Roll?” he asks.
“Right here.” Bree raises her hand and leans back so he can place the plate in front of her.
“And the All-American Bacon Double Cheeseburger Roll for you.” He slides the plate toward me.
“Thanks.”
“You guys need anything else right now?”
I glance at Bree. “Is that one roll going to be enough for you?”
She shakes her head. “Maybe we should get another one to split?”
“Lemme grab your server,” the guy says before spinning around. Within seconds our server is at our table.
“Need another roll?” he asks.
I nod. “Do you eat shrimp?” I ask Bree.
“No.”
“We’re going to build our own, if that’s cool.” I don’t wait for the answer, because I know it’s fine. I’ve been here so many times I could pull a black collared shirt over my head and start picking up tables and no one would think anything of it. “Avocado, beets, scallions, and cream cheese wrapped in soy paper with white rice.” I glance at Bree to make sure she’s okay with everything I ordered. Her smile is radiant and she gives me two thumbs-up.
“Sounds good. I’ll put that right in,” our server says. “Another round of
Captain Jack?”
“Please,” Bree answers before I have the chance.
I’m relieved she gave the next round the green light. That must mean she’s having a good time with me and doesn’t feel the need to use the escape car yet.
I reach over and grab two sets of chopsticks from the small, glass milk bottle in the center of the caddy that acts as a holder, then hand one to Bree.
“I’m excited to see what you think,” I tell her as I rip the paper off and pull the sticks apart.
She lifts a piece of her roll expertly and dips it in the soy sauce before popping it into her mouth. Without being too creepy, I watch to gauge her reaction. The smile that spreads across her face as she chews is all the answer I need, but she follows it up by saying, “It’s amazing. How’s yours?”
Bree enjoying the food is more important to me, since I already know I’ll like what I ordered.
“Perfect,” I tell her before I’ve taken a bite of my dinner.
While we’re eating, the server brings the third plate we ordered.
“Have you had this one before?” Bree uses her chopsticks to point to the concoction I created.
“Nope,” I admit. “I’ve gotten something similar. I usually add tempura shrimp. But I created this one on the fly after you said—”
“I don’t eat shrimp,” Bree says, finishing my sentence as the realization that I ordered it for her kicks in. “Did you order all the veggies because of me?”
“Well, yeah,” I tell her with complete honesty. “I wanted to make you happy.”
“You’re so sweet, Luke. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Actually, I did, or I would have ordered shrimp and meat. Might’ve told them to stuff some fries in there. And then deep fry it after that.”
She laughs, but I’m only half-kidding. I eat pretty healthy, but I really embrace the crazy combinations the Cowfish comes up with.
“The best roll I’ve ever had comes out in the fall, around the holidays,” I say, lifting a piece of burgushi.
“What is it?”
“The Gobble Gobble-ooshi.”
“The what?” Bree covers her mouth with her napkin. I’m pretty sure she just laughed so hard she spit food into it.
“I know you don’t eat meat, but, man, you are missing out. It’s an entire Thanksgiving dinner in one roll.”
“Stop,” she says, wiping her mouth before replacing her napkin on her lap.
“Picture it: roasted turkey and fried green beans wrapped with soy paper and these crispy, little sweet potato strings. Then they flash fry it and top it with cranberry sauce and more fried green beans. And it’s served over gravy. It’s heaven on earth.”
“It actually sounds good, except for the turkey and gravy.”
“You don’t like gravy?” I ask, appalled. “Who doesn’t like gravy? It’s like frosting for food.”
“It’s made from the turkey,” she says, defending herself.
“Oh, yeah, well, that’s cool then.”
“You really do eat here a lot, don’t you?”
“Can you tell?” I ask, leaning back and patting my stomach, which I know for a fact is pretty damn hard due to all the hours I’ve spent in the gym over the last year.
Bree tilts her head. “Whatever, Luke. You’re in great shape.”
“Glad you noticed.” I take a sip of my beer. “I’ll eat pretty much anything—except raw fish.”
“Cheers to that.” Bree raises her beer and we click glasses. “Where are you from originally?”
“Vancouver,” I say, then quickly add, “The Canadian one.”
“So that’s your accent. I wondered where it was from. I’ve been to British Columbia, but never Vancouver.”
“It’s a great city,” I say, though I might have just crossed the honesty line. I quickly dismiss the thought, because most of Vancouver is nice, beautiful even, just not the particular section of town I grew up in. No reason to get into that with Bree right now. She already knows drug abuse and addiction runs in my family. She doesn’t need to hear the sad story of my childhood.
“How long have you been in Charlotte?”
“About six years, give or take. During the first year and a half I was up and down between the Aviators minor league team in Detroit and here. But I’ve been in Charlotte since then.”
Bree is silent, so I glance sideways to see if she’s busy chewing. She seems to be contemplating something.
“Honesty,” I remind her.
She smiles. There’s a slight hesitation before she speaks, but finally she lets it out. “You’re young and fit, so why aren’t you still playing?” There’s curiosity and caution in her soft tone.
“Injury,” I answer quickly. “Remember the surgery I told you about?”
She nods.
“My doctors haven’t cleared me to play again yet.”
Bree cocks her head, giving me her full attention. “Really?”
“It’s strange. I’ve studied the game of hockey my entire life. First players and stats, then skating and skills. Then plays and strategy. I’ve eaten specifically. Trained specifically. Watched videos and practiced every single day since the time I was six years old. I finally made it to the NHL. Finally got my legs and had thirty goals in my first full season with the Aviators. Then a random hit fucks up my neck and five different doctors tell me I can’t play anymore.” I take a deep breath. “Everything I worked for. Everything I lived for—gone, just like that.”
Fuck me. I wanted to open up to Bree, but I hadn’t planned on going this deep on our first real date. I don’t want her pity or sympathy…or questions.
Shaking my head, I continue. “It put life in perspective for me at an early age.”
“I get it.” Bree places her hand on my forearm. A silver heart hanging from her chain-link bracelet rests on my wrist. I recognize the iconic Tiffany bracelet, because I bought a similar one for Adrienne, my former hookup in Detroit. Expensive taste.
“You do?”
“I did the same thing with nursing. Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to tend to people. I wanted to make them better. No one in my family was safe from Nurse Bree.” She laughs. “Everyone was a patient. I waited on my little brother when he was sick. I cleaned scrapes from rollerblading falls and made sure our first-aid kit was filled to the brim with everything we might need. I never wanted to be a doctor. I always wanted that intense personal interaction. The satisfaction of watching someone recover because of the way I’m treating them, whether it’s physically or emotionally. I studied it, trained for it, tested for it…I get it. Your career becomes your identity.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
She’s hit the nail on the head about the identity. I am hockey. Hockey is me. Being a hockey player is all I ever wanted, all I ever identified as. I never would have gotten out of Downtown Eastside Vancouver without hockey.
“It must be hard being out of the game. Did you feel lost at first?”
“At first?” I ask. My voice is a whisper, and Bree squeezes my arm.
“Sorry, Luke. I didn’t mean to get too personal.” She leans back, as if trying to move away. But she can’t. There’s nowhere to go.
She’s the one who doesn’t want this to get personal. I’m not on the same page. She’s trying to be flippant, but her innate compassion envelops me as if she placed a warm blanket across my shoulders. She knows how to connect, but also when to stop. It’s a beautiful combination, but I’m not going to let it go. I want to get inside her head, see what makes her who she is.
“It’s okay, Bree,” I say, and I mean it. I want to open up to her. But she doesn’t need to see any more of whiney little bitch Luke on our first date. I shouldn’t let that shit roll out until at least the third or fourth. “I’ve always liked mentoring the young guys, so the role I have with the organization now is a great fit for me. And I still get to be involved in day-to-day hockey operations. I’m still living the dream, ya know.”
It’s an
answer a veteran hockey player trained in how to handle interviews would give, but I can’t help the way my voice cracks on the last line.
Living the fucking dream sitting on my ass at twenty-six years old.
Though my pint glass is three-quarters full, it only takes one long gulp and my beer is gone. Bree is a smart, observant person, but I hope she doesn’t notice the distress chug.
“Sounds like the job suits you. I can see that in how you interact with the kids at the hospital. You transfer knowledge without sounding like a know-it-all.”
“You mean like their parents?” I joke. Her compliment fills me with pride. It’s nice to hear that other people appreciate what I’m doing.
“Basically. You know how kids are. They’ll listen to anyone other than Mom and Dad.”
“Well, parents are always wrong,” I say. “Especially when you’re a teenager.”
“Still goes for me.” Bree laughs. She sets down her chopsticks.
Our waiter comes by and drops the bill off at the table.
“Parent problems?” I ask as I dig my wallet out of my back pocket.
“A story for another time,” she says. She wipes her mouth and tosses her napkin on top of her plate. “Ready to hook up?”
“What?” I ask, counting cash and placing it in the black folder.
“I’m messing with you, Luke.” Bree pats my thigh, then grabs her purse from the floor. “I really like it here.”
“Good. We’ll come back.”
Once we’re in the parking lot, I walk her to her car. “You okay to drive?”
“Yes. I’m fine.” Bree presses a button and the doors to her black sedan unlock. “I had a great time tonight, Luke.”
“Me, too.” I step closer to her. “I’m glad you didn’t have to use your getaway vehicle until now.”
“Maybe we can drive together next time?” she suggests.
“Are you confirming another date? Is that allowed?”
“I suppose so.”
“Awesome. I have an amazing place in mind.” Just thinking about taking her to the Whitewater Center has me bouncing. From what I learned about her tonight, it’ll be the perfect place.