Breakaway

by Sophia Henry

  “I’ve been texting you all day. Why haven’t you called?”

  “I’ve been at work.”

  “They don’t give you breaks there? Aren’t there labor laws in North Carolina?”

  I laugh, though I think he’s serious. He takes his role in the family businesses to heart. Which means he wears the head of human resources hat—among many others. “Yes, but sometimes I work through them if my patients need me.”

  “How’s it going there?”

  “Great. I really like it. The hospital is amazing. And I’m…I’m seeing someone.”

  “Really? What does he do?”

  Of course that would be Dad’s first question.

  “Actually, he’s a hockey player.”

  “You’re a magnet, dear.”

  “They say girls are attracted to men similar to their fathers.”

  “I thought you were finished with hockey players?” Dad teases me. Glad he thinks it’s okay to joke about my love life. Maybe he assumes the months away from home have been enough time to heal my broken heart.

  “I thought so, too. But Luke is different. He doesn’t even play anymore. He has a job with the organization.”

  “How old is he, Brianna?” His voice holds a hint of surprise.

  “He’s twenty-six, Dad. He had to retire after a neck injury.”

  “Luke Daniels?” he asks. Sometimes I forget that my dad is a freak of nature and knows the background of every player in the NHL.

  “Yes.”

  “At least you’re not slumming it after Arkady.”

  “Jesus, Dad. That’s a shitty thing to say.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it, Bree. I just meant that Luke was a talented kid with a bright future. It’s too bad about his injury.”

  “I know. I feel so bad for him, Dad. He’s adjusting to his new position incredibly well, but I know not being on the ice kills him.”

  “Speaking of that, did you see my text about flights?” Dad interrupts. “I want to get Mason out there to stay with you for a few days. Might ignite a spark in him.”

  Always back to my brother. Why does he even ask questions, pretending to care about what’s going on in my life?

  “What about Swirly Girl? Isn’t he in charge of the taproom?” Swirly Girl is the brewery Mom and Dad started while I was in high school. For Mason, being “in charge of the taproom” means he pours a few beers, then walks around the bar drinking and shooting the shit with the patrons. Not sure if that counts as a job.

  “We can hire anyone to do that, Bree.”

  “No shit,” I want to say, but keep my mouth shut.

  “You’ve got to help us get him back on track.”

  “No, Dad. I, just—no,” I tell him firmly.

  “Excuse me?” After twenty-five years of being married to a strong-willed person like Mom, Dad likes to believe he has the upper hand with me. For most of my life, I allowed him to think that way, choosing only the battles I wanted to fight. Well, I’m not humoring him this time. Not on my own turf, hundreds of miles away.

  “I tried to help, remember?” Seems like everyone forgot about the pressure they put on me to find a doctor who would give Mason clearance to play hockey again, but I remembered. It consumed my life during undergrad and clinical rotations.

  “It’s not a one-and-done thing, Brianna.”

  “It’s my turn to live, Dad. I took this assignment to get away. To be on my own.”

  “That’s selfish.”

  I press the brake down as far as it will go as I come to a red light. “Yes, Dad. For the first time in my life, I’m being selfish. I’m having a good time. I don’t want Mason here.”

  “I understand Bree, I do.” His tone changes from gruff annoyance to soft compromise. “But we’re trying to get him to live again. We don’t know what to do.”

  “Kick him out,” I suggest. Though it comes out a bit flippant, I really mean it. How do they expect Mason to change if they let him live at home and pay for him to sit around?

  “You know we aren’t going to do that.”

  I shrug, though Dad can’t see it over the phone. “Well, then he’s gonna be there until he’s sixty.”

  “A week, Brianna. That’s all we’re asking.”

  I squeeze the steering wheel. “Send him to someone else, Dad. I’ve spent too many years worrying about him. I need a break. I’m only here a couple more months.”

  “Your mother will be disappointed in your attitude.”

  That’s Dad’s way of saying he’s going to tattle on me. But it’s an empty threat because my parents have barely spoken to each other about anything other than the business in the last twenty-five years. That must be the slow progression of a marriage that starts with “sacrifice” and resentment. I love them both, but ever since I was a kid, I wished that they would just get a divorce and move on. But they started the Healthy Girl empire together, and the Swirly Girl Brewery after that. Neither one of them will give up any part of the businesses.

  “I guess she will,” I say. “I gotta go, Dad. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”

  My thumb slides down the steering wheel to press the button to end the call before Dad has a chance speak again. I know him well enough to know his next words will not be “Goodbye” or “Love you.” He’ll try to convince me to take Mason in and baby him in Charlotte the way he’s been babied in Anaheim.

  I love my brother. He’s not a bad guy, but the last thing I needed was getting home from work and seeing Mason sitting on my couch with his eyes glued to the TV screen. New place, same story.

  I refuse to spend my final weeks in North Carolina trying to make my brother happy. I’d already spent too much of my life doing that.

  Though Charlotte is cute and small, it’s big enough to be called a city. The hospital I work at is amazing. The staff is both qualified and easy to work with. And I’d met Luke. I’d never met someone like him. Fun and adventurous under his quiet, introspective demeanor.

  For the first time since college, I feel full of life and genuinely happy. Being away from Anaheim and all the issues with my parents and my brother and Arkady make me feel like my life is my own again. The possibilities here seem endless.

  Chapter 19

  Luke

  “I’m so happy you suggested this place. I’ve wanted to check it out since I got here,” Bree says as I pull my Jeep into a makeshift parking spot in a grassy field at the U.S. National Whitewater Center.

  “You’re gonna love it. You can get your California on out here.”

  Bree jumps out of the Jeep. “What does that mean?” she asks, slinging a bright-orange tote bag over her shoulder.

  I lift my shirt off over my head and shove it into her bag. “You’re a California girl. I know you’re all about being outdoors and hiking and eating tree bark. All that super healthy stuff.” I wink.

  “Funny,” she says, bumping me with her shoulder.

  I slide my hand into hers as if we’ve been together for years. She doesn’t pull away, which is slightly surprising, since I know she still has reservations about moving our relationship from being fuck buddies to dating.

  My goal is to get her on the same wavelength as I am. Being with her feels natural. Her easy smile and peaceful spirit calm me, as if tranquility flows through her fingers into me when we hold hands.

  She’s nothing like any other girl I’ve dated. And I’m not talking about the stereotypical puck bunny with dollar signs in her eyes.

  Bree loves being outdoors, which is evident in the golden glow of her tanned skin. Her blue eyes are bright and her cheeks are rosy, but I don’t think she wears a lick of makeup. Her energy is off the charts, and she has quiet confidence.

  The Whitewater Center immediately sprang to mind when I started thinking about a perfect place to take her. Between hiking, biking, whitewater rafting, and paddleboarding, it’s an outdoorsy person’s paradise. I’d planned the entire day here and I couldn’t wait to surprise her with craft beer and li
ve music afterward.

  I already had a season pass for activities, so when we got to the counter, I get Bree the All Sport pass.

  “Please don’t do that,” she says, patting my arm as I hand the guy behind the counter cash. “I can buy my own.”

  “No worries. I got it.”

  Bree squeezes my forearm. “Thanks, Luke.”

  The cashier hands me my change and Bree’s pass. “Ready?”

  “Yes!” She nods eagerly. She looks like she’s so happy she might burst.

  Which makes all sorts of things happen inside me. I’m obviously fucking attracted to her, but there’s more to it. All I want is to make her happy. I haven’t wanted anything so badly since hockey. She’s turning me into a fucking sap, and I don’t even mind.

  I grab her hand again and lead her down the stairs into the park. When we reach the bottom, I quickly turn around to witness her reaction.

  Bree’s eyes light up when she sees the enormous facility. With over a thousand acres and tons of activities, it’s an outdoors lover’s dream. The main draw is the man-made whitewater rafting adventure. There are also flat-water activities, like kayaking and stand-up paddleboarding, but I love the rapids.

  Though I’ve been here on multiple occasions, Bree’s excitement reminds me how amazing it is, and I get excited myself. For the past year, I’ve walked around seeing everything through dead, jaded eyes. Then this gorgeous girl who’s not afraid to be herself or to do what she wants comes into my life. Bree is a simple reminder that life is amazing and beautiful, even when things aren’t going exactly as planned.

  “You up for some whitewater rafting?” I ask, walking toward a concrete wall that separates a small outdoor classroom equipped with rows of wooden benches and a screen from the rest of the park. This is where rafters go through an orientation before getting on the water.

  “I’m so excited to get out there. Do you like rafting?”

  “I was born whitewater rafting.”

  “Really? Your poor mom,” Bree teases me. I know it’s just a reaction to my stupid, macho comment, but the words still send a pang to my heart.

  I haven’t told her everything that happened during my trip to Vancouver yet. I will, because I need her to know that her confidence in me gives me strength, and makes me want to be better, but I want to enjoy the day before I get that heavy with her.

  Instead of sharing my feelings about it, I smile. “Every summer for as far back as I can remember, a few friends and I have met up at the Fraser River—”

  “In British Columbia?” Bree asks, finishing my sentence.

  “Yeah. Do you know it?”

  “Know it? I’ve rafted it.” My face must show my disbelief, because she continues. “My dad took my brother and me there when we were in high school. He met up with a friend he played hockey with in college.”

  “Your dad played hockey, too?”

  “Yep. He even won a couple of national championships with Wisconsin in the eighties.”

  Though Bree said it nonchalantly, her words make me come to a complete stop. “What? Who is your dad?”

  “Max Collins.”

  The name doesn’t sound familiar, but I’m not very knowledgeable about past NCAA players.

  She continues. “You may not know him. He didn’t play after college.”

  We pass a row of lockers, which reminds me. “Hey, do you want to store your bag while we’re in the water?”

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

  Instead of handing me her bag, Bree drops it at her feet. Then she grabs the hem of her tank top and pulls it over her head, revealing a hot-pink bikini top that resembles a thin sports bra. Or maybe it is a sports bra, I don’t know. I’m too busy staring at the tan skin covering her six-pack to worry about the correct name for the fabric over her gorgeous, full breasts. My stomach contracts at the sight of her standing before me half-naked.

  “Sorry,” she says, though I don’t hear any remorse in her flirty tone. “I guess whipping my shirt off was a little much.”

  Shaking my head back to reality, I mumble, “I’m cool with it. Need help with your shorts?”

  “I’ll keep my shorts on for now, but maybe later.” Bree winks. Then she shoves her shirt into her tote before pushing the bag into the locker. I finally take my eyes off her and attach the locker key to the lanyard around my neck.

  Before following her toward the rafting area, I lean in and press my chest against her back. “You know how much I want to fuck you right now, don’t you?”

  “Yup,” she says with a sly smile.

  “Wicked, wicked woman,” I say through a deep sigh, then place my hand on her lower back and lead her forward.

  We grab a seat on one of the wooden benches and wait for the rafting orientation to start. I’ve listened to it multiple times, which means I can focus on Bree, and the fact that we’re sitting thigh to thigh and it’s making me want to pull her onto my lap and kiss her senseless.

  As if on cue, a black Lab wanders up to Bree and starts sniffing between her legs.

  I’m jealous of the dog. Fucker is right where I want to be.

  Bree laughs, rubbing the dog behind the ears with both hands as she lifts its head away from her crotch. “Well, hello, sweetheart!” she says. The dog immediately jumps onto her lap and starts licking her face.

  “Sadie!” someone yells. “Sadie! Get down!”

  Bree and I both turn to see the person yelling at the dog. Sadie doesn’t stop licking and Bree doesn’t seem to care.

  “I’m so sorry!” Sadie’s owner, a cute blond in a white tank top and cutoff jean shorts, says.

  “It’s no problem,” Bree answers. “She’s so sweet,” she says, holding Sadie’s face in front of hers and giving her a kiss on the top of her furry head. “How old is she?”

  “Almost two,” her owner tells us, nudging Sadie off Bree’s lap. “I really am sorry.” She holds up a collar attached to a leash. “She wiggled right out of her collar.”

  “It’s completely okay,” Bree says. “She’s a sweetheart.”

  “Thanks!” The girl slips the collar over Sadie’s head and pulls her away.

  Bree is still smiling as she watches them walk off.

  “You like dogs?” I ask, completely ignoring the fact that we’re still sitting in the rafter’s safety course.

  “Love them,” she says, turning her focus to me. “I have a German shepherd–Lab mix back home. I miss my Stoney.”

  “Stoney?” I ask. Bree must be a closet pothead. Who else would name their dog Stoney?

  “I grew up with a dog named Rocky, so when I got my own I wanted a dog exactly like him, but I also wanted him to have his own identity. That’s when I came up with Stoney.”

  “You guys done?” the instructor says.

  Shit.

  “Yeah, sorry. The friendly dog attack got us off track,” I respond.

  Bree laughs, laces her fingers with mine, and rests them on top of her thigh. When she focuses on the rafting guide, who’s resumed the orientation spiel, I have a chance to look at her. Kindness glows from her as if it’s an aura.

  She reminds me of Melissa Reid, my billet mom in Kamloops. Melissa was everything I’d wanted my own mom to be. I developed a respect and love for her even though I only lived with her for two years, during my WHL days with the Blazers.

  Melissa was there when I woke up and when I went to bed. She made breakfast and dinner every day, and saved me a plate when I wasn’t around to eat with the family. She and the kids attended almost every one of my games, missing them only when the kids had activities scheduled at the same time. She made me call if I was going to be late, and she wanted to know where I was, which was something I had to get used to, since I’d been taking care of myself for years. She wanted to know what was happening in my life and who I was hanging out with. She treated me like I was one of her own kids. She showed me the same warmth and concern, and the same disappointment when I acted like an idiot.

  Melissa pa
ssed away from breast cancer two years after I was drafted by Charlotte. I’d flown her and the kids to Toronto, where I’d played my first NHL game for the Aviators, even though she was really sick at that point. I wanted her to be there because I wasn’t sure if she’d make it to see me playing full-time for the Aviators. She didn’t.

  “Luke,” Bree says, patting my thigh, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Yeah?”

  “Time to hit the rapids.” She stands up and wiggles her index finger, beckoning me to follow her. I love that she takes charge, as if she’s the one who’s been here a hundred times.

  We follow the other rafters to the open area, where we meet our guide and the other people who will be in our raft, since there’s only two of us and a raft fits six to eight people.

  As we strap on our red life jackets, I lean over and ask, “Should we make a bet on who falls out first?”

  “Sure, but I gotta warn you, I haven’t fallen out since my first time rafting.” She checks her straps before glancing up at me.

  “Neither have I.”

  A tingle zips through me when the I place the white helmet on my head and fasten the strap under my chin. Between the vest and the head gear, it feels like I’m suiting up for a game. I push the thoughts away, because they depress me and I don’t want any melancholy thoughts while on this date with Bree.

  Bree wasn’t kidding when she said she was good at rafting. She’s seats herself with her legs wide and her toes secured under a strap, and digs her oar into the water with ferocity, calling out almost as many instructions as our guide.

  Everyone gets doused with water as the raft jumps and dips over and through the level three rapids. I’m bounced out of my seat a few times, but recover quickly. Every time it gets crazy, I glance at Bree. She’s got this wild, crazy grin on her face, like she’s enjoying every minute of the experience. For such a petite girl, she’s tough and sturdy. She glances at me and winks.

  That’s my downfall. I’m so busy looking at her, transfixed, that I’m not paying attention to what I should be doing. The raft hits a huge boulder and flips up. One minute I’m in the boat, the next I’m underwater, chomping waves. That only lasts a second before I bob to the surface. When you’re in level three and four rapids, you can’t swim; the current is too strong. I’ve fallen out before, so I follow the instructions we were taught in the rafting orientation, even though I didn’t pay attention to them this time. I remember to lie back like a dead bug and let the current take me to the open pool of water where the rapids stop.