Page 75 of Drop the Mitts

There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it, so he went back to work, blasting Counting Crows high enough, he hoped a neighbor showed up to complain.

André locked up the workshop as the last swipe of orange glowed on the horizon. The tools were wiped down, clamps stacked, workbench swept. The gate leaned against the far wall, perfect and gleaming under the fluorescents, but even that little rush of satisfaction didn’t stick.

He showered fast, scrubbing off the day with scalding water and charcoal soap, then threw on jeans and a Henley, grabbed a six-pack from the fridge, and hit the road for Country’s place. The farmhouse looked like a Norman Rockwell painting. The wraparound porch was lit with strings of warm bulbs, and laughter already rolled out beneath the front door. Inside, the place smelled like pizza and beer and something sugary Jenna likely whipped up.

André barely got his boots off before Suraj called out, “Nobody told me I had to look pretty.”

“Don’t be jealous I shower, Raj,” Andre shot back, breezing into the kitchen where the crew had already staked their usual places.

Curtis was at the head of the table, dealing cards like he moonlighted in Vegas. Tyler and Vargo were arguing about whether or not Jack Harrison was overrated while Jack sat right there with his feet up, giving zero shits since he was the only one there with a contract.

Fly—former captain, current hockey dad—sipped a soda and muttered to Brett about the blueline pressure in the last Habs game, while Sean sat with his half-empty beer looking like someone had stolen his damn lunch.

André slapped the six-pack on the counter. “Alright. Who’s ready to get humiliated?”

Brett barely looked up as he shuffled chips. “By the guy who bluffed with a limp pair of threes for half the damn night last week? Yeah, I’m shaking.”

“You folded to that limp pair, Brett. Let’s not rewrite history.”

Jenna breezed over from behind the island. “Drinks? We’ve got beer, margaritas, and my own creation: a blueberry bourbon smash. The cookies will be cool in a sec.”

“I always love a good smash.” André sat in the chair between Country and Suraj.

“Hmm.” Jenna gave him a look as she handed over a glass that looked like it could strip varnish off a truck bumper.

“So. You and Grace.” Tyler leaned back in his chair.

André forced a grin to his face. “You know something I don’t know?”

Tyler nodded to Jenna. “Heard you two had to share a room in E-town.”

“Did Jenna tell you I was a perfect gentleman?” He called over his shoulder. He could play this game all day.

Sean slammed a stack of chips down. “Can we play, or what?”

Curtis took a drink of his dirty soda. “Someone’s happy tonight.”

“Kelty still with her parents?” Suraj asked, and André frowned. Wasn’t Kelty in Edmonton? Had he seen her Sunday morning?

Sean’s eyes darkened. “Can. We. Play?”

André didn’t push it, but he clocked the twitch in Sean’s jaw and felt a twinge of guilt. He’d noticed Sean was quiet at the waterpark, but he’d been so caught up in his own shit, he hadn’t stopped to question it.

They played for two hours straight. André lost three rounds in a row and made up for it by emptying half the jar of pickled jalapeños Jenna left out for snacks. “You clowns are cheating.”

“You can’t bluff for shit.” Vargo grinned. “What’s her name?”

André flipped him off and took another chip.

Curtis won, as usual. He always did. Something about having four kids made the man impossible to read.

“Alright, boys,” Jenna called from the kitchen, holding a cookie sheet piled high with peanut butter bars. André took one, thanked her, then brushed past to step out onto the porch.

Simply existing was so much damn work. The cold air bit at his lungs, sharp and grounding, just the way he needed. Hedragged a hand down his face and leaned against the railing, his fingers curling around the rough wood.

The sky stretched wide overhead, dark and velvet blue, pricked with stars. Everything felt too tight in his chest. He was doing everything right. Everything good. And he was so damn tired.

The door creaked behind him. Boots scuffed the porch.

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