2. Kade

Chapter two

Kade

I gently closed the front door behind me as I entered my upscale, modern apartment, a rental in a mostly owned waterfront condo development. Every muscle ached, a testament to the intensity of my competition with Ziggy at the arena. The cool air conditioning landed on my sweat-slicked skin and raised goosebumps. The temperature was at least twenty degrees cooler than the scorching heat outside.

The combined scents of leather upholstery and furniture polish filled the air. I also detected a hint of briny seaweed that seemed to permeate every building in Whistleport. I found my way to the bathroom, where I peeled off my hockey gear, letting it thud as I dropped it. My stick rested against the wall for a few seconds before it slid to the side and clattered on the tile floor.

As I climbed under the rain shower head, I closed my eyes and let the warm spray pound against my head and shoulders. It didn't wash away the memory of the day, but it eased the ache in my muscles. When I closed my eyes, the scrape of skates against the ice came back to me. I could hear the thwack of sticks hitting pucks.

And Ziggy—Damn, Ziggy. He was tall like me, but his body filled out more than mine, adding on additional muscle. He was lightning-fast at responding to any movement on the ice. Dark, shaggy hair peeked out from under his helmet, and when he pulled it off, the jade-green eyes reeled me in.

My heart raced again as I remembered the intensity of our exertion… or was it something else? I wasn't ready to name what that might be.

Pull it together, Kade. He's just another hockey rival. I rolled my head back, letting the water cascade down my face.

I emerged from the shower into a cloud of steam filling the bathroom. After wrapping a plush white towel around my waist, I padded out into the living room with impossibly soft carpet beneath my feet.

The apartment came pre-furnished, and it practically screamed out my parents' expensive tastes. Chrome, glass, and leather upholstery surrounded me aside from one out-of-place hardwood desk that looked vaguely familiar, perhaps from my grandparents' home. The rest of the furniture was all new, delivered from the store the day before I moved in.

There was nothing warm and welcoming about my place. I was living in a furniture showroom.

It was too quiet, so I reached for the TV remote to break the silence. Before I could push the power button, I heard a burst of laughter from outside. Dropping my hand to my side, I walked to the window and peered out.

Mrs. Perkins from next door was talking to a silver-haired woman. She'd briefly introduced herself when I was moving in and brought over a plate of cookies that night. It was a kind gesture, but I couldn't stop thinking that she wanted something more.

I cracked the window open just enough to hear the conversation. "…that Langston boy. Did you see the car he drove up in? Looks like he's got plenty of Daddy's money to throw around."

Stiffening, I heard her piercing laugh. "Oh, I know! They say he's here for the summer to find himself. As if there's a closet in this little town he's hiding in."

The other woman's voice was too low to make out the specific words. Mrs. Perkins spoke again. "Betty at the Curl Up and Dye bets there was a scandal at his college. You know how those rich boys are."

I curled my free hand into a fist. There was no way I would hit an older woman, but her comments got under my skin. I pulled the window shut and retreated to the couch. No one in Whistleport knew jack about me, and they definitely didn't know why I was in their town for the summer. They hadn't lived through the pressure, expectations, family drama…

How could I tell any of them and make them understand? Mrs. Perkins confirmed they all thought I was a rich kid with a cushy life. Was I supposed to say, "Hi, I'm in therapy. I need to figure out what my world's about other than the family name and bank account." Would they have any sympathy at all?

Suddenly, the walls of my new apartment felt like they were closing in. The expensive furniture represented everything I wanted to escape. The plush, thick carpet under my feet was like quicksand trying to pull me under into a world I didn't like and didn't understand.

I stood and paced around the room. Mrs. Perkins' laughter rang through my head. It mingled with the comments I heard in the locker room of my college's arena and the constant weight of my parents' plans for me.

Dropping the remote on the coffee table, I muttered, "I've got to get out of here… at least for a few hours." I reached up and ran my fingers through my damp hair. My instinct to flee took over.

Pulling on the first clothes I could grab—a wrinkled UNH T-shirt and running shorts—I searched for my sneakers. Socks were unnecessary. The shoes were by the front door, where I kicked them off. After tugging them on, I reached out for the doorknob with a trembling hand.

Heading out, I knew that I desperately needed air and space. I needed to be somewhere that didn't remind me of everything I didn't quite understand.

How did everyone in Whistleport know my name and not know me? I heard snippets of conversation drifting past me as I walked.

When I caught the scent of freshly ground coffee beans, I stopped. Looking up, I saw a weathered sign reading "Tidal Grounds." Caffeine often had the counter-intuitive impact of calming me. When I pushed the door open, cool air from the air conditioning surrounded me.

As I stepped up to the counter, a man with a thick, dark beard and kind eyes greeted me. "Welcome to Tidal Grounds. I'm Silas. You must be Kade."

I tensed. "How did—"

"Small town. News travels fast. Don't worry, though. We're mostly a friendly catch. What can I brew up for ya?"

"Just a black coffee. Strong enough to strip paint if you've got it."

A gentle hiss filled the air as Silas brewed a mugful for me. "So, what brings you to a town like Whistleport."

I hesitated but ultimately told a partial truth.

"A change of scenery, and I needed to clear my head."

Silas nodded and slid the steaming mug across the counter. "Sometimes a change of scenery's just the recipe we need. Say, did you know our back deck's got a view that'd make a postcard jealous? Care to join me? It's time for my breather, and I reckon the sun's done broiling us for the day."

The deck was a gem. Strings of tiny lights twinkled overhead. We settled into mismatched chairs, and the tension in my shoulders started to relax. I listened to the gentle waves lapping onto the sand. "This is a beautiful space."

An old lobster trap served as a side table between us. Old buoys hung from the roof over the deck. They echoed Whistleport's nautical past and present.

Silas smiled. "Thank you for the compliment. This place is a labor of love. It's my pride and joy, like a perfect espresso pull. Used to be a bait shop, if you can believe it. I wanted to whip up a spot where everyone feels welcome, whether you've got seaweed in your veins or you're fresh off the boat."

It was the second sincere voice I'd heard in my day. I had to admit that Ziggy was the first. "So, you're okay with outsiders?"

Silas leaned forward. "Of course. Listen, Kade, you might hit some choppy water being a new face on the corner. Folks 'round here? They're like a good soup stock—takes time to simmer, but once they warm up to ya, they'll stick by you thicker than chowder."

I sipped the coffee. It was some of the best I'd had in a long time. "It's just… well, I'm already feeling like somebody took a slice of me, put it on a slide, and now everybody is looking at me through a microscope, trying to find flaws."

Silas nodded. "Yep, that's a small town, alright. We get lots of tourists but not many newcomers who stick around for more than a day or two, particularly with a background like yours. Anything new gives everyone pause, but give it a little time. Show us the real you."

"And if you don't like me?"

"That's our loss, but my gut tells me that won't be the case. This little town has a way of molding people into something new, bringing out parts of them they never knew existed. It did that for me."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? How'd that work?"

Silas chuckled. He swept his right arm in a half-circle, gesturing toward the shop. "Well, I certainly never planned on running a place like this. I was ready to leave my hometown and chase city dreams. After culinary school, on a brief trip back home, I saw this ramshackle bait shop up for sale. My eyes opened wide, and it drew me in. I learned that sometimes the biggest adventures happen in the smallest spaces."

I liked what he had to say. I needed a place that could help push me down a path. "I'm not sure who the real me is. Does that make any sense?"

Silas offered another warm smile. "Of course, it does, and that's okay. This might be a great place to figure things out as long as you keep an open mind. Talk to people, and listen to their stories. You might find a lot of surprises if you look in the right places."

I sipped more coffee, feeling a new glimmer of hope for a productive summer. "Thanks, Silas. I appreciate it."

He stood and stretched. "Anytime. They tell me I can be a good sounding board. Now, I need to get back inside before the evening rush starts. Just remember, there's always a friendly ear here and the best coffee on the coast."

I followed him back into the main room of Tidal Grounds. The cool interior provided a break from the outside heat. I sat on a counter stool and watched Silas work the espresso machine.

The bell above the door chimed, and in walked a familiar figure. It was Mrs. Perkins, and she made a beeline for the counter as soon as she saw Silas and me.

"Silas Brewster, are you squirreling away our summer celebrity from us? The whole town is buzzing about the Langston boy like seagulls who found a bucket of bait."

I braced myself for a raft of questions.

Silas took it in stride. "Dottie, you have perfect timing. I was just about to ask Kade about his summer reading. He'd mentioned Hemingway, I think."

Grateful for the lifeline he tossed me, I quickly made something up. "Yeah, I'm revisiting The Old Man and the Sea . It's such a classic."

Dottie opened her eyes wider. "Oh, you're a reader! We have a lovely book club that meets here every other Tuesday… perhaps the ladies would be interested in some Hemingway with a special guest."

I chuckled softly, and while Dottie launched into details about the members of her book club and the romances they favored, Silas shared a subtle wink. I smiled into my coffee.

When Dottie finally ambled off, clutching a to-go cup, Silas turned his attention back to me. A knowing smile filled his face.

"See? It's not so bad, right?"

"Yeah… guess so… thanks for the save."

Silas waved a hand. "Consider it a contribution to the public discourse. Now, about Hemingway…"

We launched into a spirited discussion of American literature, and my worries faded into the background. Although it wasn't my major, I took literature courses as electives in college whenever possible. When the heat finally gave up its grip for the evening, I reluctantly prepared to leave.

"I want you to know you're welcome anytime here, Kade. Sometimes, you only need one friendly face to make a place feel like home."

On my walk back to my apartment, I felt lighter than before. When I rounded a corner that took me along the edge of the beach, I spotted a familiar figure in the distance—Ziggy.

He was running in the shallow edge of the ocean, kicking up spray behind him. The setting sun cast hues of gold and bronze over his skin. As if someone whispered in his ear that I was around, he turned, and our eyes met for a brief moment.

I heard the sound of blood rushing in my ears and felt a surge of competitiveness, but that wasn't all. There was something deeper and more powerful. He raised a hand in a brief wave. I returned it.

He immediately turned, and I folded my arms over my chest, watching him as he disappeared around a short bend in the shoreline. What was our connection? Were we enemies… or was that too simple of a read on the situation?

Finally, I turned and shook myself out of my musing. I only had a short walk left, and the streets were much quieter than before. The gossiping voices gave way to the sound of crickets and laughter on beachfront decks and porches.

Back inside my new home base, I thought about ways to continue the competition with Ziggy, but my brain wouldn't focus. In my mind, I saw his muscles flexing as he ran and the intense gaze of his green eyes when we battled at the arena. He was like a massive magnet that I couldn't resist.

I closed my eyes, and he was there, too, with the fading sunlight reflecting off his skin and his hair slicked back by sweat and sea spray. I curled my fingers, wondering what it would feel like to run them through it.

It was a confusing maelstrom of emotions. I understood the admiration. Ziggy was a hero to some in Hockey East, our college hockey conference. He was a walk-on who not only made the team but also quickly became a leader as a first-year student. I couldn't deny his skills and dedication. Still, there was something else. I had to crack the code.

I flopped onto the couch. Was I soft in the head due to my summer confusion? Or was this exactly the kind of self-discovery I needed to find in Whistleport? Ziggy was supposed to be my rival, first and foremost. Why did I hope to see him again and have a chance to talk… talk! Not simply bury him in competition on the ice.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, still half awake, my first dreams were a confused tangle of ice and sand, one-on-one competition, and... something else. Ziggy's challenging gaze was the last thing I saw before sleep claimed me, those green eyes daring me to figure it all out.