Page 44 of One Last Shot
“Hockey,” said Axel. “He’s crazy about the Anchorage P-Bears. Had a dream of playing, once upon a time.”
“So did you, little bro,” said Moose as he zipped up the gear bag.
“Half of the population in Alaska wants to play hockey,” said Axel. “It’s bred into us as youth. Pond hockey in every town.” He pulled on a ball cap, backwards, to cover up his helmet head. His dark blond hair stuck out under it.
They seemed from two different mothers, the Mulligan brothers. Moose with his big stature, serious demeanor, dark brown hair, gray-green eyes. Axel, just a little smaller but still built, with blue eyes and an easy smile.
“Sorry,” Oaken said. “I know this is lame—but I need to find a laundromat. My hotel only does dress shirts.”
Moose picked up one of the bags. “Forget the hotel. Stay with me. I have four bedrooms, and Axel is only using two.”
“Funny.” Axel picked up the other gearbag. “But true.”
“I think Reynolds is getting me an Airbnb.”
Moose stopped, glanced back. “C’mon, Oak. You’re one of the team now.”
He didn’t know why Moose’s words hit a soft spot, sank in.
“Besides, I can think of a much better way to spend a Friday night than doing laundry.” Axel followed his brother out.
Yeah, he could too. Oaken joined them outside and Moose was standing at his truck, his phone out. “I’m texting you my address.” He then pocketed his phone. “Bring chips.”
He got into the truck, Axel on the passenger side.
The sun still labored over the mountains, lengthening the day, and the last thing Oaken wanted to do was go back to the hotel or drive around Anchorage looking for a laundromat.
He wanted to ask if Boo might be there, but he’d already picked up her vibe—she worked hard but usually disappeared right after training. Which had him asking all sorts of questions, but maybe it was none of his business.
Still, the fact that she hadn’t looked like she wanted to strangle him since their showdown four days ago seemed like enough.
On his way to the hotel, he called Seraphina. Still sedated, Mike’s heart rate had steadied, his stats rising. She sounded less tired today.
So maybe this wasn’t a disaster. No lives lost because of him, no reason to believe he was going to screw this all up.
He pulled into the Summit Hotel, so Alaskan with its A-frame entrance and three-story atrium, and took the elevator to the top floor. Housekeeping had already swept his room, and he dug out a tip for them, left it on the bed, then packed his bag, trying not to argue with himself too much.
He didn’t know why the impulse to take Moose up on his offer drove him, but the idea of hanging out with the Mulligan brothers felt better than a dry pizza and channel surfing.
Maybe he just missed his band. He probablyowed his band leader, Mills, a call, although Mills had needed a break too, what with his wife having a baby.
None of the guys deserved what he’d put them through, but he was fixing that.
He hauled his duffel bag over his shoulder, grabbed his guitar, then checked out and popped the bag beside his dirty laundry in the trunk. He opened Moose’s text message, pulled up the GPS, popped on the radio, and headed out of town.
Thirty minutes later, he turned onto Old Glenn Highway, the sun casting deep amber rays through the piney forest. The road ran along a ridge that dropped to the river below some thirty feet, maybe more. But between the trees glistened the beautiful blue of the Knik Arm. As the road veered away from the river, a few houses sat on the ridge, mostly log cabins, all at the end of long dirt driveways.
He turned onto one of these and trekked in toward the river. The drive opened up to a massive lawn, a beautiful two-story timber lodge with a garage wing and a stunning view. He parked in the gravel drive and got out, opening his back seat for his guitar, then the trunk to grab his gear.
The front door opened, and Moose walked out onto the long covered porch. “I just fired up the grill.” He came down the steps and grabbed the duffel bag. “No chips?”
“Aw. Sorry.” Oaken grabbed his laundry.
“We’ll live.” He led him up the steps and into the beautiful home.
Inside, double doors led to a home office, and the hallway opened to an expansive great room, but Moose stopped in the entry, shook off his Crocs, then carried Oaken’s duffel up the stairs to the second floor.
Oaken undid his boots, left them on the mat, took off his jacket and hung it on the wrought-iron hooks, then followed Moose up with his laundryand his guitar.