Sitting in the passenger seat of the Audi, Julie kept fiddling with the radio, trying to find a distraction from how quiet the ride to New Hope was.

The Adam she'd been joking with mere minutes earlier was nowhere to be found, replaced instead with a guy who suddenly seemed very concerned about speed limits and blinker usage along suburban thoroughfares. As he lit another cigarette, she started to re-remember their Warrior days, this time not through the softened glow of nostalgia, but as things actually were.

.

As much as she hated to admit it, they hadn't been a unified team.

Their junior year, as the remaining Ducks were either moved up to varsity or cut entirely, Wilson had made Adam captain with hopes that he could help bridge the divide between them and the Warrior legacies.

And, in a way, he did: Under his leadership, hockey became the sole focus. Unlike Riley or Scooter or Charlie, he didn't particularly care about old loyalties or interpersonal dramas; he expected perfection from every player at every practice.

In terms of creating a winning team, it worked. However, it meant he never received the love those other captains did.

Once his own perfection came crashing down, there wasn't much left.

…

"I think this will be fun." She assured him, double-checking the directions on her phone.

"Yeah."

Looking back over at him, his eyes were glued to the road, his face giving little away. The fingers on his left hand drummed at the steering wheel, leaving his right side to seem all the more frozen by contrast.

"They really did care about you, you know..."

"Yeah."

"You don't say that like you believe it." She spoke softly, chewing at her bottom lip.

"I don't not believe it. Just, you know…"

"They did care. They do care. They're just…things are complicated sometimes."

"Yeah."

"Really. I—I think this will be good for you. I think this is something that you need."

"I think what I need is another drink."

May 16, 2000

"Dude, this isn't exactly the Oscars. People kind of show up if they feel like showing up. There isn't much I can do about it."

A group had gathered at the Banks' house, preparing for Adam's graduation party. Prep school kids from throughout the western suburbs had descended upon the palatial Tudor-graduating seniors from Blake, Breck, and Eden Hall all looking forward to a night of debauchery hosted by Minnesota's Hockey God.

Charlie, meanwhile, sat at the kitchen island sulking as Adam filled a cooler with beer.

.

Ever since learning of the party, the two had been at one another's throats.

.

In Charlie's mind, this was the perfect opportunity for one last Duck gathering...Ducks being the emphasis.

He longed to live in the kind of house where everybody could fit. To have one last weekend with his favorite people. When he found out that Bunny Banks was going to be out of town, he felt like his prayers had been answered. His mind instantly went to what he could do to give everybody one last chance to hang out before they went their separate ways.

One last chance to fly together.

.

For Adam, on the other hand, there was nothing particularly sacrosanct about the Ducks.

They were simply another hockey team.

Not that much different from the Hawks, or Breck's JV squad, or the U.S. National U-18 team.

.

"You could tell them they can't be here."

"Yeah Charlie.' He rolled his eyes. "I'm really going to go out there and tell all those people they're not invited. Because that would go over well."

As Adam grabbed an armful of Bud Light, Charlie glared over at a group of Breck lacrosse players who had congregated in the foyer. All four had the same gelled hair; the same frat bro swagger and the same annoying names like Parker and Conner and Todd. They all wore Abercrombie swim trunks, and they all reeked of Polo Blue; their smell filling the entire house.

I can't believe he'd rather hang out with those guys than his own teammates.

"You didn't invite Portman." Charlie reminded him, staring down at his own beer.

"I didn't not invite him. It's not my fault they're here and he's not."

"I think you made it pretty clear."

Pausing his cooler-filling duties to crack open another beer, Adam could practically hear Portman mocking him for the size of his house; the endless jokes about how the Porsche was compensating for something, and how people only liked him for his money. The jokes had always been made in passing, but the tension behind them was obvious.

.

"I didn't make anything clear." Adam sighed. "I just said I was having people over. Whoever wanted to come was welcome to come."

"Yeah, but you know that's not how any of that works."

"That's on him. It's not like I sent any of those guys out there an engraved invitation begging them to come. They just came."

"They felt included."

"So?" Adam shrugged.

"So you do a better job of making random Breck preps feel included than your own teammates."

Adam took another drink as he looked out the window.

A sea of Acuras and Jeep Grand Cherokees now lined the block; every vehicle packed with teenage revelers.

Those people all liked him.

They were all nice to him.

"Okay, sorry if I'm nicer to people who aren't a dick to me all the time. Super weird of me, I know."

"Like you're not just as bad?"

"What?"

"You're a bigger ass to him than he is to you."

"And how would that be? I barely talk to him."

"Yeah. That part is true." Charlie agreed, shaking his head. "The only time you ever say anything to him-the only time that you acknowledge that he exists-is to ride his ass for not being good enough."

"And?"

"That." Charlie slammed down his can of beer, his frustration rising. "That's the attitude I'm talking about. Do you ever tell him he did anything right? Do you ever thank him for anything? Do you ever say hi to him in the hallway? Sit near him in class? Literally do anything to acknowledge that he's your teammate and that you freakin' give a shit?"

By this time, the lacrosse bros had turned to watch, Charlie's volume making this a matter of public interest.

"What do you want me to do?" Adam joked, trying to push away the knowledge that he now had an audience. "Send him a fuckin' singing telegram to thank him for making it to practice on time? I mean, granted, I wouldn't have to do that very often..."

"I just don't get why you can't be nicer."

"He punched me in the face during a scrimmage. I don't exactly think I'm the issue here."

"Whatever."

"I had a black eye for like, two weeks." Adam reminded him, that incident hurting a lot more than just his eye.

"You're a punchable guy."

"Asshole."

"Seriously though." Charlie paused, his brow furrowed. "What about our last game? You called him a worthless fuckup in front of the whole locker room."

"Well yeah. He was a fuckup. He'd been playing like shit all night."

Charlie shook his head.

"That was the last game. And we won. There wasn't any purpose to what you were doing-you were just riding him for the hell of it."

"It was the National Championship. And he played like shit."

"So?"

"What do you mean, so?"

Charlie buried his face in his hands.

Nothing ever changed. This was no different than Captain Blood; no different than Reilly or Wilson.

"I mean, it was his last game. He's not playing juniors or college hockey after this. You weren't helping him to become a better player for next time. You were just making him feel like crap for the fun of it."

"I was making him into a man."

"His mom was in the hospital."

"For her gallbladder.

.

Adam glanced down at the scars running the length of his arm-three surgeries in five years on that arm alone. One scar stretched all the way from his wrist to his elbow; his entire forearm opened up to switch out the hardware in hopes that it would improve his range of motion.

Nobody ever gave him a free pass.

Nobody ever said 'It's okay that you missed that shot, Adam. We know you're hurting. We love you just for you being you'.

No. He had to be perfect every time.

.

"If he considers that a distraction, he should probably cut down on the creatine and see if he can grow some balls back."

"Yeah, well, I've always thought you ought to cut down on the Vicodin. See if you can grow some feelings back. But I guess everyone's just doing what they want."

"Fuck you."

Turning into the Oak Hills Estates subdivision, Julie had to suppress a giggle at the fact that there were, in fact, exactly zero oak trees, hills, or estates in sight.

There were, however, row after row of tract houses. All of which looked identical, with their beige aluminum siding, flat rooflines, and treeless, postage stamp sized yards. For what seemed like miles, the middle class homogeneity stretched out in every direction, only the occasional summer wreath or pot of geraniums differentiating one house from the next.

"They really do know how to name subdivisions…" Adam mused, sharing her sense of irony.

"I know, right?"

Looking back over at him, his face had relaxed, his fingers no longer drumming frantically at the wheel. A smile was starting to work its way up through his features, his mouth turning up at the corners.

"I'm proud of you, you know."

"Heh, not much to be proud of here." He chuckled, "But thanks anyway."

"You were a good captain.

"You were good at a lot of things."

She smiled as she watched the light return to his eyes, a hint of pink creeping through his cheeks.

"Well thank you. You were pretty amazing yourself."

Reaching over, she took hold of his right hand and gave it a squeeze, their arms resting against the leather console. As the stereo played The Revivalists 'Soulfight', she smiled at the familiar warmth of it all; the fact not escaping her that their hands still fit perfectly together.

…..

Turning onto Sycamore Terrace, Julie could see all of the cars lining the street—a mixture of bland rental cars and aging Nissans and minivans in a row.

As they neared 1604 Sycamore, she could see Connie in the front yard, catching up with Kenny and two Bash Brothers, while Kenny's wife stood a few feet away, tending to the new baby. Looking closer, she laughed when she saw that Portman hadn't completely retired his old high school wardrobe; the aging middle manager dressed in a Metallica tee and black bandana.

Glancing back at the guy beside her, she couldn't help but shake her head at the contrast between the two.

"See, now that's a look you need to try." She joked, eyeing his $300 sunglasses and perfectly tailored oxford.

"Well, I would say that I don't really have the body to pull that off, but then again, I don't think that's stopping him."

"Very true"

"Then again," Adam pointed out, well aware of both the fact that he didn't have room to be judging other men's bodies and unable to resist a bit of harmless flirtation. "Come to think of it, I don't really have the body to pull this off, either. You might have to help me get undressed tonight."

"I can't tell if that's supposed to be a pickup line or a statement of fact," Julie joked, undoing her seatbelt.

Bad Pussycat.

Married.

Extremely married.

"Well, it depends. I mean, I had meant that I'm not always the best with buttons, but if you want to help me get naked and settled into bed, I'm certainly not going to stop you."

"Perv"

Looking over, Julie saw that he'd turned bright pink, even the tips of his ears and the base of his neck flushing magenta.

"That was a perfectly wholesome statement. I can't help it if you have a dirty mind."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you meant it in a very wholesome way."

"I did. I did," He insisted, a smile creeping through despite his best attempts at a straight face. "I mean, you're the doctor here. I'm sure you do that all the time."

"I think you've confused actual doctors with Naughty Nurses V: Dr. Lovewood and the Boob Exam."

"So many hospitalizations since seeing that movie." He sighed, shaking his head. "So many disappointments."

"It really did create some unrealistic expectations with regards to patient care," She agreed, nodding as he found a parking spot between a rental Kia and what she presumed to be Guy's Yukon.

"I'm holding out hope. One day, Dr. Lovewood will need me. And I'll be there!"

"With wood?"

"With all the wood a beaver could dream of!"

May 16, 2000

"Come on, I will if you will." Adam laughed, looking over at Charlie.

"No way. You're crazy."

"What? I've done it like, 100 times," He reassured him, stretching the truth just a tad.

Twice. A hundred times.

Same thing.

The two were standing atop the Banks' second floor balcony, overlooking the pool. A few minutes earlier, Crawford Wellesley had decided to impress the female guests by shotgunning a beer with his teeth. Never one to be outdone, particularly by a guy like Crawford, Charlie had decided that he needed to upstage the performance. He needed to do something bigger. Grander. More likely to drop panties and/or land himself in the emergency room. In a fleeting moment of male pride, he looked up, and as he saw the sun shining over the sprawling Tudor, inspiration beckoned from the great above.

He would jump off the balcony into the pool.

He would show the world that he was way more of a man than Crawford Wellesley.

Unfortunately, this declaration was made before realizing just how high up the balcony really was…

With each step, Charlie could feel his heart sinking further, the Banks' house somehow tripling in size by the time he made his way up the stairs. Now standing at the railing, it felt like he needed binoculars just to see the pool, thousands of acres of bone shattering concrete between him and the water. He could already see the funeral playing in his mind, poor Casey sobbing by the casket as Crawford enjoyed a threesome in the bathroom with the Bergjorn twins.

This…hadn't been his finest move.

And, for better or worse, the one guy who didn't have to worry about impressing girls had followed him up.

"No. Not doing this."

"Come on. You know you want to."

"I don't want to die!"

"Dude." Adam laughed, his Abercrombie model smile gleaming even whiter in the sun. "You're not going to die. I'm pretty sure like, a zillion people have done this, and the only one who ever missed was Scott."

"And what happened to him?"

"Okay, well, he shattered his femur. But on the upside, now when he goes through metal detectors, he has a card he can show them, so they never even suspect that he has a gun. So…I guess that kind of worked out in the end."

"That's the least reassuring thing I've ever heard."

"Nah. It'd be less reassuring if he died." Adam pointed out, his humor hiding growing the lump in his throat.

After all, it was a rather long jump. And the concrete below was rather hard. And he was kind of scared of heights. And there wasn't really much point to the whole exercise.

But, a real man never admitted to being scared.

"You're warped."

"Well, yeah."

"You're going first."

"So you can see if I die?"

"Yup."

"Fine. We'll do it together."

"If you make it and I don't, tell my mom I loved her."

"If you make and I don't, tell my mom to fuck herself."

"Julie!" Connie squealed, the first to notice the new arrivals. Running towards the parked SUV, she nearly tackled Julie as she got out, the passing years having done nothing to dampen her enthusiasm.

"How have you been? Oh my gosh I've missed you so much!"

"I've missed you, too!" Julie crowed, the two swaying back and forth in delight.

"It's been too long!"

"It's been much too long!"

"Also, it's not fair how hot you still are!"

"Umm, yeah. Coming from the woman who still looks 18?"

"I. Wish."

"I love you."

It wasn't until Kenny and the Bash Brothers headed over to greet the other new arrival that Connie's focus shifted, finally realizing that Julie had not simply materialized out of thin air. As she looked over, her face once again lit up, happy to see that a certain reclusive Minnesotan had made his way out of Edina.

"And how are you?" She asked, making her way over to the driver's side to give him a hug.

"Heh, I can't complain." He shrugged, wrapping his good arm around her and pulling her in tightly. "And how about you? Does it feel good to finally have your husband back after seventeen years?"

"I still can't believe that he's actually retired! It just makes me feel so old to say it."

"You are old, Ms. Germaine." He laughed, that mischievous twinkle back. "Practically ancient."

"Thanks."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm still a year older, so if you're ancient, I'm basically just a corpse with a job."

Stepping back, she looked him up and down, seeing him in person for the first time in almost two decades.

"It looks like you're doing pretty well for a corpse."

"Thanks. I had a good mortician."

May 16, 2000

"See? I said you'd live."

"I'm never doing that again, Cakeeater!" Charlie gasped, still trying to catch his breath after the plunge.

Even after having landed safely in the water, he could feel his heart beating in his ears and the stinging in the bottom of his feet, his whole body eager to remind him of what a stupid thing he'd done.

He did not feel cool.

He did not feel proud of himself for upstaging Crawford.

He felt like a moron.