Weekend Friend

09.

"WHAT THE HELL, Sydney," I seethe, wishing I had something to whack him over the head with. He evidently needs to have some sense knocked into him. "Why are you here? How did you—wait, did you microchip the dog?"

"This looks bad, I know," Sydney says, rubbing the back of his neck as he leans against the driver's side door of his Prius. "But I can explain, okay? I was worried that Morgan would go all Chris McCandless and never come back from his hike. He's from England. They don't have mountains or bears or the right to bear arms in that country, and he can seriously piss people off with that accent of his. But most importantly, practice starts next week, and we need our goalkeeper. We couldn't sit back and let him go alone."

"I doubt the English football player has read Into the Wild," I retort, conscious of Morgan's presence. He's just lifted himself out of the passenger seat with the rugged grace of a fighter pilot.

"Underestimating me is a sport for you, isn't it, St. Clair?" Morgan's accent infiltrates our conversation with all its usual cheekiness.

I grit my teeth. I haven't spoken to Morgan since June, but I'm already over his shit. "You shouldn't be here."

Morgan walks around the rear of the car to stand beside Sydney and holds my gaze for a beat before a mischievous grin slowly spreads across his face. He's looking at me like he knows something I don't. "What exactly did Park say–"

"Like I said, we've got practice every day next week," Sydney interrupts, shooting Morgan a pointed look. "So it was today or not at all."

"Then it should've been not at all. Or you could've gone literally anywhere else in this state. It's fucking massive." I feel like a vintage cartoon character with steam shooting from my ears.

I'd told Sydney about our plans, but I didn't ask him to keep them a secret from Morgan because I didn't care if he knew. While I could understand why Parker had wanted to safeguard his feelings, I wasn't compelled to live under a veil of secrecy. At least until this very moment when that sentiment has come back to bite me in the ass. There's no way I'm going to immediately let Sydney off the hook for this, and I'm going to tell him as much.

The sound of a window rolling down seizes my attention, and I look back to find Tatum Wolff mid-yawn in the backseat of Sydney's Prius.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to prevent some kind of startled squeak from escaping me.

We couldn't sit back and let him go alone.

I can't believe I didn't register Sydney's words from moments ago. And because of course Tatum's here. It only makes sense that he's accompanied his two roommates into Olympic National Park on this fine September morning.

Still biting my inner cheek, I dare to give Tatum a once over. His mussed hair gives the impression that he's just rolled out of bed, and he's donning his usual dark-framed glasses. It's a good look. One I wish that I wish I didn't know existed because my mind will surely exploit and recycle it for unsolicited daydreams.

Morgan chuckles. "Enjoy your nap, sunshine?"

"This wasn't part of the plan," Tatum states, sounding over all of our shit. He appears to be staging an act of defiance by remaining inside the car, but it wouldn't kill him to acknowledge me. Not when I'm standing right fucking here.

Irritated, I turn around to address the high pitched whines coming from inside Parker's Prius. Bear sees Sydney and wants to get out (much like me from this situation). Grateful for the distraction, I retrieve a dog treat from the ziplock bag I keep inside my raincoat and stick it through the open window. Bear scarfs it down in under a second.