Once I land in Anchorage, I call my brother. He’s meeting me here so we can get on the putt-putt plane to Kodiak Island. It’s been a family ritual since I was a teenager. Even though our dad died two years ago, Kyle and I still carry on this tradition where we spend a few weeks fishing in Alaska. It is my favorite part of off-season and the thing I look forward to the most every year, even without my dad.

“RJ, hey, bro, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours.” He sounds off—worried, maybe.

“I didn’t bother connecting to Wi-Fi on the plane. Where are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Joy.” He coughs, like he’s trying to hold back emotions.

I drop into the closest chair. “Is she okay?” Joy is his pregnant wife. I’m aware that there’s no way Kyle is coming with me for three weeks to hang out in Alaska next year. Not with a new kid. He might get a long weekend, but this is the last trip we’re supposed to take together for a few years, especially if one kid leads to more.

“She’s been diagnosed with gestational diabetes. The doctors have put her on bed rest.”

That explains the waver in his voice. I sit up straighter, a tight feeling in the pit of my stomach, since we lost our dad to complications from diabetes. “What does that mean? Is she going to be okay? Is the baby all right?”

“It’s fine. She’s fine. The baby’s fine.” He sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself, not me. “She just needs to be monitored. The doctor said it’s not uncommon. It’s not like what Dad had—it’s a lot different.”

I relax a little. “Okay, that’s good. Do you want me to come to LA?”

“No. You don’t need to do that. We’re okay. Mom and Stevie are talking about bringing Stevie’s stuff out here now instead of later in the summer.” Our younger sister is working on her master’s and decided out west is where she wanted to be, away from the cold winters.

“Mom and Stevie are coming? Are you sure I shouldn’t too?”

“Positive. You know how Mom is—as soon as she heard bed rest, she was already packing. It sounds a lot more serious than it is, but I can’t come to Alaska. I don’t want to leave Joy right now, and being that far from her really isn’t an option. I’m sorry, RJ, I know how much you were looking forward to this.” He sounds torn, which I don’t want, not when Joy is experiencing complications.

I conceal my disappointment. “You don’t have to apologize. I get it. Joy and the baby are priority number one.”

“If you don’t want to go on your own, you can come here.”

I consider the offer. I love my brother. We’re pretty close, even though we live thousands of miles apart, but I need this vacation. I need this time away from the media and the constant demands, time when there aren’t any expectations placed on me. I need to be in the one place I feel close to my dad. More than anything else, I crave the peace and solitude I find in Alaska and the escape from the circus my life has become. Last year our team captain retired, and I stepped into the role. He was well loved by the team and a legend in the sport, so I’ve had big shoes to fill.

“Thanks, Kyle, but I’m gonna catch some salmon, grow a massive beard, and avoid showering for four days at a time.”

He laughs. “I figured you’d say that. If I can come out later in the month, I’ll call. Well, I’ll call anyway. Touch base every few days so I can make sure you haven’t been eaten by a bear—and I’ll keep you updated on things here.”

The reception can be pretty spotty where we stay, and I like it that way. I want the time to disconnect and just be a human, not an NHL team captain. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle the bears—you just take care of your family. I’ll send pictures.”

We say our goodbyes, and I drop my head against the wall. It sucks that my brother can’t be here, but I still want the time at the cabin, even if I have to do it on my own.

Half an hour later, I carry my bag out to the Cessna. The first time I ever flew on a plane that small, I tossed my cookies, so I’ve learned to refrain from drinking on the flight from Seattle to Anchorage.

I’m last in line on this tiny eight-seater, which is fine. It’s a short flight, and almost every seat has a spectacular window view. Except the ones at the back—they’re a little tight for space.

I have to duck and turn sideways to get on the plane. It comes with being over six feet and more than two hundred pounds. It’s a full flight, and there’s only one seat left . . . at the very back of the plane. I shimmy down the narrow aisle. Tucked into the corner, clutching a purse, is the same dark-haired woman who fell into my lap on the previous flight. Well, now, this should be interesting.

She glances away from the window, her nervous smile falling as her eyes go wide. Her cheeks flush, and she lifts a hand to cover her mouth. “Oh no.”

I grin and fight a chuckle as I take the seat beside her. It’s actually like one of those bench seats you’d find on a school bus, with about as much room.

She slides closer to the window, trying to make more space for me. She drops her hand. “I’m so sorry I fell on you.”

I flash her a grin and a wink. “That was the most exciting part of this trip so far, so don’t worry about it.”