Rock the Cradle of Love

by Jen FitzGerald

The jangle of Taylor’s cell phone causes them both to startle in surprise. The strange vibe between them dissipates in a heartbeat, but Noah feels a loss. He has no idea why.

  “Buy me dinner, and we’ll call it even,” says Taylor with a quirk to his lips. He runs a gentle hand over Emma’s head and reaches for his phone. “Hey, Suzie Q, what’s up?” he asks and rises. He walks into the kitchen. “Oh, fuck, you’re kidding. When?” Taylor circles back into the living room, hand raking through his unruly dark hair. “Okay. Yeah. Keep me posted…love you too. Bye.” He shoves his phone in his back pocket. “My Uncle Bud. He fell. Busted a bone in his leg. He’s in surgery. They expect him to be fine, but he’s almost eighty, you know?”

  Noah nods. “I’m so sorry. Do you need to fly home?”

  “God, I don’t know. Suzan said he’s okay, but it’s my Uncle Bud.” Taylor collapses onto the sofa again. “He’s my favorite uncle. He got me into hockey, encouraged me to go after it. He always told me to be fearless. Not only in hockey, but in life.”

  “Wow. Why?”

  “He’s gay. I’m one of the few people who know. He was raised in a time when homosexuality was against everything polite society deemed acceptable. He was expected to marry a woman and settle down, so that’s what he did. But there was a man he’d met during the war. They fell in love and, well, they never got to be together.” Taylor blinks and refocuses on Noah and swipes a hand down his face. “He told me never to be afraid to love someone or to tell the people I care about how I feel. That the pain of a lost chance, of not knowing, is worse than a rejection, because at least with a rejection you know.”

  “That’s really sad that he couldn’t be with the man he loved.”

  “It is, isn’t it? And for all the tolerance society espouses these days, choosing to publicly love someone of the same gender still garners disapproval at best, hatred and violence at worst. What ever happened to live and let live?”

  “I…I don’t know.” Noah’s never been in any kind of romantic relationship, much less one that sparked hatred and violence in others. Why should anyone care?

  Noah’s stomach chooses then to growl. Loudly. Now that Noah thinks about it, he’s starved. It’s probably been forty-eight hours since he’s eaten, and, before that, he subsisted on cereal and noodles in cups. They’ll probably have to order in, as he didn’t have much in the cupboards to begin with. Not with the end-of-season schedule they had.

  A grin replaces Taylor’s somber expression and he rubs his own stomach. “C’mon, Thirsty, let’s get us some grub.”

  “What do you want to eat?”

  “Why don’t we go out? After being trapped in your house for three days, I bet you could use a change of scenery. I’m sure Emma could too. What do you think?”

  Noah looks in surprise from Taylor to Emma. “I’m game, but what about Emma? Crying babies in restaurants are an annoyance, let’s be honest.” Fussy babies are one thing, Emma’s level of upset is something else.

  “She’s done her big cry for the day, so I think we’re safe,” says Taylor.

  “Her ‘big cry’?”

  Taylor shrugs. “That’s what my sister and I called Tara’s daily three-hour tear.”

  “Three hours? Wow.” If Noah could have relieved Jules from that kind of misery he would have, but he can’t deny he’s glad he hasn’t had to endure three-hour stretches of crying.

  “It got pretty intense for a while, but they got shorter as she got older. As for Emma, here—” Taylor bops her nose gently and she grabs for his finger. “—we can always leave if she gets fussy.”

  Of course. Why didn’t Noah think of that? He’s going to have to learn how to go out with a baby in tow. At least he’s got Taylor as a tutor right now. He grins. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later finds them in a local pancake chain. They’re waiting to be seated when a high school girl peers into the carrier looped over Noah’s forearm.

  “Oh my God,” the dark-haired teen gushes. “She’s soo cute. How old is she?”

  “Um, thanks,” says Noah, a warm gooey feeling spreading through his chest. “Three months.”

  “Aww—”

  “Carly, come on,” calls an older woman. “Leave the baby and those people alone.”

  “Coming.” The teen rolls her eyes. “Bye.”

  “Um, bye,” says Noah.

  “’Those people’?” Taylor mutters. “We’re professional hockey players. What’s she trying to imply?”

  Noah’s gaze shifts to the woman and the teen through the window and back to Taylor. “You think she thought we were a couple?”

  “Yeah. I do.” Taylor huffs. As if he’s offended by her insult.

  Noah’s never been mistaken for gay, but then why would he be? But he supposes they do appear rather domestic. The thought of being in a relationship with Taylor doesn’t bother him though. Is that what’s irritated Taylor—he doesn’t want to be mistaken as homosexual? He’s never seemed homophobic, but who knows?

  “Right this way, gentlemen.” The hostess gathers a couple of menus and two bundles of silverware and takes off. He and Taylor follow her through a maze of tables flanked by blue banquettes. The place isn’t that full, which is nice, but there’s the standard buzz of conversations, and sounds from the open kitchen carry into the dining area.

  If he and Taylor get lucky, they won’t be recognized, but they’re awful close to the arena. And Taylor’s face was plastered on a billboard just up the highway for a while. He’s kind of surprised that the girl didn’t realize who Taylor was.

  They’re settled at a table for four. Emma’s in her carrier in the chair next to Noah, and Taylor’s seated across from him. The server brings them water and they order immediately.

  “What are you going to do with Emma next week?” asks Taylor and Noah freezes.

  He should know what Taylor’s talking about, but he doesn’t. He’s been a bit busy for the last few days. “What? When?” He’s planning on keeping Emma. Noah thought they’d established that.

  “Shit, relax, man,” says Taylor. “End-of-season meetings, locker cleanouts, and exit interviews? You know, like we do every year?” Taylor’s dark eyebrow arches over his equally dark eye.

  “Shyeah,” Noah says on a breath, grinning in realization. “Right.” He does know all of that. This past week of caring for Emma and getting little rest seems to have stunted his higher brain function. One long stint of sleep does not make up for three days of lost and broken sleep, but things are coming back to him. Noah nods. He’d better check his email and his voicemail.

  A woman—all teased Texas hair and large breasts—stops behind Emma’s chair and says, “What a precious little thing.” She smiles and eyes first Taylor and then Noah. To Noah she says, “You’re the daddy?”

  “Um, yeah.” His eyes get stuck on her breasts. He can’t help it. She’s got them on full display. He looks quickly at Taylor, who waggles his brows. But all that jiggly pale flesh does nothing for him.

  “Good of you to give her momma a break.”

  He meets her gaze, resolutely not looking at her chest. “No, I—” He turns to glare at Taylor who’s just kicked him in the shin.

  “He’s a really good daddy,” says Taylor with a nod. “Thanks.”

  She smiles a little less brightly than before, but takes the hint.

  “Why’d you kick me?”

  “She was fishing for information.”

  Noah glances at her retreating figure and then says, “Oh…right.” Yeah. Now he sees. Maybe. It takes him a moment sometimes. Sexual connotation is not his strong suit. Eight years surrounded by hormone-driven men have provided him an education that his own lack of instincts didn’t give him, but there’s still a lag when he has to process things sex-related. It’s just not second nature. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass.

  “I saw you checking out her tits. Are you a breast man?” Taylor leans forward and glances around. “Not gonna pop a
boner right here in the restaurant, are you?”

  “What? No.” Noah’s so surprised. “No. And I wasn’t checking out her…tits.” God, he hates that word. “It’s just that they were right there. Hard to miss.”

  “Okay. Sorry,” says Taylor, looking half amused, half contrite. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. There’s Jules, right? And I should know better.”

  Noah can’t deny that Julia’s been a helpful buffer against having to date or pickup in bars, but. “Jules and I are friends. We’ve only ever been friends. Best friends, but just friends. And why should you know better?”

  “Well, I’m bi, so…” He shrugs.

  Oh.

  “Oh, okay.” Noah takes a sip of coffee to hide his surprise. He’s only ever seen Taylor interact with women, so he’d never have guessed Taylor likes men too. Locker room culture can be super no-homo, so he gets the need for circumspection. Although, to be honest, he’s never heard anything homophobic from their teammates. Taylor’s earlier reaction makes sense now, though. He was insulted. Not because that woman assumed they were a couple, but because she probably found the notion distasteful.

  “So Emma’s definitely not yours?”

  Noah shakes his head. “No, some douche at school.”

  Taylor’s gaze lingers on Noah and it’s almost uncomfortable because Noah has no idea what’s going through Taylor’s mind, but then Taylor asks, “Is Emma a secret then?”

  Emma a secret? He frowns. The change in topic is abrupt and odd. “No. Why?” He hadn’t planned on keeping her a secret, although he hasn’t had a chance to think about telling anyone, much less actually do so. People send announcements when they have babies, don’t they? Maybe he should have Taylor take a picture of him and Emma and send some. He doesn’t know a lot of people though. Just his team and his mom. And Jules. But sending an announcement to Julia or her mother wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

  Anyway, he hasn’t even talked to Julia since she’d dropped off Emma. He needs to do that before he does anything else.

  “Then I bet you can call around to some of the wives who stay home with their kids and see if one of them’ll watch Emma for you.”

  Noah blinks before he registers what Taylor’s talking about. Team meetings next week. “Yeah. Good idea.” He’ll do that Monday.

  Their food arrives and they don’t talk for a few minutes as they each prepare their meals for consumption. Noah’s got a huge omelet filled with meat and veggies and a side of toast. Taylor digs into a short stack of pancakes with sides of bacon, sausage, and ham. They’ve both got orange juice and coffee.

  “So you’re keeping Emma?” asks Taylor. “For good?”

  Noah gives him a look. What part of the stress of the last week doesn’t equate to him keeping her for good? “Yeah. Why?” He knows all the reasons why keeping Emma is a crazy idea, but nothing’s going to change the fact that Emma needs a family or that Noah wants to be that family—will be her family.

  “Well, Little Miss needs some baby furniture.”

  Oh. Right. His relief at not getting lectured is immediately superseded by his confusion. “Little Miss?”

  “I was trying out hockey nicknames on her.” Taylor grins. “We tried Sippy and Little Miss.”

  “Sippy?” Noah asks, raising his eyebrows.

  “Well, her last name’s gonna be Drinkwater, I assume. And you’re Thirsty. And it’s not that great, I know.” Taylor shrugs one shoulder.

  Noah shakes his head. “What about Puck Baby?”

  Taylor laughs, all sparkling eyes and booming laugh, and Noah smiles, feeling warm inside.

  “Where’d that come from?” asks Taylor.

  “The woman who drove with Jules and Emma called me Puck Daddy.”

  Taylor giggles through his two even rows of creamy white teeth. “I love it. Yes, I’m calling you Puck Daddy from now on.” Taylor sips his coffee and asks, “How does Sunday sound?”

  “For?” Noah raises a brow.

  “Furniture shopping? I mean, the kid needs her room put together since you’re keeping her, right?”

  Noah smiles. “Yeah. Sunday. Sure.”

  Emma makes an irritated sound, drawing Noah’s attention. A knot of worry forms in his stomach. She’s arching her back and waving her fists. “Hey, Emma, what’s the fuss?”

  Several more random syllables erupt, and he hopes this isn’t the start of something unpleasant. He lifts her from her seat and settles her on his lap, and she calms immediately. His own anxiety dissipates as well. “Hand me a toy or something, would you?”

  Taylor holds out a small stuffed frog to Emma and looks at Noah with an expression Noah can’t quite read. “What?”

  “You’re a good dad, Noah. I mean, you’re a natural, and you…you look good with a baby in your arms.”

  Noah certainly doesn’t know what to do with that piece of information. There’s something behind it, but it’s beyond his comprehension right now. The awkwardness is interrupted by yet another woman approaching the table. She’s tall and pretty, wearing slacks and a white button-down shirt.

  “Hi, there. I just couldn’t help noticing your baby. She’s got gorgeous eyes.” The woman kneels next to Noah and Emma, hand on the table for balance. “Hey, little one. You’re a cutie.”

  Emma kicks her feet and snuffles into her frog, but she’s smiling behind the small green plushie.

  The woman makes small talk with them for a minute and leaves again, and Noah’s shaking his head. He just doesn’t get it.

  Taylor’s eyes are glued to the table, and Noah follows his line of sight. A business card. Their gazes meet, and Noah’s eyebrows rise.

  “Wow. That was pretty bold,” says Taylor. “I forgot how much of a chick magnet babies are.”

  Oh, right. Women like babies. And good-looking men who have babies are an object of interest. Now he gets it. “Are you in the market for a chick?” Noah asks Taylor. “You can have her.”

  “Who me? No. Not at the moment.”

  “Taking a break from women?”

  “I guess you could say that. As I said, I’m bisexual and, well…there’s a dude I’m interested in.”

  Noah’s not sure why the thought doesn’t sit well. Maybe because he’s been monopolizing so much of Taylor’s time. “I’m sorry. I can care for Emma on my own if you want to make plans. You should have said.”

  “He’s kind of busy right now, so it’s fine. When I’m ready to pursue him. I’ll let you know.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  Taylor smiles. “Promise.”

  They finish their meal without further interruptions aside from the normal check-ins from their server. They leave a large tip and their autographs for the hostess and the server as a thanks for ignoring the fact that they both recognized Noah and Taylor, but did their jobs without fanfare.

  Emma fusses, but it’s her time-for-bed crankiness. Noah thinks he’s learning to tell the difference now and that pleases him no end. He gets her ready for bed without the stress that’s plagued him since she arrived.

  “Can I?” Taylor asks, holding up a bottle, when Noah returns to the living room.

  With a nod, Noah hands her over and follows Taylor to the sofa. Taylor settles Emma in between them on the cushion and slides the nipple into her mouth. She grabs a hold of Taylor’s thumb and forefinger and her eyes slip to half-mast immediately.

  “This is nice,” Taylor says quietly. “I loved caring for my sisters’ babies. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

  There’s a softness in his eyes that Noah’s not sure he understands. But this is nice. Having someone to share the quiet moments with, as well as the rough ones. Noah can’t think of anyone else he’d rather have with him right now. He nods, and says, “It is,” just as quiet.

  Chapter Four

  The local department store at the mall is open, but there are few people there so early on a Sunday morning. Noah makes Taylor push Emma’s stroller because he himself is just a tad too ta
ll to push without having to hunch over. The racks of baby clothing are spaced just a little too close for comfort for a pair of hockey players, but they peruse the displays and Noah approaches Taylor and Emma with handfuls of tiny dresses, shirt and pant outfits, and pajamas.

  Taylor cackles. “Oh my God, you’re a pushover.”

  Noah shrugs and grins. Where Emma is concerned, he can’t help it. He’s wanted kids since he was in high school. A houseful like his billet family. “She needs clothes,” he defends. Babies grow fast; even he knows that.

  Taylor snorts in amusement.

  Noah glances around. “Don’t they have shopping carts?”

  “Not in department stores,” Taylor replies. “Who are you even?”

  “No sisters and a mom who prefers thrift stores to department stores.”

  A tall woman of Asian descent approaches them. Her hair shiny black and short around her head, the front strands longer than the back.

  “Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?” she asks. Her eyes widen a moment later and she smiles. “You’re Taylor Bell and Noah Drinkwater… Oh, man, I love the Rotors. I’m really sorry about your season.”

  The muscles in Noah’s shoulders bunch, his gut clenches. The plastic hangers dig into his palm as his grip tightens.

  “Thanks,” says Taylor, flashing his PR smile. “And you are?”

  “Sarah. Sarah Chow.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sarah.” Taylor holds out his hand and they shake. “Noah, here, has just become a dad, and he needs to set up the nursery. Do you think you can help him out?”

  Noah admires Taylor’s calm. Noah tends to get anxious when people recognize him. It’s part and parcel of being a professional athlete, but even after four years, he’s never perfected the skill of handling fans in chance interactions. He’s okay when it’s a team-organized event because he’s psyched himself up for those, but one-on-one random meetings tend to throw him.

  “Congratulations.” Sarah smiles and Noah appreciates her ability to keep the dollar signs out of her eyes. Leading them in the direction of the furniture displays, Sarah asks, “Do you know what you’re looking for?”