Rock the Cradle of Love

by Jen FitzGerald

  Taylor’s wearing a wry smirk as Noah takes the seat next to him.

  “Shut up,” Noah murmurs, but Taylor’s presence eases his anxiety a little bit.

  The team watches tape as a whole for a while, going back about ten games. The coaches point out all the things they did right as well as the things they botched. Ten games ago, they were skating fast and hard, finding each other on the ice and maintaining possession well. Huck had minded the net with skill, making some outstanding saves and keeping their losses to a minimum. The game against the Mounties was a well-deserved win. Hell, five games ago, they’d been doing fine. Game play against the Liberty had been less than stellar, though. They should have lost the game, but S’more had snuck in a goal for the go-ahead point. Vega and Daniels spent a lot of time dissecting this game despite the fact that they’d won.

  Noah’s skating hadn’t been great. His passing sub-par. His goal-scoring had been minimal, despite multiple attempts per game. Sure, a game was a team effort, but he could have been better. Should have been better for the team, but Jules’s calls were coming more often, and he’d been worried and distracted.

  They have forty-five minutes to find lunch. Noah’s phone had vibrated a couple of times this morning, but he couldn’t have pulled his phone out unless he wanted an ass chewing. He pulls it out now with relief. He can check up on his baby girl. The first message, a couple of hours old, shows Emma asleep in her swing. The second had come just a little while ago with a picture of Emma lying on the floor on her stomach propped up by her arms and looking at the large Calico cat sitting in front of her with its front legs curled under its body. Noah’s heart immediately melts. Maybe his baby girl needs a pet. Yeah, right. He’s barely managing the two of them, and that’s with Taylor’s help.

  “Look.” Noah holds out his phone to Taylor.

  Taylor leans in, shoulder pressing against Noah’s. “Aww. Looks like everyone’s doing fine. How are you holding up?”

  His phone buzzes in his hand and his grin fades. Been fussing for a bit, but she’s not outright crying. We’re doing fine. He takes a breath and meets Taylor’s gaze. “I’m okay.” And he is. Emma not in a full lather is definitely progress, so he lets go of his worry. Babies are left with sitters all the time. Even Emma has spent time with sitters. And he’d been honest with Daphne about Emma and her colic.

  The afternoon passes quickly though, and he receives two more texts from Daphne. He appreciates them more than he can say. This being-a-dad thing and doing it without a partner is tougher than he expected. A better understanding of Julia’s plight hits him like a puck to the gut sans pads, and he’s been operating without a veil of sadness thrown over him. How she made it through three months without much support, he’s not sure, but it takes a lot of inner strength to carry on the way she had. She’s going to hear that next time he sees her. Which he definitely needs to make time for.

  * * *

  “Home again, home again, Emma,” says Noah, setting her carrier down to unlock the front door.

  She’s grinning and kicking her feet, making the carrier rock a little on its curved legs. When he’d arrived to pick her up, the huge smile she’d given him as well as the full-body wiggle, arms and legs waving, had made him feel ten feet tall and bulletproof. That kind of acknowledgment after such a short time of being a family unit had been better than winning any of the trophies or accolades he’d gotten in his hockey career, including the league championship he’d been a part of the year he graduated from high school.

  Dinner is a messy affair for Emma as she grabs at the spoon and rubs rice cereal and bananas all over her face and head. His own grilled cheese and tomato soup is quick and easy to make. But bath time isn’t nearly so enjoyable and Emma frets most of the way through it. It’s been a crazy day, being separated, and he’s feeling out of sorts himself. He can’t imagine what Emma must be feeling with another change in circumstances under her belt in such a short time.

  She’s still fussing once she’s clean, diapered, and dressed.

  “Hey, sweet pea, what’s wrong?” he asks, bouncing her gently. She cries and rubs her hands against her mouth and nose. He tries all kinds of positions. Over his shoulder, her back to his chest, her stomach along his forearm. Nothing works. He lays her down on a blanket on the floor with a handful of bright colored rattles and teethers. She rubs her face in the blanket, kicks her legs, and cries harder. Noah picks her up again and walks down the hall and into her room. It’s a mess still. He’s got to finish assembling the furniture at some point and put up all the decorations he’s bought.

  “Look, honey, this is your room. It’s going to be so pretty when Daddy’s done. You just need to hang on a few more days, and then you can sleep in here. Won’t that be nice?”

  His phone rings from the living room and he hustles to answer it. He’s been expecting a call from the family law attorney that his regular attorney referred him to. They agree on the following Wednesday afternoon. He hangs up with a sigh of relief. They’re one step closer to legally being family. To being safe. His relief is short-lived however.

  Emma kicks her legs and cries harder still, and what he wouldn’t give or do to take away her distress. Only, there’s nothing he can do but be here for her. He paces the length of the hallway jiggling her gently. Perhaps a stint in the rocking chair will work. But Noah sees the blue sheet draped over the upright mattress when he enters the nursery and nods. It’s worth a try. If only he can remember how to wrap it properly. Grabbing it, he goes into his own room. God, he’d love a shower right about now, but Emma’s needs outrank his own. The sheet is finally wrapped around him in some semblance of something, and he shimmies and slides a very unhappy baby into the pouch he made. It’s not exactly the way Taylor had done it, but Emma’s secure against his chest and she calms almost immediately, and he heaves a sigh of relief. He shouldn’t freak out so much. The colic won’t last much longer. He knows this intellectually; he’s done enough research. But a live crying baby is something else entirely.

  Knowing he looks like an idiot, and not caring a whit, he stuffs the mailbox key in his pocket and goes to check the mail. The change of venue, though she can’t see it, and the change in his stride calms Emma even more, so he sits on the bottom step to turn her around and pop her head out of the top so she can actually see the world around her. He opts to walk around the complex before checking the box. Crying becomes snuffling becomes quiet investigation. A few of his neighbors are coming and going, and he gets a fair share of raised eyebrows until they see Emma’s face. Then they smile. He’s got a beautiful baby daughter and the summer stretching ahead of him. Life is good, despite the crying.

  * * *

  Without having to haul all of Emma’s stuff to Latte and Daphne’s again on Wednesday—he’d opted to leave just about everything—he arrives at the rink early enough to clue Vega and Daniels in on the new addition to his family. After their initial surprise and then congratulations, they tell him to go see HR and Media Relations too, at some point, which yeah, he needs to do, but she’s not legally his so the HR stuff has to wait. He’s not too worried; he can handle paying cash should she require medical attention.

  Taylor slides into the seat next to Noah. “How’s Puck Baby today?”

  Noah can’t help the grin and the happy flip of his heart. “She’s fine. Speaking of, can you babysit next Wednesday so I can meet with the family law attorney?”

  Taylor nods and grins. “I’m happy to spend the day with Puck Baby.”

  S’more turns around in his front row seat. “Who’s Puck Baby?” he asks, looking curious and delighted.

  Taylor’s eyes and mouth go round as hockey pucks. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he says.

  Noah smiles, shakes his head. “It’s not a secret, remember?”

  “I know, but you might have wanted to let people know in your own way, in your own time.”

  “It’s fine.” Turning to S’more, he says, “Puck Baby is Emma. I’m adopting a little
girl, three months old.” No one needs to know any other details. That would be inviting way too much speculation.

  “Congrats, Thirsty. That’s awesome, but sudden?” S’more says, eyebrows rising in surprise. The seats around them fill up.

  Noah shrugs. “Not really. I’ve always wanted a big family. The stars aligned and I got lucky.”

  S’more waggles his eyebrows and chuckles. “Is that so?”

  “Not like that,” says Noah, smiling too, but ugh. He forgets about innuendo most of the time. Not having a sex drive means sex isn’t usually a consideration in the things he thinks, says, or does. Which is surprising considering he’s been surrounded by hormone-driven boys and men for the last ten years of his life. It’s surprising he hasn’t been more influenced by the rampant sexuality of the locker room.

  “Oh, by the way,” says S’more. “Linda and I are planning our end-of-season barbecue in the next couple of weeks. We’ll text you the date and time.”

  Noah and Taylor both nod, but the coaches arrive and the chatter dies away. They rehash their last several losses and the room feels weighted with regret and anger. The mistakes were stupid and are nothing that training drills can fix—not that they won’t skate their blades dull come pre-season. Everyone could have done better, but there’s nothing for it now. The season’s over.

  Noah’s gotten random texts from Daphne throughout the day on Emma’s mood or activity, and he can hardly wait to hold her in his arms. She seems to be doing better today and that reduces his own anxiety.

  Emma’s delight at seeing Noah that afternoon rivals his at seeing her.

  “She’s been good-natured most of the day,” says Daphne. “Only about thirty minutes of outright crying.”

  “That’s good news, sweet pea,” Noah says to Emma, holding her airborne and jiggling her a tiny bit. She grins widely and reaches for his face. “Wait till Uncle Taylor hears. He’ll be so excited.” Once she’s secure in his arms again, he says, “I can’t thank you enough, Daphne. I know a crying baby can wear on your nerves.”

  “I’ve had plenty of experience, hon, don’t worry about it. See you tomorrow morning?”

  * * *

  The evening passes much like the previous one, although with much less crying. With a normal amount of crying, Noah thinks, but she’s still fussy. Ish. They eat and walk around the complex again, although Noah leaves the sheet in the house and just carries her. It’s a gorgeous spring evening, and a few more people wave this time.

  Back in the condo, Noah lies on the sofa flipping through channels and Emma snuffles quietly on his chest. Nothing looks interesting. Eventually, he puts Emma to bed, but he’s not tired yet. He’s gotten a decent amount of sleep the past few nights and he and Emma have gotten into a routine, so he no longer feels exhausted. During the season, he’s usually up until midnight or later since games rarely start before seven and end around ten. By the time they’ve done press and showered and gotten home or to the hotel, it’s usually closer to midnight. It’s just after ten now.

  He plays Xbox for a little while, but it’s not nearly as much fun playing by himself as it is playing against Taylor. He turns off the console without saving his game and switches over to Netflix. All of his “Continue Watching for Noah” titles are actually all Taylor’s selections and things they’d watched together. Even though it’s his account, he doesn’t want to watch anything without Taylor. That’s an odd feeling to have, though.

  Noah sinks into the couch and closes his eyes. He actually misses Taylor. Which is crazy because they’d spent most of the day together at the barn. Sitting together, having lunch, watching game tape, cooing over the pictures Daphne’d sent of Emma.

  But last week, with Taylor around, his condo seemed so much more like a home and less like a place he just hung his hat. He hadn’t known there was something missing until it had made an appearance. And Taylor. Well…Noah likes him a lot. Likes him more than he realized apparently. But Taylor has his eye on someone, and even if he didn’t, there’s no way he’d want to be with Noah. Taylor’s never made a secret of his hookups or his love of sex. Considering Noah has no libido, he and Taylor are about as compatible as an elephant and a fly.

  Well, just because they aren’t the next Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell, doesn’t mean they can’t keep being friends and hanging out.

  Noah pulls out his phone and opens the messaging app. Hey…you still up?

  Folding laundry, Taylor replies followed by a frowning face emoji. What’s up?

  Emma’s asleep and I’m bored. Although, I suppose I should do laundry… I think Emma misses you. She was kinda fussy tonight. Dinner tomorrow?

  Noah doesn’t mention his own desire to see Taylor. There’s no point and it might make things awkward, so he doesn’t.

  Yeah, sure. I’m missing her too. Is that weird?

  Noah smiles. Not at all. See you tomorrow.

  He gets a smiley emoji in return.

  Chapter Six

  Taylor knocks at half past six. Emma’s screams penetrate the door and he knocks again.

  Noah looks frazzled when he yanks the door open, bouncing Emma on one arm, and Taylor is reminded of just last week. Noah’s hair resembles a bird’s nest and there’s an orange stain on his tee shirt. Emma’s face is splotchy pink.

  “What the hell?” Taylor asks.

  “I don’t know. Here.” Noah thrusts Emma into Taylor’s arms. “I’m going to shower real quick, all right?”

  Emma’s startled into stuttered breathing over outright crying.

  “Sure, yeah,” says Taylor, ‘cause what else is he going to say? He turns Emma to face him. “Hey, Pretty Pretty Princess, what seems to be your major malfunction, huh?”

  Big watery blue eyes stare at him; she takes in a deep shuddery breath and rubs tears and snot across her face with her tiny little fists.

  “I’m sure Daddy fed you and changed you and all that good stuff, so you’re just not happy? I thought we were getting over this whole colic thing, huh? Or are you mad ‘cause your room’s not ready?” Taylor bounces her a bit as he takes a look at the living room, which looks much as it had when Taylor left midday Monday. Instead of cleaning up, they’d made phone calls and played Xbox.

  The Styrofoam packing has been moved off the sofa and stacked up on the floor, but that seems to be all Noah’s done. Taylor remembers his sisters’ houses the first weeks after the birth of each kid, so he gets it. That’s where he came in. He loved helping out his sisters, and he’s perfectly happy to help Noah too.

  “You know, darlin’, your daddy is doing the best he can. I know he’s not your mom, although, to be honest, you’ve done remarkably well without her…unless that’s what’s driving your tears today? Do you miss your mommy?” Taylor nabs a small blanket from the back of the sofa and wraps Emma up like a burrito. It’s not cold by any stretch of the imagination, but she’s still young enough to benefit from swaddling. Dealing with half a dozen nieces and nephews taught him that. He tucks her into his chest and jiggles her slightly. Takes a few slow laps around the kitchen and living room, picking up random things and putting them where they go. “You miss your mom, is that it?” he asks softly, rubbing her back and walking back and forth. “She loves you, Ems, she does, and sometimes doing what’s best for someone you love isn’t easy on anyone. Now, Noah isn’t your biological daddy…I don’t think…but he’s gonna be your real daddy, because your mom knows how much he loves her and how much he loves you as well. And in the end, everything is gonna work out. It’s hard now, sweetheart, but cut Noah some slack, huh?”

  Emma lets out another shuddery breath, and Taylor presses a kiss to her peach-fuzzy head. He turns to make another pass across the living room and stops short upon seeing Noah leaning against the wall, arms crossed over that deliciously broad, defined chest, looking at them both with a soft expression. Hope makes Taylor’s stomach flutter. No, he isn’t completely certain Noah’s queer, but he’s developed enough of a gut feeling over the last couple
of weeks to take Uncle Bud’s advice and tell Noah how he feels. Noah’s lack of freak out over the whole spooning bit was a nice little sign.

  Taylor lifts a hand to acknowledge Noah. “Daddy’s back, Ems.” He looks much more relaxed than he did ten minutes ago.

  Noah smiles. “She’s almost asleep,” he whispers, and Taylor nods.

  Taylor pads down the hall to Emma’s room again and spots the unopened boxes and pillow packs. He lowers his voice further, keeps swaying, and says, “Look, baby girl…all your new stuff has arrived. Tell you what…you sleep for a bit, all right? And I’ll help Daddy get your room together. That’s a good girl, yeah?” Her travel bed is still in Noah’s room and the sight of Noah’s unmade bed makes Taylor’s stomach churn. The feel of Noah’s solid weight next to him, in his embrace, is a memory he hasn’t shaken all week. It’s haunted him in the darkest part of the night, and he probably shouldn’t have taken himself in hand, but, well, he’s only human. Heat creeps up his face at the memory. He sways for a little longer, both to make sure Emma’s asleep and to allow his cheeks to cool before he lowers her into her bed. After checking the baby monitor and closing the door, Taylor turns his thoughts to the task at hand: confessing his feelings to Noah. His heart shooshes like a puck across fresh ice.

  He shuffles into the kitchen. “Beer?” he calls into the living room.

  “Yes, please,” says Noah. “Xbox?”

  Taylor hands Noah a bottle and sits sideways on the couch so he can face him. “Can we talk?”

  Surprise flicks across Noah’s face and worry settles in his baby blues. “Sure.” He sits back and starts picking at the label.

  Taylor has no idea where to start, and Noah finally meets Taylor’s gaze after he’s been quiet for too long.

  “Right.” He slides a palm down his leg. “So, uh…remember what I told you about Uncle Bud?”