[York Bombers 01.0] Playing the Game

by Lisa B. Kamps

  "I wish I knew what to tell you, Courtney. Maybe he really is trying, maybe you're worrying over nothing."

  "And what happens if it turns out I'm right and he ends up hurting Noah? What am I supposed to do then?"

  They were quiet for a long time, the silence holding the answer that neither one wanted to put into words. There wasn't anything Courtney could do, at least not yet. Just wait and see and hope for the best.

  Except Courtney had given up on hope years ago, and she didn't think she had the strength to fight for it now.

  Beth finally pushed away from the table, a bright smile on her face. "Well, sitting here expecting the worse isn't going to help. Come on, let's lock up and get out of here. I have a hot date in a few hours."

  "Who with this time?"

  "Adam."

  "I thought you guys broke up?"

  "We weren't together to 'break up', we just weren't seeing each other."

  "So what changed?"

  Beth waited by the back door, her hand hovering above the light switches as Courtney shrugged into her coat. "I was in the mood for a booty call. And his hose is irresistible."

  "I can't believe you just said that. No, wait. Yes I can." Courtney grabbed her bag and pushed on the door. A blast of frigid air wrapped around them and she shivered. "Does Adam know you're just using him for his body?"

  "Hey! How do you know he's not just using me?"

  "Really? With all the comments you constantly make about his hose and booty calls?"

  "I'm a liberated woman, what can I say?"

  But Courtney didn't miss the brief shadow that crossed her friend's eyes, or the forced cheer in her voice.

  And she realized that maybe she wasn't the only one afraid to face the truth, afraid to admit to emotions better left ignored.

  Or the only one afraid of being hurt again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Harland glanced at the board book to his left then over at the computer screen. His tapped the mouse over the painfully short and quick video, watched it play, paused it and hit replay.

  Glanced at the picture book once more then back at the screen, studying the finger positions of the oversized hand in the illustrations above the video before copying them.

  Dog.

  Okay, he was pretty sure he had that one right. He hoped.

  He flipped the cardboard pages of the book back to the beginning and started over.

  Cat. Dog. Fish. Rabbit.

  He made the signs for each, stopped to make sure he was doing them right, then went through it one more time. The book was similar to one he'd seen Courtney read to Noah. She'd flip through the pages, point to an animal, and would Noah make the sign. A huge grin would spread across his face and his eyes would light up with each answer. Then he'd pick out a picture and wait for Courtney to make the sign, almost like he was testing her.

  And then Noah had brought the book over to Harland and climbed on his lap. He opened it up with great care and pointed to a picture of a big brown horse, then looked at Harland. Waiting. Expecting him to play the game, to make the correct sign.

  Harland shook his head, shot a look of desperation in Courtney's direction. He didn't miss the disappointment on his son's face, like he had somehow let him down by not being able to play the game.

  Harland had stopped by a chain store on the way home that night and purchased several children's board books: animals, objects, shapes, colors. He loaded his arms with them, one after the other. And when he got home, he'd ordered a basic book on sign language and started searching for ASL sites on the internet.

  He didn't want to disappoint Noah again, couldn't bear to see that expression on his son's face again. So he locked himself up in the spare bedroom that passed for an office for an hour before he crashed each night and studied the most basic of signs.

  He extended the index and middle fingers of his right hand, holding them tight together. The letter 'H'. Then he raised his hand, placed his thumb against his temple, and bent and unbent the two fingers making the 'H' twice. Horse.

  "Yeah. Take that, you stupid fucking horse." Okay, maybe it wasn't the most grown-up thing to say. He didn't care, there was nobody here to see him, not back here. And it meant he could talk to Noah in his own language, at least a little bit.

  He closed the picture book and grabbed another one, this one filled with vehicles. He went through each picture, looked for the word on the website he was using. Study the video, learn the sign. Repeat it until he was somewhat comfortable with it and hope he'd remember it when the time came.

  Plane. Or airplane. Did it matter? He scrolled up and clicked on 'airplane', watched the oversized hand make the sign. Wait, he knew that one! Well, not really knew, but he'd seen it before, when Courtney had signed it after the game a few weeks ago.

  He played the short video again, his hand replicating the sign. Easy enough. Maybe. His eye caught the additional text under the video and he leaned forward to read it.

  And okay, he'd need to be careful if he ever used that sign because it was damn close to the sign for 'I love you'. Palm down. He needed to remember that: keep the palm tilted down for 'plane'.

  Yeah, because if he didn't, he'd definitely crash and burn.

  The thought wasn't as funny when he repeated it to himself. In fact, it filled him with a strange sorrow and disappointment. Why was he worried about getting the stupid sign for 'plane' wrong, when he doubted he'd ever have need for the other one?

  Stupid. He was just being stupid.

  He gathered all the picture books and placed them in the desk drawer. Now it was time to learn some other signs, ones he didn't think Noah would know. He wanted to be ready for the family skate tomorrow evening, wanted to be able to teach Noah some new words.

  Hockey.

  Ice skate.

  Pizza.

  Ice cream.

  Wow, okay. Maybe he wouldn't do that one because it looked suggestive as hell. If he saw Courtney make that sign, he'd think she was offering—

  And fuck, he had to stop thinking like that. Had to stop remembering, stop imagining. It wasn't going to happen, no matter how much he wanted it. Yeah, maybe she told him she didn't hate him anymore, but that didn't mean anything. He saw how uncomfortable she was every time he went over to spend time with them. No, not them. With Noah.

  But spending time with Noah meant spending time with Courtney because she rarely left them alone. He couldn't blame her, not really. After everything that had happened? After he just showed up and forced himself into their lives? And he wasn't complaining precisely because he got to spend time with both of them.

  He gave himself a mental shake, forcing all thoughts of Courtney—and ice cream cones—from his mind. Time to focus on building his limited vocabulary.

  Play.

  Fun.

  Friend.

  Father.

  Harland stared at the screen, his entire body frozen. If he was smart, if he had any survival skills at all, he'd scroll right past that last one and pretend he never saw it.

  His hand hovered over the mouse, his finger shaking. He couldn't do that to Courtney. She'd be furious. Hurt. She'd probably kill him.

  Don't do it. Don't do it.

  Fuck it. He had never been accused of being smart. He took a deep breath and clicked on the short video, hit it again and again. He curled his hand into a fist, thinking, hesitating.

  Then he opened his hand, spread his fingers wide and held them up, tapped his thumb against his forehead.

  Father. Dad.

  He repeated the sign once more, then a third time.

  Father. Dad.

  He was Noah's father, dammit. Why shouldn't he know the sign? Why shouldn't he teach it to his son?

  He scrolled down, highlighted 'mother', watched the quick video. He recognized the sign immediately, had seen Noah make it often. The sign was similar to the one for 'father', except instead of spreading his fingers wide and tapping his thumb against his forehead, he tapped his thumb aga
inst his chin.

  Against the forehead: Dad.

  Against the chin: Mom.

  Great. So now what? He knew the sign. Good for him. What was he supposed to do with it, now that he knew it? Could he really risk pissing off Courtney? No, it was more than that. It would hurt her. Hadn't he hurt her enough already?

  But he was Noah's father. Didn't that count for something?

  He knew Courtney would say no, it didn't. She didn't need to come out and say it but it was clear she was convinced he didn't plan to stick around. He could see it in her deep brown eyes each time he stopped by, see it in the set of her shoulders and the carefully blank gazes she tossed his way when she didn't think he was looking. And he could feel it in the waves of sorrow and uncertainty that rolled over him whenever he was near her. He hadn't wanted to admit it because admitting it hurt too much.

  It was time to stop playing games. She had to realize he wasn't going anywhere. The only way to do that was to show her. To prove it to her. He wasn't an idiot, no matter how much he acted like one at times. It would take one hell of a lot more than using the sign for 'father' to prove anything to her.

  But it was a start. Maybe.

  Or it could totally backfire and completely blow up in his face and make the situation even worse.

  So what the fuck should he do?

  He turned the computer off and sat back in the chair, his hands folded behind his head. Minutes went by, filled with nothing but the muted sounds of the television playing in the living room. It was a distraction he didn't need, an intrusion he didn't want.

  He sucked in a deep breath and held it until spots swam before his eyes. Released it and held it again. It was either that or go out into the living room and have it out with his old man again. Experience told him it was better to stay in here, if for no other reason than to save some of his sanity.

  For now, at least. Because a half-baked plan was forming in his mind. Nothing concrete, just wisps of maybes and what-ifs. He was almost afraid to let the wisps take form into something more solid. Not because the hazy plan scared him—it did. Actually, it terrified him. But he was more terrified of what might happen if he didn't at least try.

  He'd given up once and walked away without a fight—unless you counted the one he caused because it was easier that way. Harland didn't want easy anymore. He wanted a life—his life. The life he should have had but kept throwing away every chance he got—with both hands.

  He was tired of his half-ass existence, tired of settling because he was afraid to take chances. Afraid of trying and failing. He thought he'd been playing the game but he hadn't been, not really. He'd been playing it safe, instead.

  Well, no more. It had to be all or nothing from this point out. And if he failed, then he failed for real.

  And that terrified him most of all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Christ, Courtney. It's an ice rink, not Antarctica. He doesn't need all that crap."

  Courtney fought with a struggling Noah, finally getting the knit cap over his head. He made a face that let her know exactly how unhappy he was with it and reached up to pull it off.

  "No." She brushed his hands away and tied the strings under his chin, ignoring the man standing next to her. What did he know, anyway? No, it wasn't the Antarctica, but it was still chilly in here. Harland might be used to the cold but Noah wasn't. And neither was she.

  Her gaze slid to the side, watching Harland as he stood there. He was dressed in jeans and an old sweatshirt, looking entirely too comfortable and completely relaxed and at home. Well, except for the expression of impatience on his face. It was an identical match to the one on Noah's. God, could they look any more alike? Same color hair, same color eyes, same stubborn mouth. Noah's face was more rounded now, with full cheeks flushed with excitement. Would his face become leaner in a few years? Would his jaw become a little more defined, more sculpted like his father's? Probably.

  Harland noticed her watching him and raised his brows. "What?"

  "Nothing." She turned back to Noah then looked down at the mittens in her hands. Should she make them wear them? They were the kind where the top section folded back to expose the fingers. She had tried gloves but he hated them, probably because the material was too bulky around his small fingers. The mittens were the only kind he would wear—when he didn't bother to take them off and throw them somewhere. But at least she could get them on his hands without too much of a fight, something she'd never been able to do with regular gloves.

  Usually.

  She looked over her shoulder at the people already skating on the ice. Small groups of twos and threes, mostly adults. There were a few kids there, some around the same age as Noah. None of them had on gloves.

  Well, she didn't care what the other kids had on. She gritted her teeth and prepared for battle.

  "Courtney, really?"

  "You're not helping." She caught one of Noah's hands and gave him a stern look as she tried to get the mitten on. He yanked his hand away and shook his head, grunting in distaste.

  "Noah Robert, I swear, if you don't stop fighting me—"

  "Here, let me." Harland reached for the mitten and nudged her out of the way. She felt a brief moment of satisfaction when Noah struggled just as much for Harland as he had for her—until Harland leaned forward and gave him a stern look.

  He formed his fingers into the proper shape and made one quick sign. "No."

  Noah stopped squirming. He didn't look happy about it at all, not with the way his face was scrunched up. But he didn't put up a fight the way he had with her and Harland was able to get both mittens on. He folded back the tops and clipped them in place with the little snap, then lifted Noah from the bench and placed him on his feet.

  It wasn't right. In fact, it was totally unfair. Harland was the one he should have been struggling with, not her. But the exact opposite was true. And it wasn't the first time, either. In fact, she was starting to notice it more and more.

  She'd try to get Noah to do something and he'd put up a small fight. Nothing catastrophic, nothing cringe-worthy, probably nothing more than the terrible-twos finally hitting. Just small little signs of rebellion here and there, like refusing to sit on his potty chair and insisting to stand instead. Or refusing to eat a certain food that he used to like. But as soon as Harland corrected him, the fighting stopped. It was like Harland was now the authority figure instead of her, like Noah was looking more and more to Harland for things.

  It made no sense. Harland wasn't around that much, maybe for a few hours, several evenings a week. And he wasn't around on the weekends because he had games. So why the change in Noah's behavior? Harland had only been coming around for a little more than a month. That certainly wasn't long enough for Noah to form some kind of bond with him.

  Was it?

  She couldn't bear to think that was the case. Couldn't handle the idea of her son getting close to anyone but her and his grandmother. So what if Harland was his father? Noah didn't know that, had no way of understanding it. She wouldn't even know how to explain such an abstract concept to Noah even if she had wanted to.

  And she didn't. She didn't even want to think of it, not when she was certain the novelty would wear off and Harland would lose interest. Because he would, she was certain of it.

  Wouldn't he?

  If she was an outsider looking at the two of them now, she'd say no. Harland was kneeling on one knee in front of Noah, saying something she couldn't hear from this distance. She could at least admit she was grateful for that, for the way Harland talked to him like he was any other normal kid. A hearing kid. She had been afraid he would act like Noah was dumb, unable to communicate, incapable of thought.

  She'd seen it happen before with other people. As soon as they realized Noah was deaf, they suddenly acted like his brain was defective. The first few times it had happened, she'd tried to explain that Noah's inability to hear didn't make him stupid or incapable of understanding. When it continued to happen, she
had to force herself not to lash out, to rail and scream. Now she just mostly ignored it. That didn't mean it hurt any less.

  But Harland hadn't done any of that. He talked to Noah like he would any other child, treated him like he would any other child.

  Treated him like his son.

  Even now, bent over as he was, acting like everything was normal. Like he'd been taking Noah on outings since the day he was born. Harland laughed and said something to Noah, then moved his fingers in a few hesitant signs.

  Courtney's mouth dropped open. Harland was signing. She frowned, watching as he made the same signs again. What was he saying? She didn't understand—

  She snapped her mouth closed and hurried over to the them, her hand closing over Harland's shoulder. "What are you teaching him?"

  Harland mussed Noah's hair then stood, facing her with a look she couldn't quite understand.

  "Relax. I'm not teaching him how to cuss."

  "I didn't think—"

  "Really? Judging from the expression on your face, that's exactly what you were thinking." He watched her for a few seconds then wrapped his hand around her arm, slid it down to her hand, and gave her a gentle squeeze. He didn't release her hand when he spoke again. "I was just telling him that I was going to take him out sledding on the ice, that's all."

  "You told him—but how? I don't understand."

  "I've been trying to learn a few signs. You know, so I don't look like an idiot the next time he brings one of his books over to me." He released her hand and grinned, then started making a few signs. Dog. Cat. Car. Plane. Although he messed that last one up, he needed to tilt his palm down a little more—not that she was going to correct him, not when she'd have to explain why. He made a few more signs, a few she didn't know.

  "What was that one?"