by Amy Aislin
It was chaos at center ice as seven kids chased Halloween-sized Smarties boxes. Everyone else was mingling on the other end of the rink to give them space and taking advantage of the snacks.
Andy flipped onto his stomach, batting his legs back and forth. “Do I get to eat the Smarties after?”
“Of course.”
Reaching out with his stick, Andy managed to nab a box that had somehow made its way in their direction.
“Well,” Tay said to Dakota. “He’s certainly resourceful.”
“You’d be amazed at how kids get exactly what they want with very minimal effort.”
“And how about you?” Tay asked, lowering his voice and leaning into Dakota’s space. Their shoulders brushed; Tay repressed a shiver. “How much effort do you put in when you want something?”
“Depends.” Gaze dropping to Tay’s mouth, Dakota smirked, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.
“On?”
“How badly I want it.”
Tay sucked in a breath and leaned his weight onto Dakota’s shoulder. Willing to flirt with him at family skate, check.
It was a horrible idea. Not only was it inappropriate, but a reporter and a couple of bloggers, as well as the team’s photographer, were circling for perfect photo ops and quotes for their articles. Tay hadn’t seen them, although he’d been so focused on Dakota and Andy that his teammates could break into the chicken dance and he probably wouldn’t notice.
Dakota’s thoughts must’ve been on the same wavelength. With a final knowing smirk for Tay that spoke of things better left in the bedroom, he stepped away, though his gaze lingered on Tay’s for another moment.
“Andy, do you still want to head out?”
The kid had ripped into the Smarties box, separated the candy by color right there on the ice, and was popping them in his mouth one by one without chewing or swallowing.
Andy mumbled something in response to Dakota’s question, unintelligible with his full mouth and cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s.
“Can you get up then?” Dakota said. “And say goodbye to Tay?”
Or maybe not so unintelligible.
Once he was finished chewing, Andy flipped himself over to lie on his back. “Daddy, can Tay come over for chicken fingers an’ fries?”
Tay’s heart leaped.
“Sure.” Dakota passed his stick to Tay. “We’d love to have you.”
And crashed into his stomach. “I’d love to. Really. But I’m committed to this event until it’s over.”
“Makes sense.” Understanding and disappointment crossed Dakota’s features.
Clenching both sticks in one hand, Tay said, “Another time?”
He was rewarded with a smile. “Definitely.”
“Sorry, Andy,” Tay said, crouching to the kid’s level. “Next time, okay? Do you want to leave me your jersey? I’ll have Cherny sign it tomorrow and get it back to your dad this week.”
“Okay.”
Tay helped him out of his helmet, then tugged the jersey off, leaving him in a long-sleeved sweater. Grasping him under the armpits, Tay placed him on his feet. Standing, Tay dug his phone out of his back pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to Dakota. “Want to give me your phone number? So I can call when Andy’s jersey is ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
Never had Tay heard a more sarcastic uh-huh. So maybe he wanted Dakota’s number for other reasons too. Dakota didn’t seem to mind; there was knowing in his eyes as he passed the phone back to Tay.
“Thanks again.” Dakota nodded at the jersey in Tay’s hands. “For that. And for today. We had fun, right, Andy?”
“Mm-hmm.” Latched onto his dad’s leg, Andy nodded.
Tay waved as Dakota towed Andy toward where Calder was still talking to Lacroix. “See you soon.” He hoped.
Dakota smiled at him over Andy’s head before Tay lost sight of them in the crowd.
As Tay brought the hockey sticks back to the equipment area, he grinned to himself and pulled an Andy, hopping on the ice. Though with a little more skill and managing to stay on his feet. Getting his phone out again, he tapped out a quick text to Dakota so he’d have his number too: Hi, this is Tay :) Then he joined Stanton and Grey in the chase for Smarties.
When Tay was little, there’d been a point where he’d felt like he’d tried all of the solo sports imaginable. He’d been an energetic thing; his parents kept signing him up for sports that required a lot of physical activity. Dance. Tennis. Gymnastics. Skiing.
None of them took, not until he started playing hockey when he was six or seven. It was the first time he’d ever fallen in love, and a large chunk of it had to do with it being a team sport. One of Tay’s favorite things about hockey was his teammates.
He’d been on a lot of teams since he was six or seven and there were several universal truths that held among all of them.
There was always a grumpy one.
There was always one who took on the dad role.
Cliques were so a thing.
Social schedules were dictated by practices, games, team building events, fundraisers, and media appearances.
Traveling made everybody cranky, whether they were heading to wintry Winnipeg or sunny LA.
Questionable choices were made—you’d bitch and moan your way through the flu but suck it up and show up for practice so you didn’t disappoint your teammates.
Tay wouldn’t give it up for anything.
No, that wasn’t strictly true. Hockey was the biggest challenge of his life, but as his parents had taught him, it wasn’t the be-all and end-all. He’d stick with it as long as it made him happy. And right now it made him very happy.
“Everyone ready?” Xappa called down the line.
A chorus of “Ready” echoed in one of the deserted back hallways of the arena. Tay stood with his knees bent and his right foot slightly forward, facing a brick wall painted beige from an invisible line roughly eight feet away, tennis ball in his left hand, racket in his right. To his left and right, a dozen of his teammates stood in a similar position, waiting for Xappa’s signal.
From his left, Stanton said, “Fifty bucks says Desie kicks our asses again.”
Tay snorted a laugh. “I’m not taking that bet.” Their goalie, Riley “Desie” Deschamps, the fifth member of the Queer Brigade, had the hand-eye coordination of a machine, and he won more often than not.
On Tay’s other side, Mitch Greyson muttered, “You’d be better off betting that pigs can fly.”
Tay side-eyed him. “Or that your hair’s going to get in your eyes again.”
Grey tossed his head and pretended to flip his hair over his shoulder. “You’re just jealous.”
Reaching out, Tay pulled on a curly strand that sprung right back into place the second he let it go. “It is pretty fun.”
“Alex likes it,” Grey said with a smirk in his husband’s direction. Tay and Stanton followed his gaze.
From the end of the line, Alex Dean caught them looking and, unfazed, quirked an eyebrow.
Grey blew him a kiss that made the guys between them groan good-naturedly, mutterings of “Why do I find them so cute?” and “Get a room” drifting up the line. It just made Grey smile wider as Dean shook his head with a smile.
“Yeah, yeah, settle down,” Xappa called. “Save the chirping for later. Ready in three, two, and go!”
Almost as one, a dozen tennis balls smacked against the wall, making a loud popping sound that rang throughout the hallway. Tay ignored every ball but his own.
The goal was to keep control of your tennis ball. First one whose ball went wayward paid for drinks on their next night out. The last one standing got . . . well, nothing other than the knowledge that they were the supreme leader of what Stanton had dubbed Balls In My Court.
Tay still said it had a dirty ring to it. Stanton claimed innocence. Tay was convinced there was a naughty sex fiend under the nerdy jock exterior.
After about a minute, his ball bouncing against the
wall in a rhythmic cycle, Tay started to feel the burn in his upper arm, and his skin slicked with a thin layer of sweat. Balls In My Court was fast. There was no lazy swing of the racket, no gentle love tap on the ball. It was hard, the racket connecting with the ball like a hockey stick hitting a slap shot, which meant the ball bounced back from the wall like a rocket on crack. If Tay blinked, he’d lose control of his ball.
Somewhere on his right, someone swore as their ball went bouncing down the hallway. Like a game of dominoes, the rest of them fell, one after the other until only Desie was left standing while the rest of them chased after wayward tennis balls that had rolled every which way.
Xappa blew the whistle around his neck like the piece of crap he was, making them all wince. “Line up!” he called. “Non-dominant hands now.”
Again they lined up. Some of the guys were just as good with their non-dominant hands.
Tay was not one of those guys. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the racket in his left hand and waited for Xappa’s signal. He just had to hold out until someone else lost control first. After that, his ball could go where it pleased. He didn’t want to be stuck paying for drinks with whoever had lost the last round.
“Fifty bucks on Desie,” Stanton said again.
Tay just laughed at his friend’s audacity. A second later, Xappa’s voice rang through the hallway and they were a go.
Launching the ball at the wall, Tay waited for it to come back his way before whipping it back. God, he hated doing this with his left hand. It’d be so much easier if he could grip the racket in both hands, but that was grounds for automatic disqualification.
On his fifth or sixth swing, he didn’t hit the ball hard enough. Instead of bouncing back in his direction, it sort of flopped halfway between him and the wall, then rolled in Stanton’s direction.
“Sucker,” Stanton said, because he was a piece of crap too.
Damn. Now Tay had the privilege of splitting the bill on their next night out with whoever had lost the first round.
A couple hours later, Tay had just finished suiting up and sat on the bench in front of his locker when his cell phone beeped. He opened the email without thinking and swore at what he found.
Goddamn it. He knew not to check his phone so close to game time. They were due on the ice for their warm-up any minute, and it wasn’t good to have distractions right before a game. Sure, he could compartmentalize with the best of them, but still.
Stanton nudged his shoulder. “What’s up?”
Tay scratched his jaw, the bristles prickling his palm. “Got a shit grade on a test I took a couple weeks back.”
“Define shit.”
“Seventy-three.”
Stanton pursed his lips. “What’s wrong with seventy-three?”
It didn’t suck but it wasn’t great. It was thirteen percent more than the required minimum final grade. It was also thirteen percent less than he’d been hoping for. He’d never been an A student and certainly not in math and science; didn’t mean he didn’t want to do good. To do better. His sisters had aced their own programs. The only way to prove to them that he wasn’t a kid anymore—to make them see that he was an equal—was by acing his own.
So yeah. Not great, but not bad, and certainly not shit. In fact, if he didn’t have something to prove to his sisters, he would’ve been perfectly happy with it.
The kid can’t cut it in a four-year degree.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s a safe pass. I was just hoping for better.”
“So study harder,” Stanton said, as if the answer was obvious.
“I studied during every second of spare time for a week.” They’d had a series of away games the week before. One would think that wouldn’t allow much study time, but the team had had lots of downtime on flights.
“What’s the class?”
“Biomolecular aspects of cellular and genetic processes.”
Stanton blinked big eyes at him. “I don’t even know what that is.” He put his helmet on and adjusted the chin strap. “Maybe we can find you a tutor.”
That we did more to boost Tay’s spirits than Stanton would ever know.
“In the meantime,” Stanton said, reaching for his hockey stick, “it’s warm-up time.” He bopped Tay gently on his own helmeted head with the end of his stick. “Don’t let this get you down. You got this. And even if you don’t, at least you have hockey.”
Tay was laughing as he followed Stanton and the rest of the guys out of the locker room.
Dakota hated 3D puzzles as much as he hated watered-down cheap beer that tasted like piss. The pieces all had to be inserted properly or the whole thing would tilt sideways and then topple like a Jenga game. Give him a regular ol’ 2D puzzle any day.
But it was what Andy was currently into, and Dakota would do anything for his son, including sacrificing a little bit of his sanity for the sake of father-son bonding time. Even though, according to Andy’s preschool teacher, 3D puzzles weren’t a normal thing for four-year-olds to be into.
Who got to decide what was and wasn’t normal, anyway?
They’d moved the coffee table out of the way in the family room and sat on the floor in front of the TV, building the puzzle on a puzzle mat. He’d never tell Tay that they’d gotten bored with tonight’s game and turned to something else for entertainment. The game still played in the background on low volume as they built their puzzle. Neither paid much attention.
Speaking of Tay, the man played tonight as if a literal fire had been lit under his ass. The problem was that Florida was playing a game of neutral zone trap that made for boring television overall, no matter how strongly Tay played.
“I think this one goes here,” he said to Andy, handing over a puzzle piece. Their two-hundred-piece red-and-white campervan was coming along nicely. Dakota wasn’t too big to admit that Andy was pulling both their weights.
Andy lay on his stomach, little legs kicking, tongue between his teeth as he slotted Dakota’s piece into place near the front of the van. “Daddy.”
“Mm-hmm.” Dakota separated the white pieces from the red.
“Is Mom still coming for dinner tomorrow?”
Pausing for only a second, Dakota continued with his work as if Andy’s question didn’t pinch his chest tight. He scanned Andy’s face; although his kid’s expression hadn’t changed, Dakota knew Andy was braced for disappointment.
“As far as I know,” he said carefully, aware that Fiona’s commitment to her work far outweighed her commitment to their son. He’d be surprised if she didn’t cancel.
So would Andy, no doubt.
It wasn’t fair that at four years old he was already used to disappointment.
“I want to be in his life,” Fiona had said when Andy was about six months old. “But I don’t want to raise him.”
But did Fiona actually want to be part of Andy’s life? Dakota had evidence to the contrary, seeing as it’d been months since they’d seen her.
Dakota still didn’t get it. He’d raise ten Andys if he could. Andy was bright and curious and sweet. He loved his stuffed koala named Helix, cooking with his dad, and watching the rain from the living room window. He also tried to sneak cookies out of the pantry, cried bloody murder if Helix was misplaced, and was very particular about his socks matching his pants.
Dakota wouldn’t give it up for anything. He’d never understand how Fiona had. But, then, as the therapist he’d seen after she’d left had told him, he didn’t have to understand, just accept and move forward.
Andy fit another piece into the puzzle, legs still kicking. “I can give her my Valentine’s Day card?”
The pinching in Dakota’s chest traveled into his throat. “I think she’d like that.” Dakota’s own card that Andy had made at preschool was taped to the front of the stainless-steel fridge. “What should we make for dinner?”
“Chicken nuggets an’ fries.” Andy’s typical answer to breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Chuckling, Dakota glanced
at his watch. “Ten more minutes and then it’s time for bed, okay?”
Andy ignored him and looked at the TV. “One more goal and we win-ed, Dad.”
Toronto was currently ahead by two despite all the neutral zone bullshit Florida was trying to pull. “One more goal, huh?”
“Yup.”
The rules of hockey changed every time Andy watched a game.
Ten minutes later, Dakota tucked Helix into bed next to Andy, then got in himself, sitting up with his back against the wall, long legs almost reaching the end of the twin-sized bed. “What do you want to read tonight?”
Andy rolled onto his side, Helix tucked into the crook of his arm, and picked at Dakota’s sweatpants. “Don’t wanna read.”
“What would you like then?” Dakota asked, running his fingers through Andy’s hair.
Andy was quiet for a moment, picking at the pilling on Dakota’s pants. “Dad.”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think Mom’ll like chicken nuggets an’ fries.”
Dakota didn’t think so either. “What should we make instead then?”
“Stew.”
“Stew?” He squinted down at Andy. “How do you even know what that is?” When was the last time he’d made stew, if ever?
“Grandma made it at Christmas.”
Dakota didn’t remember that, but okay. Guess he was calling his mom tomorrow morning for the recipe.
“Daddy.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Andy’s eyes slid closed. “Mom’s not coming tomorrow.”
“How do you . . . ?” But Andy was already asleep.
Dakota kissed him twice on the head, once for each full-time parent he should’ve had. “Goodnight, my baby,” he whispered. Standing as smoothly as he could so he didn’t rock the bed, he left the door open a crack before heading back downstairs. He moved their half-finished puzzle to the side of the room and pulled the coffee table back into place before grabbing his phone off the end table next to the couch.
