Harrisburg Railers Box Set 2

by R J Scott

  “I’m love you little bit lot,” he announced.

  “Okay, I love you too,” I replied, muffled against his neck.

  “Marry me,” he blurted out. “One day, in future. Time later.”

  “Yes,” I said, without hesitation, because one day, maybe after our careers were done, when his mom was safe here, when it was okay to be out and not have hate, when I could be as brave as Ten, then we could get married.

  Stan simply held me tighter.

  Two weeks passed before what I like to call the Freja event. Finally, we had all the paperwork with the right codes and lines and whatever. I thought it was as simple as me signing and sending back, but no, Freja was in the country and the text I received said ‘wouldn’t it be so cool to meet up and sign. I could meet Noah’.

  Cool wasn’t the first thing that came to mind, and I was torn. Her text said she’d like to see Noah, and that was okay. Wasn’t it?

  “What if she loves him?” That was my biggest fear, and after the third time of saying it in various ways, looking for a reaction from Stan, he finally said something back.

  He picked Noah up and kissed his cheeks. His face was covered with soft stubble, the beginnings of what he liked to call his pre-playoff beard. He smiled at me. “Of course, all peoples loves little rabbit.”

  He didn’t seem to see a problem in that statement, and I desperately wanted to shake him to get him to see that I was worried. Freja hadn’t wanted to be pregnant, or have a child, but there was a big difference between handing over a tiny, squalling baby and seeing this gorgeous child who was nearly walking and had even managed a Dah with his bahs. He would be one soon, his birthday only a few weeks away, and I couldn’t bring myself to imagine a life where I didn’t have Noah with me.

  “You don’t understand,” I snapped, reaching for Noah, and Stan let me have him. I needed to cuddle my son and escape big Russians who had no idea what I was feeling. I’d made it to the kitchen door in my attempt to escape when it hit me that I was expecting Stan to comprehend my worries when I hadn’t even told him.

  I stopped and turned, holding Noah close.

  “What if she sees him, and loves him so much that she wants equal custody, and I lose him. Who the hell in their right minds would trust a hockey player with a baby, and…” I subsided into silence, because any words I let spill out would damage us as a unit, I could see that clearly.

  I expected Stan to reassure me, blindly tell me that everything would be okay.

  “I’m think same,” he admitted, and sat heavily on the nearest stool.

  When he said that, I knew that was what I’d needed him to say; that he shared my fear. I went back to him immediately. I had an hour before the meeting, Noah needed changing and dressing, and I was still in sweats after my shower. Stan hugged us both, and we stood there for a long time, drawing strength from each other. We’d decided last night that Stan wouldn’t go with me, even though he wanted to, and god, I wanted him to be with me.

  We had to be sensible.

  Faced with Freja, with all her icy beauty and the way she commanded the room, it was another thing altogether. I hadn’t remembered her as being quite so together, but then we’d had sex twice, and the next time we’d met she’d been a mess, three months pregnant and not knowing what to do.

  We signed the divorce forms. It was a formality and easily done, despite Noah bouncing on my leg and gripping my hair, with an added bah every so often.

  The lawyers pulled out the next sheaf of papers. This was the big one, the final signing for Freja relinquishing any claim on Noah. I hadn’t wanted that to start with, had told her she should have a solid presence in her son’s life. She hadn’t wanted it then, but what if she wanted it now?

  “He looks well,” she commented, and I saw the soft smile on her face, “and a lot like you.”

  What did I say to that? Did I brag that my son was the greatest child in the entire universe of children, or dismiss what she was saying so that it didn’t give her ideas of wanting him?

  I’m a mess. I’m losing my mind.

  “Thank you,” I responded.

  “Dah bah,” Noah added.

  She looked at me, thoughtful, then pulled the papers toward her and signed them. In a flurry of leather and silk, she stood up and pressed a kiss to Noah’s head and then to mine.

  “I read an article,” she began, and took the chair next to mine, holding my hand. “Well, many of them, actually, about how a woman can walk away from a baby, what is inside her that makes her cold to what she nurtured for nine months.”

  “Freja—”

  “No, let me finish. I will always have a place in my heart for Noah, that is a biological imperative. I don’t see him as mine, but you can tell him I will never regret having him. But, also that I knew I would never be half the parent that you can be to him. You have to promise me you will tell him that always.”

  “I will, but Freja, you can still visit and tell him this yourself?”

  She shook her head. “No, not for a while. When he’s older, maybe, and I can explain that I wasn’t right for him. There’s something else, though.” The lawyers shuffled paper and were talking to each other soft and low, and she turned to them. “Can we have the room a moment, please?”

  They left, although my lawyer looked pissed, probably thinking she would be talking me around to giving her Noah.

  “What is it?” I asked, cautious and worried at the same time.

  She handed me an envelope. “There’s a check in there, for every penny I said I needed from you to keep Noah to term.”

  “What? Freja, that’s yours—”

  “I didn’t want it then, and I still don’t. I was angry. I wanted to make you pay because you forced me to listen to my heart. I can’t adequately explain, but I want you to know, I do love the idea of Noah in my own way. I don’t want him to know that I tried to drive you away with demanding money."

  "Is that what you were doing?”

  "I think so. But, I never want him to think that you had to buy him. Because that wasn’t true, there isn’t a price on a child. He is with his father, and that is where he should be.”

  My heart felt lighter, but I couldn’t stop the tears that pricked my eyes. She kissed me then, on the end of my nose, and did the same again to Noah.

  “Sign the papers, Erik,” she whispered, and pushed them toward me. “You don’t owe me a thing, but please, don’t let Noah hate me.”

  I signed where the post-it note indicated, and it was done. She was wrong, I owed her everything. She’d given me Noah.

  She smiled and moved to leave, but I grabbed her hand and held her, made her turn back to me.

  “He will always know you wanted the best for him,” I promised.

  And I meant every word.

  Things settled so quickly into normality.

  It was normal that Stan made a final move to my room, right next to Noah, and that it became our room. Freja’s words stayed with me, and it became normal that I made sure to tell Noah every day that his mom loved him and that she wanted the best for him.

  Normal was nice, and the hockey that came with the solid, stable family I was creating was some of the best of my life.

  Tomorrow we played Dallas, and winning two points meant we were on our way to being safe into the playoffs. The Stanley Cup was right within our reach. The buzz in the room was that of a team of winners.

  Skate today was practicing line rushes, and Stan chirped everyone whether they got a goal past him or not. Of course, Ten was first to score—did this fancy deke that had Stan landing like a turtle on his back, laughing like a loon, and then cursing Ten out in loud Russian. Ten punched the air and skated back with his line, grinning widely, chirping at Stan for not getting up.

  I loved this team, standing with Toly and Charlie, waiting for our line to go against Stan. I watched his every move, judged if he was going easy, was he leaving his five-hole open, was he slow with the blocker, was there any single minute
thing he was doing wrong that I could use?

  Then it hit me. I was always looking for the angle, the break in his concentration, the mistake, and trying to be clever. I didn’t need to be. We set off, from Toly to me, to Charlie, and then to me, and straight on, without hesitation, I let a slap-shot go that clipped the posts and ricocheted into the net, passing Stan, who had been expecting me to go left or right.

  I fist-pumped, and he grinned at me, and all I wanted to do was go up and kiss the grin right off his face.

  I didn’t.

  Instead, I chirped him about being a sieve, and got a load of abuse back about my parentage.

  God, I loved hockey.

  Sixteen

  Stan

  “Noah, is good yams. See? Mm-Mm good.” I took a spoonful of the mashed yams and gagged. “Okay, is not good. I make eggs.”

  “Bah.” He slapped his tray with his spoon.

  “Yes, eggs good for big boy.”

  I pushed back from the kitchen table and went to the fridge to take out the eggs. The house was quiet this morning, but that was because it was only five o’clock and Erik was sleeping off a game-winning goal followed by a good fuck last night. He was in my bed. I found great joy in waking up with him beside me, or sprawled over me, his curls flattened from sleep or badly knotted from sex. We were in the same room now; I’d long given up the pretense of going back to my own room. I looked out at the starry sky. Worry nibbled at my heart. So much could go wrong…

  “Bah. Dah. Blibbity.”

  “Ah yes, I think music good too.”

  I smiled as I cracked egg after egg into a large frying pan. The boy talked nonstop but said nothing anyone could understand. Adler said that was me rubbing off on him. As the eggs began to cook, I reached over to turn on the fancy Bose radio on the counter. Elvis filled the kitchen just as the sun began to peek through the trees. Daylight was earlier and earlier now that April was here. It was good to be rid of the cold of winter. Maybe we could clean up the yard and get some fencing put up. Maybe a dog! Yes. Oh, a dog. Big one, like a wolfhound that would rip the face off anyone who tried to climb over the fence to touch my son. Erik’s son, I mean.

  “Eggs is soon,” I told the boy, then sat down in front of him and picked up a stuffed teddy bear from the floor by a sodden ear. “Why eat bear ear?” I asked the lad. He made grabby hands for the teddy. Elvis started singing a song about wanting to be someone’s teddy bear, so I made the blue bear with the wet ear dance for Noah. He squealed in joy. I continued with the dancing and then sang along.

  “I didn’t know breakfast came with a floor show,” Erik called from the doorway, smiling widely while looking beyond beautiful in low-riding sleep pants, his new tattoo on his bicep, and little else. He’d gone yesterday to have Noah’s name on his skin, but then he’d added my name, all twisted with a tiny blue-and-gray Pokémon character—Cranados, or so Ten reminded me. He said it reminded him of me, a rock, immoveable in my net. His belly had tiny suck marks on it. I loved seeing my love bites on his pale skin. It made my balls heavy with want. He was so handsome, so hot, and now, finally, so mine.

  “Show is only for Noah,” I replied as he went over to kiss his son on the head then grab a taste of my mouth.

  “Ugh. You taste like unsweetened yams.” Erik made a face that got a giggle from Noah.

  “Most sorry. I get coffee. You kiss again.”

  That was what happened. A hot coffee kiss until the eggs in the pan were past needing attention. Erik scraped the mess out and started over, tending to the food while I sipped coffee and made Blue Bear dance.

  “What got you up so early?” Erik asked, placing a plate filled with fluffy eggs and dark wheat toast in front of me. Noah got loud until his eggs were served. The spoon went flying and he used his hands.

  “What if they keep Galina because not like to marry Arvy? What if they won’t let Mama leave? What if they know we are gay men and put in prison?”

  “Stan, everything will be fine. They both have all the proper papers. The Railers lawyers went over visas and student papers for Galina to study here with fine tooth combs.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Fine combs, but still…”

  “They’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, yes, I know. Is all good. Still…” I glanced at the wide windows looking out at our backyard. The sky was still dark, but soon it would be bright pink and purple. And somewhere under that sky, on the other side of the world, were my sister and mother, hopefully getting into a plane to come to America.

  “Stan, your mother is coming. There is no way she’s not going to be here to get to know Noah.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. She wants to be babushka to him much bad.”

  “Yep.” He nodded, sending several golden curls on his brow bouncing. “I think it’s amazing how all it took to lure her here was knowing there was a baby in our house. Your house.”

  “No, no fix. Is our house.” I reached over to lay my hand over his. His gaze touched our hands, then came back to me. “Will always be our house. When Mama here, free from Russia and bad gay hate there, we make home right. No more lie about us. Say we live here as couple. Just…not big out-coming. Quiet. Just be. Yes?”

  “Yes.” He slipped his fingers between mine. His eyes glowed like fiery emeralds.

  “BAH!” Scrambled eggs slapped Erik in the face. I snorted. His green eyes went wide. Then a sweet smile pulled up the corners of his coffee-kissed lips. Soon my family would be complete. By midnight, life would be all I had dreamed it would be.

  But just to make sure, I would stop by the Russian Orthodox church on the way to the arena for morning skate, and pray. I didn’t think God would ignore my pleas because I shared coffee kisses with a man.

  Amy was with Noah, and Erik had driven us to the rink. I checked my watch. Why had Galina not contacted me at the airport as I had asked? Had there been trouble?

  “Stan. Give me that watch.”

  I looked over at Erik after we pulled into a parking spot by the players’ entrance. “No. I need for time looks.”

  “Looking at it every five seconds is just going to make the time drag.” He turned off the engine of the car we shared. I had bought it for him but told him that I had purchased it for me. See how clever I am? He would never drive it if it was a gift for him. His pride was huge. Which was good, but not always. I reminded him often about pride going before a fall.

  I tugged down the sleeve of my dress shirt and soft gray suit jacket. “I keep but no look.”

  He ran a hand over my head, his touch tender and loving. “It’ll be fine. Have faith. You prayed, right?”

  “Yes, right. God knows. Is in his hands now.” I nodded.

  We left the Caddy—a big blue SUV, not a pink one—and went inside. Pete stopped us, and we talked about the few remaining games of the season. The playoffs were on the horizon, and the Railers were tied with Pittsburgh for first place. Philadelphia was one point behind the two leaders. And the team under them only lacked a point from being in second. Our division was tighter than a homecoming dress, as Adler says.

  The dressing room was packed with men, all talking and in good spirits. It made me feel brighter inside. Not totally sunny but maybe partly cloudy.

  “Hey, it’s Van Helsing!” Adler shouted, then threw a big grin at Max van Hellren entering the room. Max was a solid defenseman who had played on almost every team during his tenure in the league. He was a huge man, with reddish-brown hair and a thick beard that he kept neatly trimmed.

  His golden-brown eyes were sharp as a raptor’s, but usually friendly, unless you were trying to make a run at me. Then the “Wrath of Hell” fell on opposing players. Max had made a big splash on the team, filling in for Arvy, who was now about ready to start skating with a no-contact jersey during practice. I hoped Max stayed. He brought grit and gruff humor.

  “I’m going to slap the stupid out of you, Lockhart,” Max shouted over the guffaws.

  “You’ll have to catch me first, Gramps,” A
dler yelled back.

  This was how it had been since the first day Max had entered the Railers dressing room. Adler had yelled, “Hey, it’s Van Halen!” at Max back then, and Max had threatened to slap him shitless, or silly, or into the next week. It was tradition now.

  Erik and I exchanged soft looks as we dressed. Like Tennant and Jared, we played down our relationship at work. Even more so because no one knew we were a couple aside from a few close friends. We had no plans to make a big thing out of us. We just wanted to be.

  After gearing up, I went to the ice to work with my coach. Stepping into the corridor, I bumped into a beautiful black man with a dog on a leash.

  “Am sorry,” I said to him, then crouched down to pet the dog. It was a tiny one with kinky black fur. It wagged its tail and licked my face. “Such good dog! Why is dog here?”

  “I’m Ben, the manager of the Crossroads Shelter over on Grayson Street. The team invited us to come out during the first and second periods and bring a shelter animal in need of a home.”

  “This boy needs home? I need big dog. Like wolfhound. Will this dog be wolfhound?”

  “Nope, that’s as big as he gets,” Ben replied with a killer smile.

  “Cute,” Max said around his mouth guard as he came up beside me. I glanced up from the dog. Was our grinder talking about the dog or Ben? It was hard to tell. Both men were staring at each other. Then Max was gone, heading to the ice.

  “We look for dog soon. Come to shelter. Make yard fence first.”

  Ben nodded dully, mumbled something, handed me a business card, then disappeared into the bowels of the arena, his happy dog trotting along beside him.

  “So we’re getting a dog now?” Erik asked as he jogged up behind me, his skates making a dull thudding sound as the guards hit the rubber mat.