by RJ Scott
“You and me, bud,” I began, and traced a finger down his cheek, “we are not dysfunctional. Me and you? We are the dictionary definition of a functional family unit.”
Having done all the woe-is-me shit, I pulled my shoulders back and lifted Noah out of the car. Fuck knew what I was going to be facing in there—a locker room full of noise, a coach who would stare at me with an expression of horror. No one brought their kids to the ice for practice. That was reserved for family skate days, and I’d missed that, as it had happened the week before I got there.
I passed through security and faced my first hurdle.
“Is that a baby?” Pete asked, and reached out to pat Noah’s head. I held Noah close. Pete is one of those big security guys, all muscle, and he had a left sleeve tattoo which he flashed when he wasn’t bundled up against the cold. “Intimidating” would be a good word to describe Pete, and no one tried to get past him without his say-so.
“Pete, meet Noah, my son,” I said proudly.
“Aww, he’s cute,” Pete said, and I probably beamed at him; I did that a lot when people told me Noah was cute. Clearly Noah was the cutest, most fabulous baby in the entire world, but then I was biased. “He must look like his momma huh?” Pete asked, and left the question hanging. No way was I opening that can of worms; it was bad enough I’d brought Noah to work with me.
The main doors opened, a gust of cold air preceding two players talking loudly about something to do with potatoes. Pete was distracted, and I escaped his all-seeing gaze. I got exactly one corridor through before I met the next hurdle.
“Is that a baby?” Arvy asked. “Is that your baby?”
“Noah.” Proudly, I lifted the soft blanket so Arvy could see more of Noah’s face. I could see the moment when he saw the big eyes and the soft skin, and Arvy just sighed and cooed, and that was pretty much it.
Then he ruined the moment. “Where’s your nanny?” he asked, and looked past me, expecting to see a nanny waiting there.
“Sick,” I said, because I needed to be honest with Arvy so I could get help. He knew my parents were in Sweden, didn’t know the full extent of my disenchantment with them both, but he realized my support network here in the US was at zero.
“Shit,” he said, which, let’s face it, wasn’t that helpful.
Ten arrived at the little group. “Hey,” he said, “is that a baby?”
“Noah,” I explained as Ten cooed over Noah. Arvy looked at me pointedly, then nodded in the direction of the locker rooms and the ice.
“I didn’t know what to do,” I said.
“You have no backup?” Arvy asked.
Dieter and Adler walked up. “Is that a baby?” they asked in unison. I wondered if maybe I should invest in a sign that announced that yes, Noah was a baby.
“Yes, it’s a baby,” I explained.
“Was he left outside in a box or something?” Adler asked with his usual lack of filter.
“Dude.” Ten thumped Adler. “This is Gunner’s baby, Noah.”
Adler peered at Noah, and Noah batted at him with a tiny fist, wrinkling his nose. To be fair, if Adler was up in my space I’d be wrinkling my nose and making a fist as well.
When Jens and Charlie joined the group, oohing and aaahing then starting on bawdy jokes about my sex life, I was kind of done.
“I’ll go talk to management,” Arvy said, with a firm hand on my shoulder. “Get you some help.”
He left, and the rest were still crowded around me. Five guys all joking and laughing, and Noah was restless in my arms. Hockey players weren’t exactly known for their sensitivity and ability to whisper, and I wasn’t sure Noah was happy.
And then it happened. Stan arrived in a swirl of cold and hostility when he looked at me. He couldn’t get by the small knot of people, and I couldn’t turn away, and his face was thunderous and twisted in a scornful glare. Then it changed. As if someone had waved a magic wand and wished it so, the scowl dropped, and in its place was a soft smile.
“You bring Baby-Erik,” he said, then he must have realized Noah’s predicament, the way he was screwing up his face ready to cry and the guys all crowding around. “Enough,” he said, loudly enough to stop my team mates talking. “Space for baby. Go away.”
Everyone scattered; no one wanted to argue with the Russian who loomed large over the group. Which just left him and me in the corridor. And Noah, of course.
“This is Noah,” I explained.
“His pretty,” Stan said, then frowned again. “Is boy, not pretty, like handsome.”
He held out his hand to Noah, who gripped a thumb tight and pulled it toward his mouth.
“Nyet,” he murmured, “big dirty hockey man.”
Noah burbled something along the lines of bah bah, and Stan’s smile widened.
“I hold?” he asked.
I hesitated a bit. This was Stan. He hated me, and he wanted my baby to hold, and he’d just come off the street and was cold, and hell, this was my baby.
He must have seen my hesitation, because the smile slipped and he nodded. “Is okay,” he said, and made to move away.
Which was when the balance tipped and I kind of thrust Noah at him, using my own baby to stop him walking off.
Stan stopped and took Noah, at first holding him under his arms, little legs dangling and kicking.
“Bah,” Noah explained.
“Mal’chik-zaichik,” Stan murmured, and instead of holding him at arm’s length, he cradled him close. Right up to the thick jacket with the furry hood, and god, even at nine months, Noah looked so tiny in Stan’s big, capable hands. “Mal’chik-zaichik,” he repeated.
I leaned in. I couldn’t help it; Stan’s Russian had always made me weak at the knees. When we’d been together, when he’d been deep inside me as we made love, he’d talked to me and I’d melted. He could have been reciting a grocery list and it wouldn’t have mattered. His soft tones and the beautiful words had never failed to push me over the edge.
“What are you saying to him?” I asked.
“Little rabbit,” he said, and touched the furry ears of Noah’s tiny sweater. “Mal’chik-zaichik.”
Oh god. I was turned on. Seriously, the voice, the beautiful hands, the way he was holding Noah, and my heart was dancing in my chest.
“He likes you,” I said as Noah reached for any part of Stan he could find.
“Bah,” Noah pointed out, and laughed when Stan chuckled, the sound from deep in his chest.
“Is clever,” Stan said, and leaned down to press a kiss to Noah’s head. “Noah.”
He handed Noah back just as Arvy arrived back with someone in a suit and our captain, Connor Hurleigh, in tow.
“Eddie said he’d take him,” Arvy explained. I looked from Stan to Connor and then to Arvy.
“Who is Eddie?” I asked. I wasn’t going to be handing my baby over to some stranger.
The guy in the suit held out a hand.
“I’m Eddie,” he said as I shook it awkwardly with Noah in my arms. “I’m here teaching Larson and Anatoly’s kids. I’m police-checked, healthy, and the eldest of five, so I’m good with babies.”
“He is good,” Arvy said, and I stared at my fellow Swede, trying to keep the panic from my eyes. I don’t know what I’d thought I would do. Skate around with Noah strapped to my back or something?
“We’re not exactly set up for babies, but we could make up a corner of the room with blankets and things…”
Eddie was talking. Stan was staring at me. Arvy was smiling, and Connor was looking at his watch and frowning.
Practice. I had to trust that the team knew this Eddie guy. “Can you get the stuff from the car for Noah?” I asked Arvy and handed over the keys.
“Is good thing for little rabbit,” Stan said, and left.
I watched him walk away, wanted to call him back. Irrationally, I felt like I needed him to check out this little space for Noah with me, because I needed someone.
Anyone.
I couldn
’t help worrying, even when halfway through practice Eddie came and sat behind the glass with Noah in his arms. Noah was asleep, and Eddie gave the thumbs up. I’d already taken a puck to the shin for not concentrating, which was pissing off Coach and which would get me benched if I didn’t watch out.
“Heads up, for god’s sake, Gunner, keep your fucking eyes on the puck.”
I attempted to ignore Eddie and Noah, and waited my turn for the shots on goal. One day I would actually get a goal past Stan, because I’d never managed it yet in any kind of practice. Even when we’d messed about at the conditioning place with street hockey, he’d never once let his net get any sign of one of my shots. Eddie had lifted Noah up against the glass, Noah’s hand flat on it. My turn came up. I skated the length of the ice, deked, feinted, did everything I fucking could.
Stan stopped it. As I’d known he would.
On my way back to the group, I stopped and pressed my own gloved hand against Noah’s, and he wrinkled his nose at me and bounced in Eddie’s arms.
The whole team copied me; seemed like touching the glass by Noah had become a thing. Stan stopped my second shot, my third. Only Connor and Ten managed to get by him, and I wasn’t in their league for accuracy.
One day.
“What’s the story with Eddie?” I asked Arvy when he put Noah back in the seat and vanished from the rink side.
“Larson said he moved around so much that he and his wife wanted a private tutor for their kids, then Anatoly said maybe we should have a study room, so the kids would get stability and friends in the same position. Eddie’s been here a year now—good guy.”
When I collected Noah at the end of practice, I didn’t expect nearly every member of the team to say goodbye, but somehow I did expect Connor to corner me. Being the captain and all that.
“You need some help finding care?” he asked. “We can find someone for you if you need that.”
“My nanny is sick.”
“And if she’s sick again?”
“I’ll deal with it, find backup.” I wanted to say that it was none of Connor’s business, but it was—he was captain, and he was only looking out for the team, and for me.
“He’s a good baby,” Connor said, petting Noah’s head gently. “And how do you feel about the game last night?”
“Shit,” I said, then cast a look down at Noah, ready to apologize. Noah was asleep, his lips parted, and I loved him so much.
“Don’t take it to heart. You’re a valuable part of this team. Work with your line and Stan, clean up those passes, keep it crisp and clean.”
I nodded, then Connor left with one more tiny touch to Noah.
I’d made it almost all the way to the car, Noah bundled up in his coat, when Stan silently fell in next to me. He didn’t want to talk to me, though. This was all about Noah.
“Bye, Mal’chik-zaichik,” he murmured.
And then he walked off.
“Seriously?” I called after him. He stopped and turned. “Where’s my goodbye?”
Stan pressed a hand to his chest and looked at me like the world had fallen away under his feet.
“In here, your goodbye,” he said, and left without looking back.
Six
Stan
Holding little Noah had made me feel something like nostalgia, or maybe a yearning to go back to when life was easier. Sitting at home, with Lucy on my lap, I realized that I felt homesick for the first time in many years. I missed my mother and sister. My family. Yes, the Railers were like my brothers in a way—some days fun and some days annoying—but they were not family. They didn’t cook for me or smile when I walked in the door after a bad game.
I wanted that here in America. I wanted my mother here, far away from the decaying old town she clung to. Maybe when Galina arrived we could talk and plan. Come up with a way to lure my mother off the farm and into a 747. I wanted Galina nearby. I wanted a husband and children. Maybe a dog. I would have to discuss the dog idea with my cat first, though.
Lucy purred steadily, kneading the denim covering my thighs. My in-home music system was playing Russian folk music, not Elvis, for today I needed to feel connected to something, and that was my homeland, and the people dear to me that it held. The music was deeply rooted in the Orthodox Church, which I had been raised in. I’d not attended services for many years even though there was a Russian Orthodox church here in the city.
My church did not accept men such as me. I missed the services greatly, but would have felt out of place knowing the priests in their flowing black robes thought I was a perverse distortion and that I should never marry or raise children.
Pah. I felt miserable. So I dug my phone out of my back pocket and called my mother.
She greeted me with tears of joy, so happy to hear my voice. Truly it hadn’t been that long since we had spoken, maybe a week, but mothers cry easily.
We talked about my sister and her arrival here in several hours. Then I begged her to come over yet again. Said I would buy the tickets and meet her at the airport, just as I’d done for my sister.
“But Stanislav, I do not like planes. If God had meant for us to fly…”
“He would have given us wings,” I finished for her, both of us speaking in rapid Russian.
“Yes, see, you know that to be the truth.”
“Mama, America is amazing! I have a big house. You could have your own room with air conditioning, a big TV with a thousand channels, and a Jacuzzi bath just for you. You’d not have to cook or clean, just sit back and be a queen!”
“I’ll not be a bother.”
“You’re not a bother. Galina and I worrying about you all alone in Leskovo is a bother.”
“I’m sorry for making life more difficult for you.”
And now I felt guilty. “Mama, you’re not. I just… I want you here. I miss my family. If you don’t want to live with me, I’ll get you an apartment. Harrisburg is a wonderful city! You could live by yourself. I would pay your bills and rent. Please, Mama, think about it, for me.”
“I will think on it.”
I knew she wouldn’t. I wasn’t sure what it would take to tempt her from the homeland, but it would be more than her son pleading and begging. We talked for a long time, touching on the few old friends who, like my mother, refused to leave Leskovo and live somewhere else. Then we talked about the pain in her hip. I told her that was probably because she had arthritis starting and that the old house was not warm enough for her joints.
“You should go now. Get ready for your hockey game,” Mama replied.
I sighed theatrically. “And you should pack your bags and come to America so I can take care of you. You worked so hard all those years for me to play hockey. Let me repay you.”
“Parents suffer; that is our lot. Now go and play good hockey for me. When you call next, I want to talk to you and Galina at the same time.”
“Yes, Mama, we can do that.”
“Goodbye, my sweet boy.”
“Goodbye, Mama.”
I tossed my phone aside and listened to Russian music until it was time to return to the arena for another game. I rode the bus in and was fine. Why my friends thought riding the bus was so bad, I didn’t understand. People were nice to me. They asked me for my autograph and we talked hockey during the ride. I liked moving among the fans and people of this good city. They’d accepted me openly even when I still spoke chopped-up English.
The dressing room was loud when I entered after our win against Tampa Bay. Life was good. We had played well, and I had blocked forty-two out of forty-two shots. I was number one star of the game. Also, I was an hour away from seeing my baby sister. My fellow Russian strode up to me as I removed my sweaty jersey.
“Stanislav, we are thinking you should invite Erik to your party,” Anatoly declared so loudly that Erik had to hear. The people in the parking lot probably heard. “To show world there is no hard feelings and team is happy good like brothers.”
I threw a look at Erik. He ha
d his back to us. His white dress shirt clung to his damp back. Those curls were just beginning to dry. In a few moments, they would bounce up into golden rings of soft satin that I could—
“Nyet.”
“Stan, come on, dude. Don’t be mad at him. Flukes happen, right?” Tennant said while pulling on a dark brown jacket. “Could have been me or Arvy or Adzee. Just a wrong-place-wrong-time situation.”
“Ten’s right, Stan.” I ignored Adler the best I could. “He’s already feeling left out. Just invite him.”
“I have numbers of foods catering counted.” That was a lie and it tasted bad.
Anatoly gave me a look. A dark one. “Stanislav, New Year’s is most important. Forgive bad mistake goal from Gunner. Be big man. Captain says team is family. You leave brother out of party plans?”
“I am big man. Go make poops in other pond.”
They all stared at me. “Dude, that’s a total butchery of something that was maybe English,” Tennant finally said.
“If you wish him, fine, go tell him he has good wills. But only because it is New Year’s and he has baby Noah.”
I spun from them, ripped my Under Armour off, and flung it into my stall. One of the equipment managers picked up after us, so he’d find it and wash it for me so it would be there clean and dry for the next game. I usually liked to place everything in order but today that wasn’t happening.
“You be big man,” Anatoly said as Tennant jogged over to pass along my invitation. Erik listened, nodded, then gave me a quick look. I returned to dressing.
