by V. L. Locey
I thanked Rob for his insight and drew away from the boisterous man the best I could. Instead of conversing with the other Jackals fans, I tried to follow the action on the ice. It was nearly impossible. The puck was too small, the men too big, and the speed of the players made my sight tangle up. Giving up on understanding what all the whistles being blown were about, I concentrated on number four when he was on the ice and when he wasn’t. Layne was a big guy, strong by the looks, and aggressive. He knocked people down or into the walls, and once he even shoved his glove into some Cobra’s face after a referee blew his whistle—again—and said someone had been icing something. The Cobra got mad. Seemed a glove in the face was a bad thing. I was totally lost but seeing Layne do his thing was exciting. Kind of. It struck me how different he was with me than he was when he was playing. His touch and words had always been exceedingly gentle when he was with me. I felt a little giggly thinking about it.
Ten seconds after the referee pretended to drop the puck three times before actually doing it, another whistle was blown and Rob complained about all the damn icing.
Not wanting to engage Rob the guy who thought bisexual guys were sort-of okay since they were still, you know, giving it to chicks now and again, I sighed into my chilly cocoa.
“How can they be mad about something being iced when they’re on the ice?” I mumbled to myself. Someone sitting down beside me on the left pulled me from the bench where Layne was now talking to his teammates about hockey or shoes. Who knew?
“Icing isn’t about something being iced, it’s when a player shoots the puck from behind the center red line and it goes across the opposing team’s goal line untouched,” Dillon explained, my mouth falling open as he settled into his seat beside me, his mother on his right “You should have watched more sports with me instead of sneaking around campus trying to dig up dirt on the kitchen laundry service.”
He nudged my elbow with his.
“Yeah, dirt digging,” I replied, my mind sluggish but happy. “I might not be so aggressive about rifling through trash anymore.”
We didn’t say much more about anything other than hockey. I could sense the tension that both Mrs. North and Dillon were trying to hide. I ran to the concession stands during the breaks between periods, sending Layne a dozen texts to warn him about the Norths being here but he never replied. Not that he hadn’t wanted them here, he had made the overture, but knowing ahead of time would be nice. Each time I returned with food and drinks and sat down to eat or enjoy another cup of cocoa, my initial joy upon seeing my friend now crept into worry. What if they got into another name-calling fight? What if Dillon never came around? What if I had to choose between a dear friend and a man I was crazy attracted to? There would be no answers until after the game.
The third period was good, I guess. There was a fight, which Layne was not part of thank goodness. He was part of a nice little play that started out with some guy taking the puck into the end of the ice that Layne was defending. I could tell because as soon as the guy passed over the blue line, Layne knocked him off his skates. The crowd roared its approval. Rob slapped me so hard on the back I wondered if he’d separated my shoulder. The Norths cheered, politely, but the strain was evident even when Layne picked up the puck and shot at the green goalie. The green goalie kicked the puck away, but Layne and another guy in purple jabbed at the goalie’s skates until they pushed the puck around a blade and it went into the goal. Oh boy, the Jackals fans went super nuts then. Horns blared loud enough to wake Satan from a nap, music rattled the rafters, and everyone in the arena jumped up to cheer. Even me. Dillon too, although he seemed a bit less fan-boy than the rest of the people here.
“Bye, Rob,” I said to the big man who’d removed my hat, rubbed my head, and then chuckled that I looked like a Chia pet before taking off with his friend, another Rob sort. “That man is odd.” I crammed my hat back on then met the Norths anxious looks head on. “I’m going to go to the Cinnamon Heart Café to meet Layne for a late snack. Would you like to join us?”
Dillon exchanged looks with his mother. I waited, patiently, not wishing to rush or influence them in any way. This had to be done at their time, not Layne’s or mine.
“Does he hate me for being such a dick?” Dillon enquired, and I shook my head. He glanced up at the banners hanging off the rafters then down at the ice, then at the Jumbotron that still had the final score of Jackals 1- Cobras 0 flashing away.
“No, he understands that you were coming from a place of pain,” I replied, shoving my cold fingers under my armpits to warm them. Dillon bobbed his head, his blue eyes latching onto my actions as he processed what I’d said. “There will be no shouting, no name-calling, and no press lurking about, Layne will make sure of it. I think he’d rather go to his house, but the local news has kind of staked it out.”
“Just like us,” Mrs. North grumbled, her nose pink from the cold. At least she’d had the sense to wear mittens and a hat/scarf combo. “I’d like to go. Dillon?”
“Yeah sure, okay.” He shrugged but the shoulder roll didn’t fool me. His tense jaw, shoulders, and stance showed me just how scared he really was.
“Follow me then.” I hurried up a long length of cement stairs and out into the packed concourse. I fired off a text to Layne to tell him the three of us would meet him at the Cinnamon Heart Café for a snack.
His reply didn’t come until I was in my Buick, waiting for someone to be polite enough to let me and Mrs. North, who was behind me, into the line at the southern exit.
Does he hate me?
Amazing how both of them were fretting over the same thing.
No, he’s just…apprehensive, they both are. Heck, we all are!
A moment passed as he typed. Someone beeped at me and waved me in, so I tossed my phone to the seat where it then bounced to the floor on the passenger side. Easing into the line with Mrs. North so close to my bumper I could feel her breath on my neck. We crept along inch by inch until we were out on the highway. I heard my phone buzzing, but it would have to wait until the next light. When I pulled up to the red light, I hurried to unbuckle and grab my cell from the floor. Then a quick re-buckle and a peek in the rearview. The old blue Chrysler that Mrs. North drove was still behind me. I did a quick search and got the café up on Google maps.
I need a shower. Will meet you there. Thank you, Roman. For everything. <3
Oh my stars. A heart. That was a first. That ticklish, tingly feeling in my belly appeared again. It lingered the whole way across Trenton and even as we parked in the small lot behind the Cinnamon Heart Café. As soon as I stepped inside I was utterly charmed by the place. The tables were packed. The small stage had a lone female singer with a guitar, and the bar was hopping. The rich smell of cinnamon from the fat brownish-red candles on every table warmed the air combining with the scent of something spicy being carried to several hungry customers by servers in black shirts and pants. There were quite a few same-sex couples, which always made me feel more at ease. Not that Layne and I were going to be making a spectacle of ourselves in public, not with everything swirling around us. Still, it was nice to know we could smile at each other a certain way if we wanted and no one would take offense.
We were led to a table near the stage by a portly man who claimed to be the owner. He raved over Layne and how sorely he would be missed when he retired next month.
“When does hockey end?” I asked Dillon once we were seated and perusing the cinnamon-colored menus.
“April unless a team goes to the playoffs,” Dillon dully replied. I met his gaze over the top of his menu. So he wasn’t checking out the food at all, he was staring at the front door. I craned my head around but there was no Layne to be seen, so I nodded and returned to the expensive but tasty sounding appetizer section. “What do I say to him when he comes in?”
Lifting my eyes from the description of the marinated manchego, I saw the dread on his face.
“Well, I find that saying ‘Hi!’ works well when me
eting a new friend.”
“I’m not sure I want him as a friend,” Dillon replied. His mother rubbed his bicep and laid aside her menu. “No, I mean, why would I? He didn’t give two fucks about us and now I’m supposed to…shit…”
I looked back at the door and this time Layne filled it. Looking dapper in a long black duster-style coat that hung open over a charcoal gray suit, I felt my pulse spike. Then Layne spied us and turned to speak to a small woman with dark hair hiding behind him. As soon as I saw her, I knew it was his mother. They had the same dark handsomeness that had been passed along to Dillon. I pushed to my feet as they neared. Mrs. Coleman looked terrified, and Layne, bless his soul, appeared to be feeling the same.
“Sorry we’re so late. I had to pick up Mom at the hotel on the way over,” Layne explained as he steered his mother to our table. I smiled up at my lover. He ran a hand over my arm in a rather proprietary manner that I found I enjoyed. “Mom, this is Roman Kennedy the man I told you about.” He told her about me? In what sense?! Oh sweet Moses, did she know her son and I are bumping boots? After I shook her clammy hand, my gaze went to Dillon, Mrs. North, and Layne all staring at each other. The longest moment ever in the history of moments took place. Mrs. North was the one to break the horrid silence by standing to give Layne a hug. Dillon’s blue eyes went as round as his fathers. I sniffled a bit, hiding it well behind my hand.
“You haven’t aged a bit, Katie,” Layne said to which Mrs. North waved off the compliment. “Dillon, I…it’s uhm…I’m happy to finally meet you.”
Layne held out a hand. I had my foot all primed to deliver a kick to Dillon’s shin if he didn’t respond in kind, but he did. It was begrudgingly, that offered hand, but he did shake his father’s hand. A breath that had been trapped in my lungs exploded out of me.
Introductions were made all around, with Mrs. Coleman staying quiet until way after cocktails were delivered and our orders taken. I suspected the time had come for some in-depth conversation. The lady on the stage was strumming away, singing a sad old Celtic song about a lover drowning in the sea, you know, uplifting stuff.
“I wanted my mother to come along to verify a few things that have recently come to my attention,” Layne said, his fingers nervously tapping away on his tumbler of Lagavulin. Mrs. Coleman was sipping white wine, her face tight, her pretty blue eyes sad. “Mom?”
Mrs. Coleman drew in a shaky breath, placed her wine glass to the table, and then looked right at Mrs. North. “I want you to understand that I was protecting my only child, my son. I suspect you would do the same thing.” Mrs. North inclined her head, just to be polite I thought. I glanced at Dillon and then Layne, both of them were stiff in their chairs, jaws rigid. Battle faces one could say. “When you called about your pregnancy, I knew that if I told Layne he would throw all his hard work aside to do what was right by you.”
“As a man should,” Layne interjected tersely, fingers rapping on his glass.
Mrs. Coleman’s chin, the same one Layne and Dillon possessed, jutted up. “Yes, the key word there being man. You were a boy, Layne, and you were on the track for greatness. We’d devoted years of our lives to your dream. Countless thousands of hours driving to games and tournaments, tens of thousands of dollars for fees, equipment, hotel rooms, summer camps, training camps. Oh, and then there was the cost of sending you to that pricey private school in Minnesota for high school so you could play on their hockey team, and the money we’d socked away like rats hoarding cheese so you could attend Boston College. Your future was set, and it was a brilliant one. Then, this girl calls and says you got her pregnant and she wants you to come play daddy with her? No, just…no.”
“I never said I wanted him to do anything, Mrs. Coleman!” Mrs. North snapped as a server hustled past with a tray of drinks. “Not once did I ask for a damn thing. I just wanted him to know so he could make the decision.”
“Well, as parents sometimes we’re forced to make decisions for our minor children. I chose not to tell him. I chose to let him go on and achieve greatness. I chose to see him not ruin his life by marrying some little strumpet who would saddle him with an unwanted baby. I chose to see my son not go work in a factory while you pushed out a few more welfare babies just to ensure he never left whatever shitty New Jersey town you live in.”
“That’s enough, Mother!” Layne barked so loudly the singer paused. My eyes were as round as the dinner plates that our waiter, the poor soul, was timidly placing our meals in front of us. My gaze flickered to Dillon. He was a little slack-jawed, which was to be expected given what was taking place here in the corner.
Mrs. Coleman rose, whipped her coat from the back of her seat, and stalked out, leaving us and her roasted tuna and baby red potatoes behind.
“Well,” Mrs. North said, her shock wearing off before ours it seemed. “That was…incredibly informative.”
Layne remained seated. I thought perhaps he would go after his mother, but he did not. Probably for the best given how rigid his shoulders were. Anger bubbled just under the surface of the man like a caldera.
“I cannot begin to tell you both how sorry I am about that, her words, her actions. Katie, I should have been there for you, financially and emotionally. And Dillon…” My friend shut his mouth then began working his bottom lip, either in frustration or anxiousness, I wasn’t sure. “What she stole from us…there is no way to even begin to make up for what we lost as a father and son, and yes, you are mine. The results are conclusive.”
I felt like a mouse hiding in the shadows, eavesdropping on something that was not my business. Dillon closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath through his nose, and then exhaled, his eyelids lifting.
“I figured.” That was Dillon’s answer. Two words. And that was why I always had to help him with his papers, the man had no grasp of words or how to use them properly.
We all looked at each other. I wanted to slip under the table, like that nosy mouse, but then Layne reached around his mother’s abandoned dinner—no way could you call roasted tuna a snack—and took my hand. My breath hitched. Dillon’s gaze narrowed. Mrs. North smiled softly.
“I know we have a lot to make up for,” Layne said. “Perhaps we can never get back what was taken from us, or maybe you don’t want to get to know me, and that’s fine. I will respect your wishes, but I hope you’ll be open to getting to know me. I’ll always put you first.” Layne glanced at me then back at his son. “I also understand how hard it’s been, me dating your friend. Roman has come to mean a great deal to me. I hope you don’t mind us seeing each other. If you’re unhappy with all this then we’ll eat our food, try to salvage the night, and go back to our lives as if none of this had taken place.”
“So you expect me to just pretend that I never found out I have a father?” Dillon asked. Mrs. North blinked at the tone of her son’s words.
“No, I would like nothing better than to spend time with you, get to know you, possibly build a relationship with you.” He squeezed my fingers, and my heart melted like butter on a hot griddle. “I suppose what I’m saying is that I hope we can all accept each other. The whole dynamic here is a little off-center, I understand that, but it is what it is.”
“Whatever.” Dillon shrugged, his gaze leaving Layne to land on me. “If you want to hook up with a dude who is, literally, old enough to be your father, whatever.”
It wasn’t a warm and fuzzy Hallmark moment, but it was a start. The rest of the meal was just as bumpy. Lots of lurches and stops, awkward moments, and long pauses when no one knew what to talk about next. An hour passed. Layne grabbed the check, of course, and walked Mrs. North and Dillon to their car. He got another hug from Mrs. North. The handshake he and Dillon shared was pretty standoffish on Dillon’s part, but at least he was making an effort.
“You coming back to school?” I asked before Dillon could close the passenger side door of his mom’s car. “Dorm room isn’t the same without your clothes on the floor or the stench of your burrito farts in the air.�
��
“You want me to come back?”
“Of course.”
He gave me a look then bobbed his head. “Yeah, sure, I’ll come back in a week or so, once the furor dies down. Hey, are you sure about…this?” He jerked his chin at Layne waiting for me over by my car.
“Oh yeah, I’m super sure about that.”
His eyeroll was a thing of beauty. “Each to their own, but if he hurts you, I will get into his face, hockey player or not. No one hurts my bestie.”
We rapped knuckles then I shut the car door. Off they went into the cold night, taillights fading. I made my way to Layne. He pulled me into a tight embrace, tucking me right where I liked to be, snuggled into his chest. With a deft hand, he removed my hat then rubbed his cheek against my hair.
“Ugh no, don’t make static,” I groaned into the lapels of his coat. He just sniggered and made more sparks fly with the whisker to fuzz movement. Secretly I liked it. “So, that was one of the most uncomfortable meals I have ever had. Are you going after your mother?”
“No, she and I are not speaking right now.” Oh. Wow. Okay. I closed my eyes and inhaled the aroma of his skin, aftershave, and the warm scent of wool coat. “I threatened her with eternally being barred from my life if she did not come out and tell the truth about what happened. She’s probably on the phone complaining to my father about how I mistreated her, but she robbed me of twenty-two years of my son’s life!” I hugged him tighter, holding close until the tension leeched from his big body. “Sorry, that was heartless. I know getting mad at your mother is a sin and all, but…”
