Chapter Seven

Shit kind of got real a week after the whole kid kicking for the first time thing. I’d like to say that I wiped that from my mind with ease. That the knowledge that my could-be kid was rolling around inside someone didn’t haunt me. If I did, I would be lying, and I don’t lie…except to people I love. I am severely fucked up, but that’s not a newsflash.

So yeah, the kicking kid. He or she—I didn’t know what the sex was and I wasn’t sure I wanted to—was more than a concept. I mean, sure, I’d gotten the words into my thick Slavic skull, but the reality? No. That hadn’t come until that kick message. Now it kept popping up at odd times. It would surface when I was showering or watching vapid reality shows on TV. Up it would pop as I shaved or lifted weights at the gym or tried to fall asleep sober. As the hours went by it grew scarier. Kind of like Captain Spaulding, that clownish sick bastard from those Rob Zombie flicks. Kicking Kalinski Kid would appear out of nowhere and scare the living fuck out of me. Which was why I needed a few libations before I buried my face in Dan’s pillow and prayed for sleep. No wonder parents drink.

Kicking Kalinski Kid was the first of several real-shit moments occurring more frequently than was necessary. The next happened when I was taking the recyclables to the curb one night for morning pickup. Mrs. Rupert was tottering around the front yard as I appeared from the side of the house, my arms filled with glass, tin and plastic.

“Nice to see you’re keeping things tidy. Dan hates a dirty house.” She smiled warmly as I passed her tending the potted tomato plant she doted on.

“Yeah, he does.” That had been the only reason I’d cleaned up. Got to keep that hope alive, right? Rope, kid, Dan and all that “hang in there, kitty” shit.

“My goodness, I hope all those empty booze bottles aren’t yours.” Her gaze moved from the box of glass to me. My feet stopped with the forward momentum and I simply stared down at the silver-haired woman. My brain did this weird-assed split down the middle. One side was demanding that I tell her to fuck off. The other side was tapping me on the medulla and whispering about pinched fingers and ass-warmings.

“Nah, found them in the closet. Maybe Dan was going to make candle holders out of them.”

The accusatory look left her wrinkled face. She patted my forearm. “That sounds like Dan. When is he coming home? Mansfield misses him.”

“Soon, I hope.”

I made like Snagglepuss and exited stage right. After the landlady took her little green watering can back inside, I dropped the totes beside the curb and did a fast count. An even dozen. Wow. I reached up to massage the back of my neck. Had I really downed twelve fifths since the reckoning? How much time had passed? A week. Ten days tops. Fuck. I started walking. No idea where I was going, just heading west. At the end of the block I paused, turned and looked at the empties of Yukon Jack waiting for pickup. My hand went into the front pocket of my cargo shorts. Dialing happened blindly. I couldn’t look away from the whiskey bottles glinting in the last rays of an early August day.

“Buttonwood, yeah, it’s Kalinski. When does that conditioning camp start? Tomorrow. Fuck. No, yeah, it’s fine. Can I still sign up? That would be cool, thanks. Yeah, I can make it to Wisconsin by noon tomorrow. Hey, thanks for the favor. Nah, it’s good. Later.”

My eyes were starting to water as I put my phone back into my pocket. Fucking sun always did strain my tear ducts. Seemed like a nice evening. Maybe I would go around the block then get packing. The sooner I got out of that empty space I used to share with Arou, the better.

I left at midnight that night. Windows down, Trivium pounding out of the speakers, the steady hum of the road all combined to make the night hours less claustrophobic. The GPS led me along to Wisconsin, the land of Laverne & Shirley. Schlemiel and Schlimazel motherfuckers. I had one small side trip planned but that wouldn’t take long. Trivium rolled into Lamb of God, Stone Sour, Flaw, Disturbed, Silent Civilian and my boys in Slipknot. Angry music helped me to think. It kept me centered. It said what I felt. Yeah, rock on, my thrashing metal gods. I stopped once, about five hours into the trip, at a convenience store. I pissed, grabbed a can of Red Bull, a giant-size Snickers and a bouquet of flowers.

About ten hours after I’d left Cayuga in the rearview, I cruised past the Seventh District precinct of the Chicago Police Department wearing a whimsical smile. Oh, the good times I’d had with the men of Chicago’s finest. At one time, when I was around thirteen, walking into the 7th had been like walking into Cheers. Everyone knew my name, but the greetings hadn’t been as warm as Norm’s used to be.

There was no slowing down to admire the old childhood home. I had sold it a month after my mother had died. I’d taken the first offer I got even though it was about ten grand less than the realtor thought it should be. Tough shit, Mr. Commission, it had been all about the get-the-fuck-rid-of-it. There was not one sentimental thing holding me to the land of the blue lights, as I liked to call my old neighborhood. I pulled into the Oak Woods Cemetery in Woodlawn and slowly drove past old mausoleums and headstones. I didn’t turn the tunes down. Dead people like metal. Proven. Fact.

I had to stop at some office to get directions to her plot. If you think that should have made me feel bad, it didn’t, not really. Why would I pretend to be the loving son now that she was dead? Fuck that hypocrisy. She and I, we both knew where we stood with each other.

She’d been buried next to a maple tree. I stared down at the plain marker, the flowers in one hand and the last bottle of Yukon Jack from under the kitchen sink in the other.

Doris Jean Kalinski

1961—

I guessed the engravers hadn’t been back out to put the year of death on the stone. The sounds of the city filtered into the huge cemetery. I twisted the cap off the bottle of Jack and dumped the whiskey over the new headstone.

“Baptized by that which took your life,” I muttered as I doused the marker. When the whiskey bottle was empty, I plucked a long-stemmed daisy from the cheap bouquet, slid the thin stem into the bottle, tossed the rest of the wilted flowers to the ground and dropped down into a crouch. “You almost did it,” I said, and placed the unique vase by the cement pad that held the stone. “You almost made me like you. I saw those bottles, Ma, and I knew it was time to nut up or shut up, to quote Tallahassee. I got this maybe-kid coming,” I told her as I adjusted the bottle. A soft wind blew the stink of Chicago under my nose. “I don’t want him to have a drunk for a parent even if I am just a sperm donor. So thanks for the whole carrying me nine months and birthing me song and dance.” I glanced around the cemetery. “I won’t be back.”

I rose from the crouch, dusted off my hands and walked to my car. Didn’t once look back, because I didn’t need to. I’d said what I wanted to say. The drinking stopped now—today. There were some things I’d like to pass on to the kid. My nose, because long, pointed Polish noses rock. My ginger locks and pretty hazel eyes. My engaging personality, and my skills with skate, stick and puck. There would be no drunken beatings for pinched fingers, muddy shoes or a hidden kitten. No way in fucking hell was I putting any kid through that shit. I wouldn’t put a dog through that. If the kid was mine, of course. Known fact that women hurt you every chance they get.

I slid into the Escalade, eyed the bottle with the daisy, then cranked over the engine. I had shit to do. Later, Mom, it’s been real and it’s been nice. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

“Fuck yeah,” I said as I pulled into the Capri Lake ice rink in beautiful Capri Lake, Wisconsin, with thirty minutes to spare before the noon cutoff. “I am one lean, mean motherfucking driving machine.”

I couldn’t wait to get back on the ice. It would suck, hurt and make me say bad words, but the punishing program would have me dropping weight, building muscle and impressing someone enough to give me another contract. I hoped. After parking, I scanned the lot for familiar cars among the many vehicles. Weird that I didn’t recognize any of them. Then it came to me. Probably most of the team had flown and had rentals. I patted the steering wheel of my Caddy. Screw that wild blue yonder bull. I’ll keep my big feet on terra—

My stomach twisted violently when I saw Dan’s Jeep parked by the doors. Panic overwhelmed me, which made no sense at all. I’d been mourning the loss of the man for weeks, praying to whoever listened to jerks with “ski” on the end of their names that I’d get to see him again. Now that he was here, I was seriously thinking of slamming it into reverse and driving off.

“You fucking pussy-ass,” I snarled at my reflection in the rearview. I threw my door open, sucked in a lungful of clear air, then stalked into the rink like I fucking owned it. Why had he driven? Where was he? Did he hate me? Why hadn’t I worn something nicer, got a haircut, shave? I stopped dead just inside the doors. That shit needed to stop. “Get it the fuck together, Kalinski,” I whispered to myself.

“About fucking time you showed up. I was afraid my newest copy of One Thousand Polish Jokes would go to waste.”

I looked to the left and saw not only Mario waving said joke book in the air, but the majority of the Cougars. Standing amid the throng was Dan. He glanced in my direction.

My mouth went dry and my heart raced. He looked good. Tanned and fit, he filled out the black jeans and gray Cayuga Cougars T-shirt amazingly. Mrs. Arou had fed him well. His black hair was a fucking mess, all tangled-looking and dangling in his eyes. His flow would be epic. I wanted to be inside him yesterday.

The pained, distrustful look he gave me killed any carnal fantasies instantly. He looked away, returning to his conversation with someone I didn’t know.

The man he was speaking to was taller than Dan, but anyone over Dobby-the-house-elf stature was taller than Dan. He was probably my height, maybe a few inches shorter. He wore his dark hair buzzed to his scalp and had the physique of a fellow puck-pusher. They seemed to be very familiar, speaking and laughing with ease. The need to either vomit or punch the dick who was chatting up my man in the throat grew inside me like a wildfire. Somebody slapped my back, hard. I stumbled forward, then spun around to attack whoever had touched me. McGarrity threw up his hands.

“Easy, Vic. Shit.” He slapped my arm with the joke book. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I thought you’d come with Arou.”

“Nah, he was visiting his folks.” I nonchalantly crammed my hands into my pockets. Hard to punch someone with your mitts wrapped around your spare change.

“Oh, okay. That explains him bringing that dude with him. Probably some old friend of his from Manitoba,” Mario said, then wandered off to talk to Buttonwood. My gaze flitted over the men in attendance until it found Dan and his buddy. My first instinct was to waltz over and be a dick. Always go with your first instinct, I say.

I moseyed over, my eyes pinned to Dan’s back. He began moving left to right as I neared, telling me that he knew I was coming. Hell, he could probably feel my gaze burning through his clothes. Buzz-Head stopped talking when I grew closer, his thick black eyebrows tangling.

“Hey, Dan,” I tossed out as I stepped up to stand beside him. He smelled so good it made me weak in the knees. “Did we pick up a new player?”

“Victor.”

Man, talk about formal. I threw my lover a dark look. Buzz-Head was mumbling about finding the person with the sign-up sheet.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I said to the stranger, my gaze glued on Dan. His jaw hardened and he reached out to grab Buzz-Head’s wrist.

“You don’t have to listen to anything this fucker says, Brooks,” Dan told the dude, who looked like he’d just swallowed a hedgehog. “You want something, Kalinski?”

Did I want something? Was he fucking with my head? Or was this a bit of repayment? Was Brooks there just to twist my jockstrap? If so, it was working brilliantly. I’d never been that close to jealously pummeling the living fuck out of someone. Hell, I’d never been jealous before that moment. Guess you had to care about someone who could rip out your heart before you could go all green-eyed monster.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do want something. I want you to stop touching this cocksucker like you just crawled out of his bed and talk to me.”

Dan and Brooks both gaped at me. The comment had come out in a soft, snarling manner, intended for us three and only us three to hear. Of course, Dan’s eyes—those gorgeous eyes of his—filled with anger.

“Go find Buttonwood. I think he has the sheet,” Dan told Brooks.

“Yeah, go find Buttonwood,” I snapped, my hands tightly fisted inside my pockets.

“You and me in the bathroom,” Dan spat through clenched teeth, then stormed off, his shoulders and neck locked. I followed on his heel.

We left the ice area rapidly. Amazing how fast his short legs could propel him. I guessed he was so pissed he couldn’t wait to find a men’s room. Dan exploded into a women’s restroom with me so close to his back it was a wonder I didn’t step on his heels. He whirled around like that vicious clawed X-Man he has tattooed on his biceps. The door was still drifting shut when he began unloading on me.

“Where the hell do you get off, Vic?” he asked, his nostrils flared and his hands flying wildly in the air. It was so nice just to hear his voice, even if he was bellowing.

“I get off because the last I knew I was your boyfriend. Or has that changed since you left? I make one little mistake and—”

“Little? Oh my God, little he says!” Dan’s voice bounced off the tiled walls. “You fucking idiot, that was not a little mistake. A little mistake is forgetting to put out the trash or pay a utility bill. That was the hugest, most rotten mistake any man could make. Not only did you cheat on me, you got the woman pregnant!”

“Fine, so it was a gargantuan mistake. It happened because I was drunk and missing the fuck out of you,” I yelled back. If he thought he could outshout a Kalinski, he was sorely mistaken.

“I don’t want none of your stupid reasons why it happened,” Dan growled, and began circling me like a shark. My ears got all sorts of fuzzy-warm hearing his accent thicken. It did that in great moments of passion, like when I fucked him especially well, or when he was beyond-the-bend mad. Shame the cause this time wasn’t the first reason.

“So I don’t even get a chance to explain why it happened? What kind of bullshit fuckery is that?” I asked as he moved around me. I had to turn to follow him. I didn’t mind—at least he and I were in the same room, talking. Sort of.

“It’s not bullshit fuckery, you cowardly bastard.” He stopped pacing to face me. “I could have gotten over the cheating. I mean, I know you’ve got real issues with women and trusting them.” I wanted to roll my eyes, but I didn’t, because he was right. I did have issues with women. Big, fat, hairy mammoth-balls issues with women. “That, I get, and even though it hurt, it wasn’t like you’d slept with another man.”

I threw my hands into the air in a “that’s what I’m trying to say here!” gesture. He slashed violently at the air.

“No, but see, you don’t get it. You think you do, but you don’t. What hurt worst is that you lied to me. You never came to me and told me, ‘Dan, when we was upside down I got plastered and banged this bimbo.’ No. You lied to me. You’re a fucking coward despite all the big-shit talk!” He placed both palms to my chest and shoved. Short he might be, but he has strength. I tripped back into a trash can.

“I’d think long and hard before you go calling anyone else a coward, Arou,” I retaliated as wads of paper towels bounced to the floor. “Who’s the one who’s so scared of coming out that we even lie to the landlord’s fucking dog?”

His face fell. I relished the point scored. If he was going to pound my deep, dark holes, and man, did that sound sexy as F.U.C.K., I was going to stick my dick into his secret fear-gaps as well. His jaw worked silently. His eyes sparked with anger. If this had been a different argument, some stupid one about mismatched socks or something, I would have grabbed his head, kissed him raw, then bent him over the sink and fucked him until we both blew apart. He shoved around me. I turned, knowing the look the hardheaded little shit was wearing.

“Dan, don’t do anything because I called you on it. If you’re not ready to come out, then we don’t come out. I’m happy to lie to that fucking dog forever if you want.”

He threw the door open. I glanced from my man’s back to the several Cougars players standing outside the bathroom door. Every one of them looked like a kid caught with his hand deep in the cookie jar.

“In case you missed the fine points, I’m gay,” Dan announced, then used his shoulders and elbows to make a path through our teammates. All eyes moved to me.

“We ain’t living together just to save on cable,” I threw at the crowd.

“Guess there’s no accounting for taste,” Mario threw out, then clapped my shoulder. “So, are we skating anytime today?”

I could have kissed that stupid Italian-Scot right on his mouth. Instead I followed in Dan’s wake, passing the team captain, who looked as if he’d just had a major bowel obstruction cleared.

Dan and Brooks went outside. I thought about giving them some privacy for about a millisecond before I exited the rink to join them. Dan’s irate blue gaze flew from Brooks to me. Both men suddenly grew tight-lipped.

“No, please, do carry on the conversation. Or if you want, I can help out,” I said.

“Shut up, Vic,” Dan said halfheartedly. I ran his request over like a squirrel in the road.

“Here’s the deal, Brooks. Dan and I are an item, a thing, a couple. We might be having a rough patch,” I paused when Arou snorted like a gaseous hog, “but we are still together until he tells me to my face otherwise. So whatever you thought was going to happen with you and him, it ain’t. I suggest you go hit on the burly asshole in the kilt.”

“He’s my cousin,” Dan said after I folded my arms over my chest and jerked my head at the rink to show Brooks the general direction in which to take his far-too-handsome self. My gaze darted from the stunned man to Dan, who nodded. “Yeah, my cousin Brooks. I talked about him all the time. Coming up into the ECHL? Grew up playing pond hockey with him?”

“Oh. Yeah, I recall. Well, he could still probably score with McGarrity.”

“I’m not gay,” Brooks coughed. The poor kid looked a little stunned.

To be honest I was feeling a wee bit wobbly. So much had happened in the last fifteen minutes that my mind was still back in the powder room while my mouth was out here. Bad thing to happen generally, as we all should know by now.

“I need to get a soda.” Brooks, who resembled Mrs. Arou as well as Dan now that I looked through eyes not tinted green, backed away from us and ran back inside.

“I quit drinking,” I told Dan, who was now bent over the hood of a green car, arms locked, hands splayed on the hood, head lowered.

He peeked at me through his overgrown bangs. “Good. You abuse when you’re upset.”

I didn’t know that “abuse” was the right word. Maybe “overindulge”. No, Dan was right. I abused. Rolling a cat turd in sugar won’t make it a doughnut.

“That don’t mean nothing, though, Vic. Not in context of the trust issues we got now.”

“No, I mean, I know it doesn’t. I just wanted you to know that I was trying to do better for the kid.” Dan winced as if I had driven a sword into his liver. “We have to talk about the kid, Dan. It won’t just go away, if it turns out to be mine.”

He lifted his head to the painfully blue sky. I so wanted to hold him.

“We got more to work on than just the kid, Vic. I love you, I do, but you lied to me.”

“It wasn’t a lie. You never asked me if I screwed some chick behind your back when I was shitfaced.” He gave me a dark look but I stayed on that track. “If anything it was an act of omission because it meant shit and jack to me. I don’t recall much of the night. I didn’t think I would ever hear about it again. I was wrong, okay, I know that, but you have to give me a chance.”

“No,” he said, and pushed off the hood of the car. “I don’t have to do anything, Vic. Can you just back off for right now? I need to go back to the hotel and be by myself.”

“Sure, sure, I can give you what you need.”

I backed away when all I really wanted was to go forward. Get closer, touch, hold, taste, and claim him as mine in front of all those knuckleheads inside now that the gay-and-bi cat was out of the rainbow bag. We could do that now. We could be a couple in the locker room. It made me slightly giddy. Dan, though, was obviously having a different reaction to his coming-out event.

“Thanks.” He gave me a smile. It was a pathetic one but it made my fucking day.

I nodded as he went back inside. A couple of minutes later Dan and Brooks came out. Thinking that my behavior could be a little unsettling if not downright stalkerish, I tore my gaze from Dan and went back into the rink. An awkward kind of hush fell over the team when I walked into their midst. I looked at one player, then another.

“Enough of the Will and Grace histrionics—let’s get ready for a new season,” I said.

The team hooted in agreement and we headed off to get dressed.

“You okay?” Mike Buttonwood asked as we gathered inside the Zamboni doors about thirty minutes later, geared up in our Cougars scrimmage uniforms. We were still waiting for Ailo Grahn to grace us with his presence. I hoped the Cougars weren’t paying Grahn by the hour. “Talk about being drug out of the closet kicking and screaming.”

“Yeah, it’s all good.” I said, acutely aware that Dan and his cousin had missed the first session. “Bring on the hockey.” I crammed my mouth protector in and skated out to whip my pathetic pale ass into shape.