Stan was quiet on the way to the arena. Didn’t matter that we’d just come from a wedding, we had to switch to hockey mode, and we’d already fucked up by missing optional skate. A family emergency for one of us? Coach could handle that. But both of us?
Which was why me and my quiet lover were now in the small visiting team office, standing in front of Coach Benning and waiting for the shit to hit the fan.
I wondered if we should get our player rep up here. Toly was the kind of person you needed in the room when you were going to be hauled over the coals. Or maybe we should get Connor in; maybe our captain would be a calming influence.
Coach Benning regarded us steadily.
“I don’t want to know,” he began. “Stan?”
Stan looked confused, and I didn’t blame him. Was the simple use of Stan’s name with a question mark on the end of it a request for an explanation, even though Benning said he didn’t want to know?
“I don’t think Stan knows what you mean.”
Stan shot me a look and scowled. “I’m talk self,” he said, and I left him to it. He’d been so happy after he’d accepted the whole Arvy-marrying-his-sister thing, and then something had changed.
“And?” Benning prompted. “Do I put you in net tonight? Is your head straight?”
Stan blinked at him and rolled his neck. “Head is fine.”
“I mean, are you okay?” Benning asked in plainer English.
“Vegas pipes need me,” Stan said, then he nodded and left the room. Walked out on Coach, and I knew damn well that he’d get away with that shit because of his weird goalie reputation.
Me, on the other hand, I was fourth line.
“He needed you to go with him?” Benning asked, indicating the closed door that Stan had just shut. That was a loaded question. If I hadn’t, then Arvy would have been “vanished” into the desert never to be seen again.
“Yes, Coach,” I answered, simple and truthful.
He seemed way too thoughtful, and I imagined my start tonight was in danger of becoming a healthy scratch.
“See the PT before the game. You’re favoring your left leg.”
“Okay, Coach.”
I turned to leave, assuming I was in the game, that I hadn’t been scratched, but until I managed to get out of the room, who knew what the hell would happen? I got as far as having my hand on the doorknob.
“And Gunner?” My heart fell, and I slowly turned to face him.
“Yes, Coach?”
“I’m fining you and Stan ten thousand each. Also, you will never miss a team flight again. Fair?”
I nodded, because yeah, that was fair. “Yes, Coach, thank you.”
Coach Benning shook his head. “Don’t thank me—thank Toly and Connor, who separately felt they needed to come to your rescue like you were two damsels in fucking distress rather than grown fucking men. And for fuck’s sake, score a fucking goal tonight.”
I left before he got more wound up. In fact, Coach wasn’t one of those guys who cursed a lot, and I think every other word in his last sentence was “fuck”.
Toly was outside the room, Charlie next to him, and I felt a swell of gratitude that my line was there to back me up.
“Arvy texted me,” Toly announced.
“And me,” Charlie added.
Seemed like Arvy had called in support from Stan’s fellow Russian for him, and Charlie, who was possibly the closest I had to a friend on the team, for me.
Toly left, I fist-bumped Charlie, and together we headed for the locker room. There was no official skate that morning, not on game day, but we all worked on conditioning, and yeah, I was favoring my left leg after a particularly shitty check had me hitting the boards at an angle.
The sports PT tutted at the range of motion in my leg, announced it wasn’t optimal, then pummeled the offending set of muscles and ligaments into submission. An ice bath later, and I was ready to say I was retiring to get away from the torture.
Until I pulled on skates and uniform and followed Toly onto the ice for warmups. Then I remembered exactly why I went through the pain. Hockey.
Stan was there, crouching in front of his pipes, staring out at center ice, his body rigid, his focus absolute. I wanted to go over and stick-tap his blocker, but didn’t, instead skating lazy circles around the net and coming back to the blue line. The stands weren’t full—this was warmups—but there was a strong contingent of Railers fans who were at the glass with signs. Mostly for Ten, who despite coming out as gay and in a relationship, was still fawned over by the entire female fan base, and to be fair quite a lot of the males as well. I think it helped that Ten was the star of our team; maybe him being gay was more acceptable all the time he was scoring and dragging us closer to the playoffs. Hell, he was tied for second place in the entire freaking league for points.
One sign caught my eye, a huge picture of Ten and a bright flash of white over his head on black card. I read the words, God Hates Fags, and felt sick, sliding to a stop right in front of it and staring at the guy holding it. I was blocking everyone’s view, and fuck knows how I was going to stop Ten from seeing it. Someone skated up next to me. Ten. I didn’t even have to look to see who it was, he just had this way about him—a confidence and speed, and his voice was firm.
“I already saw it,” he murmured.
“How did he even get that fucking thing in here?”
“Coach is calling security,” Ten said.
My heart ached for the kid. Why was it so wrong to be in love? Why did people have to judge you for it?
Someone else joined us.
“Wassup?” Toly asked, echoed by Charlie, who also joined us. Soon the entire Railers team stood nose to nose with the asshole, who was fucking brave with the glass between us. He faltered a little, the sign drooped, and then somehow, he must have found resolve, because he spat at the glass. The people next to him, the ones with signs that loved on the team and Ten, stepped away, looking at the man in horror. He was nothing special, not much more than a kid himself, wild-eyed, his long hair hanging around his face.
He smiled, then, his grin obscene as security arrived and politely asked him to get the hell out. I would have punched him to the ground, but Ten, he just shook his head and skated backward and away. The guy with the sign struggled and ended up on the floor, his sign thrown down and left as he was escorted away. A small girl, no more than ten or so, picked up the sign. She frowned, then took out a Sharpie and crossed out the evil words, turning the sign so we could see what it said now. We love the Railers, with a big heart in the white space.
I blew her a kiss, and smiled, and she dipped her head in embarrassment. I tossed her a puck, and she grinned at me. That was the kind of fan we wanted, the one who just loved hockey and knew that if a player was good, then they should play. Simple.
I don’t know if it was that gesture of team solidarity, but we played our hearts out. Stan with a shutout, me with my tenth goal of the season, and Max with a Gordie Howe hat trick—a goal, an assist and a fight—and now missing a tooth after taking a puck to the jaw with seconds left in the third. I collected the puck for Stan so he could keep it to celebrate his shut-out. The entire team stick-tapped him as we did the whole head-bump thing post-game. That was us saying thank you to the man in the pipes.
Our man.
No. Mine.
“Am needing little bit talk,” Stan announced after we got back to the hotel. He wasn’t quiet anymore; he’d laughed and joked with the team after the game, still on a high from the shut-out. There had been forty-one shots on goal, and insanely, he and the defense had stopped every single one.
But he’d been quiet in the coach to the hotel, his headphones in, and I’d kind of wanted to pull out his earbuds and ask what the hell was going on. I hadn’t, because I’d guessed he needed space.
“Okay,” I said, uncertainly. We normally made every show of going to our separate rooms, but this time Stan took my hand and pulled me from the empty elevator straight to his room. I attempted to tug free—this was way too dangerous—but he gripped tight, and when we were finally in his room, he pulled me so close I could hardly breathe.
“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.