Chapter 21
HEN IN THE COCK HOUSE
Alex
Even though tonight’s game is part of the regular roster and counts towards the season, the air in Levi’s Center feels more like one of the off-season events the league puts on.
Since everyone in the building is here to support the American Cancer Society, I think we all feel a little bit lighter.
It’s hard to care about the outcome of a hockey game when we’re all playing for something so much bigger than us.
The league agreed to loosen our pregame dress code so that we could arrive wearing colors that coordinate with various cancer ribbons instead of our usual suit and tie policy.
I’m usually the only guy on the team who likes to explore the rainbow with my outfits of choice, so it was nice to see my guys in colors other than black and navy.
Most of the dudes on both teams took advantage of the casual theme, choosing to wear t-shirts and hoodies to show their support.
Sarah battled with breast cancer a few years back, so Miles and I arrived in matching pink suits with t-shirts commemorating her remission date underneath as a shout out to his wife.
Now that it’s hanging up in my cubby, I can’t seem to stop imagining the bubblegum pink slacks and jacket balled up on my bedroom floor after Elliot strips me out of them later.
I didn’t ask if his mom is staying in a hotel room tonight or if she’s staying at his place. Either way, I hope he’s planning on coming back to mine. I’ve gotten really used to sleeping beside him, and I don’t want to go to bed alone anymore.
Going through my pregame locker room routine, I flip my lucky puck three times, then I kiss my thumb and press it to the black-and-white photo of the great Bernie Parent I have taped to the corner.
‘I Got Nerve’ plays in my headphones, and when the song ends I close my eyes, count backwards from seven, and take four slow, deep breaths.
The only thing missing from my routine is Franny, but I feel good knowing that she’s safe out in the stands with Elliot. Besides, I gave her extra good luck rubs before we parted ways earlier today.
I am so ready to go out there and win this game. Not just for my team or the cause we’re playing for, but so I can prove to Elliot that I’m worth more than just a superstition hook up.
I’m worthy of him.
“Hen in the cock house,” calls out Assistant Coach Jenny Collins, shielding her eyes as she walks into the room with a tablet in her hand.
It’s become a running joke between her and us guys on the team since she joined the Thunder during exhibition last year.
None of us care that there’s a woman in our locker room, and she’s not the least bit interested in seeing any of us naked, so having her here is a nonissue.
But still, Coach Collins announces her presence the same way every time.
“We’re all dressed, Coach,” Miles calls out amongst the skittering laughter, and she makes a show of peeking out behind the hand in front of her eyes before pointing at me.
“Holmes, you’re needed out in the press room. There’s someone here to see you. Make it snappy, we’ve got warm-ups in fifteen minutes.”
“Who is it?” I ask, slipping my feet into a pair of slides.
I’m rarely pulled from the locker room before a game, and I quickly shut down any nagging thoughts in my head about this interruption throwing off my routine.
I don’t need any voices in my head telling me that leaving the locker room is going to fuck up my juju.
“No idea, Hannigan sent me to get you. Let’s go, we don’t have all day.”
I always feel a little silly waddling through the halls of the arena in my padding, but whatever this is about must be something important. I turn a corner, heading down a quiet hallway to the press room and collide padded-chest first with a wall that nearly knocks me off my feet.
“Look at you, Goat! Maybe I should start calling you Penguin, huh?”
Not a wall, then. Nope, it’s Elliot that I bump into.
He’s standing in front of me wearing a black and gold Thunder jersey, cropped just enough to show the black waistband of his underwear peeking out of his low slung jeans and the trail of dark hair that I’m obsessed with dipping below and Franny strapped across his chest. He smiles at me, all bright white, straight teeth and perfect pink mouth, and for a moment, there’s nothing in my head except for Elliot and how much I love him.
I don’t even think before stepping in close and capturing his lips with mine in a kiss just this side of chaste.
“What are you doing back here, babe?” I ask, noticing his cheeks have flushed an adorable shade of pink.
A throat clears, and only then do I see the petite woman standing next to him in a matching jersey.
With the same green eyes and golden brown hair, I don’t need an introduction to know that this is Elliot’s mom.
She looks even younger than I imagined, like she could be Elliot’s sister instead of his mother.
And either the man who donated the other half of Elliot’s DNA didn’t even try, or his mother’s genes are just that strong, because besides the height and gender disparity, the two of them look nearly identical.
“Mrs. Baker, it’s so nice to meet you.” I want to hug her, but I know my pads can’t smell all that appealing, so I settle for a handshake instead.
“Ugh, please, call me Nicole. And it’s nice to meet you too, Alex.
I’ve heard so, so much about you,” she says, bumping her hip against Elliot’s and shooting me an over-the-top wink.
Elliot’s cheeks go even redder, but I pay no mind to his embarrassment.
I knew he’d told his mom about our friendship, but knowing he’s told her more—and the fact that she didn’t even blink at our kiss—maybe that means that Elliot is feeling more for me, too.
“How’d you two even get back here? They don’t let anyone without a press pass down this hall.”
“Being the star kicker for the city’s favorite professional team has its perks, Goat.”
“Your team owner snuck you back?”
“Yep, totally.”
“Remind me to thank James next time I see him. Listen, babe, I don’t have much time—”
“I know,” Nicole interrupts. “I asked Elliot to bring me back here because I wanted to ask you myself if you’d like to join us for a late dinner tonight. After your postgame obligations, of course. It’ll be my son’s treat.”
“Of course, that sounds amazing. Thank you for thinking of me, Nicole.”
“Thank you for making my son smile, Alex.”
I give them both an air hug as we say goodbye, and watch as they head out towards the ice so they can take their seats before warmups. Before pushing through the heavy double doors, Elliot turns, pulling the zipper on Franny’s front pocket.
“Wait, Goat, look!” He calls out from down the hall. I have to squint, but even from here, I can make out the wallet sized photo of Scarlett pinched between his fingers. He must have had it printed this morning, and my heart skips a beat in my chest.
I want to call it out now. I want to tell him how much he means to me, how much I love him, how much I want to be with him. But he deserves more than a smelly hallway confession. Tonight, I decide. Tonight I’ll tell him everything.
“I love it,” I answer for now, holding my hands in the shape of a heart as I watch Elliot and his mom disappear through the doors.
“Holmes, what the fuck? Are you going to keep me waiting all night?” Coach Hannigan pops his head out of the press room, an impatient look crossing his features.
“Oh, I thought—” I start, furrowing my brows. I assumed that Elliot and Nicole were the people Coach Collins sent me out here to meet.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing me by the hand and pulling forward. “I don’t usually do this shit before games, but your father insisted.”
Time moves in slow motion as I’m yanked past the threshold of the press room.
Standing on the small, lifted stage with his arms crossed over his chest and wearing a suit that costs more than some people’s first cars is my father.
His hair is slicked back, shoes polished until they gleam, and he’s giving off the “I’m better than you” attitude he perfected at a young age.
Even so, I can see the glassy look in his eyes from here, and I know that if I were to get close enough, his breath would reek of whiskey and the spearmint mouthwash he tries to cover it with.
“I’ll give you two a moment,” Coach says, retreating out the door. “When you’re finished, Holmes, I want you dressed and on the ice, ASAP.”
“I’ll have him out shortly, Hannigan. This will only take a minute,” my father says, never taking his eyes off me.
I hear the door click shut, and then the pounding of blood in my ears is the only sound in the room.
The heat of Dad’s gaze burns through me, and I can’t help but notice how much he’s changed since the last time I saw him three years ago.
His hair is almost completely gray, the wrinkles by his eyes sagging into the purple bags below that I know he covers with concealer.
He’s thinner, everywhere but his middle, which tells me the most calories he’s been getting lately can be found at the bottom of a bottle.
He looks as pathetic and weak as he tried to make me feel growing up. If I didn’t hate him, I might pity him.
“Who did you have to pay off to get back here?” I ask, breaking the silence simmering between us. Dad scoffs.
“That Coach of yours is a real ass-kisser. It only took one promised donation to the Thunder Foundation and he arranged this little meeting, no questions. If he was smart, he would have bargained for more than a measly million, but I learned from you that hockey players aren’t the brightest bulbs.”
“And Mom?” I ask. “She didn’t want to join you in this delightful little family reunion?”
“Your mother is in Vail, no doubt sucking off her ski instructor as we speak.”