Chapter 8
DENNY
My intention is to take a shower and then return to the living room. No matter how much I reason that big Tyler is little Tyler’s family, he’s an uncle. It’s not his responsibility to take him while I sleep.
However, my hair feels gross, and I’m absolutely going to take advantage of his offer to watch little Tyler for a minute.
As soon as I step into the steamy shower, a fresh wave of exhaustion hits me.
I’ve heard people say that little cat naps are much better than longer naps, but I suppose that’s only true if you’re getting a good night’s sleep too.
If anything, that short nap made me even more tired. I close my eyes and let the hot water wash over me. My body aches like I haven’t moved in a year. I haven’t worked out in two. I haven’t been on the ice in three. This is what it feels like to be tired, is it?
More guilt creeps in because, in my heart, I knew I wouldn’t be around much to help Sally. I was going to continue to focus on hockey. She’d be by herself with a newborn. This exhaustion should be hers. I get to come and go as I need to. As I planned to.
But Tyler is here. Did he say something about moving here? Fuck, I’m so tired I’m not sure what he shared. I can’t recall much other than his name, and he’s Sally’s brother. My brain is far too slow at the moment to hang onto details.
That doesn’t change the fact that I was prepared to be a shitty father and… fiancé. It wouldn’t have crossed my mind that maybe Sally needed more help. After all, the world says women were made to be mothers. Maternal instinct and all that.
Admittedly, maybe I believed that a little. We’re brought up to believe that women will innately become domestic when they have a kid. There are all these rom-com movies where they rise to the occasion in some spectacular way.
I understand that those movies are depicting sexist gender roles, and they’re cheesy as hell, but I guess I kind of thought that’s what would happen. She was excited about the baby. She was thrilled to be a mother. I guess I didn’t think she’d need help.
I also didn’t understand what went into caring for a newborn. While I can’t keep my eyes open, they sure as fuck have been opened to the truth of what goes into caring for a fucking kid.
I’m so tired.
Before I fall asleep right here in the shower, I reach for the shampoo and dump a palmful into my hand before scrubbing my hair and scalp for what might be ten minutes. I swear, my head felt ten times heavier with all the grease in my hair. Maybe it’s imagined, but I sure as fuck felt it.
Feeling a whole lot cleaner after just washing my hair, I stand under the water with my eyes closed and try to shut down my brain.
I can’t stop the guilt from popping into my head.
Not just because I planned to practically abandon her, not understanding that she was going to need my help, but also, deep in my chest, I feel like it’s my fault she died.
I was so damn desperate to get out of the situation I’d somehow found myself in.
Maybe the world doesn’t work like that, and maybe it does, but I can’t stop feeling like my constant wishing that my situation with Sally would just end somehow sentenced her to death.
Like I kept putting that energy into the universe, and that’s how it interpreted my wish.
I feel responsible for her death. Logically, I know I shouldn’t.
While I don’t recall details at all about what the doctors or nurses or whoever told me about how Sally died, I do remember it was a result of complications due to childbirth.
Doesn’t that mean it’s still my fault? She wouldn’t have been pregnant if it weren’t for me.
Yes, we used protection, but it fails sometimes. That’s life.
“Stop,” I mutter, bringing my hands to cover my face. “Just stop.”
My brain needs to be quiet. For ten fucking minutes, it just needs to shut up.
I need to enjoy this quiet moment before I tend to my son again.
I’m lucky to have a bathroom all to myself right now.
I need to take advantage of it. There will be an entire lifetime to let the guilt weigh on my shoulders.
I stay in the shower until the water no longer feels hot. Since I have a tankless water heater and I’m not supposed to be able to run out of hot water, I imagine that my skin is so hot that it’s melting off and therefore numb to the heat.
That means I should get out of the shower, huh?
If at all possible, I think the shower made me more tired.
Showers are supposed to have a relaxing effect, and while I’m not sure I feel relaxed, it certainly makes me feel like my feet are dragging.
I dry, brush my teeth, and head into my bedroom to slip into a pair of boxer briefs.
I grab a pair of socks and sit on the edge of my bed.
That might have been a mistake. I suddenly can’t keep my eyes open. It’s been a while since I’ve lain on my bed. A week. Since I brought Tyler home. I’ve read a lot of horror stories online about newborns suffocating in bedding or parents rolling onto their sleeping kids and crushing them.
Yeah, no. That’s not happening. I won’t put Tyler in that position where it’s even a remote possibility.
I yawn, and I think I feel it in my toes. With a sigh, I let myself fall backwards and close my eyes. Just ten minutes. That’s all I need.
My body feels heavy. Like an extra eighty pounds settled on top of me. I slept hard. I feel like dead weight. Snuggling a little further into the blanket, I mentally touch all my muscles, making them relax one at a time.
When I eventually open my eyes, my room is dark. I blink a few times and then roll over to look at the clock. Ten-twenty-two. It’s late.
Yawning, I sit up and rub my face. Fuck, I still feel tired.
Remembering how tired I am makes me catch my breath, recalling that my newborn is here with a virtual stranger. Oh, shit. How long did I sleep?
I force myself out of bed and find my socks to slip into.
Then a pair of sweats and a tee. It’s been a while since I’ve felt fresh and in clean clothes.
Dressed, I step into the hall and pause beside Sally’s small suitcase.
The one she’d brought to the hospital and now holds all the personal belongings she’d brought.
I’m sorry, I think. I don’t know if you’re listening, but this isn’t what I wanted.
There’s no answer. Of course, there isn’t. I wasn’t even speaking out loud, so even if there is such a thing as ghosts, they can’t hear my thoughts.
Exhaling, I head down the hall toward the living room. Big Tyler has moved. He’s now in the recliner, gently rocking with little Tyler in his arms. His eyes are closed.
I stare at him for a minute, admiring how flawlessly smooth his skin is.
There’s just the barest hint of hair on his chin.
The sides of his head are shaved short. Not bare, just very short.
The top of his head has a lot of hair, but it’s smooth and brushed backward.
So shiny. I’m sure there’s product in it, but it looks so silky as well. My fingers kind of itch to touch it.
His lashes are so long and somehow accentuate the beauty of his skin. Even through his glasses. Or maybe his glasses make his lashes look that much longer. Such a perfectly shaped nose. Perfectly symmetrical and shaped eyebrows. Lightly accentuated cheekbones. And those lips.
I shake my head and turn toward the kitchen. What the fuck, dude? Come on. I know it’s been a while since I’ve gotten off, but that’s wildly inappropriate.
The flick of the light switch turns the lights on over the counters but leaves the larger overhead lights off.
In the fridge, I find another of Ren’s dishes.
This one has enough for two people, so I heat it up in the microwave.
Again, not how Ren recommends his food reheated, but I’m still running on fumes.
Once more, while it heats, I chug some water. I haven’t drunk enough since Tyler’s homecoming. God, it’s going to kill me when I get back on the ice.
If I can get back on the ice. I have a lot to work out before that can happen. Like what to do with Tyler.
When the fried rice dish is heated through, I split it into two bowls and make my way back to the living room. Big Tyler’s eyes are open now, and he looks in my direction. I set the bowls on the side table and cross the room. My eyes remain locked with his, though neither of us speaks.
He adjusts little Tyler so I can pick him up without digging into big Tyler’s lap. The blanket around him feels so tight.
“This isn’t hurting him?” I ask, examining the blanket.
“No,” big Tyler answers. “It mimics the tight space that they grew in—mama’s womb. It’s actually really comforting for them. It’ll help them settle.”
“Ah. Maybe that’s contributing to what I’m doing wrong,” I note as I tuck him in the far corner of the couch. I stack all the throw pillows at the edge and then push the table against the couch.
When I look back at big Tyler, he’s watching me with amusement.
“Just in case,” I tell him, shrugging.
“I’m not judging.”
I hand him a bowl of fried rice and take a seat on the couch that little Tyler isn’t on. We eat in silence, both of us looking between my newborn and each other.
“This is really, really good,” he says after a minute. “You make it? Take out?”
“No. A buddy of mine made it. He filled my fridge a few days ago.”
“Wow. It’s better than any Chinese takeout I’ve ever had.”
“It should be. He’s Chinese and making the real thing.”
He grins. “Cool.”
Silence settles between us for a minute.
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he says.
I look up. “What?”
“You said not wrapping him tightly might be contributing to what you’re doing wrong. You’re not doing anything wrong.”
My shoulders fall, and I close my eyes for a minute. “I feel like I am,” I confide.
“I’m sure you do. It’s my understanding that most first-time parents feel that way. But you’re not. He’s eating. He’s sleeping. He’s clean. That means you’re doing everything right.”
I don’t argue, even if I don’t fully agree. Maybe I’m not fucking up as much as I thought, but it doesn’t mean I’m doing everything right, either.
“Can I ask you something?” Tyler asks.
“Yeah.”
“Where are you hiding his nursery?”
I meet his eyes with confusion. “What?”
“Ty’s nursery. I can’t find any baby things except what’s on the bed in the other room. I swear, I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for diapers.”
For a minute, I don’t answer. There’s no answer that isn’t going to paint me as a fucking disaster. “I don’t have anything,” I say after a minute.
He frowns. “Sally said she told you months ago.”
“She did.”
Tyler waits. “And…?” he prompts when I don’t finish.
“And… I gave her money to buy things. I figured that he’d come with whatever he needed when he was here.”
“But you were getting married.”
“Which means he’d come with everything he needed,” I point out. “It’s silly to have duplicates, right?”
Tyler doesn’t answer as he studies me for several minutes while silently eating his stir-fry. “Okay.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to defend myself, but I don’t. I think maybe he has a right to know that I’m a shitty person in this regard.
“So… I don’t think you were awake enough to hear my request, and I’d like to ask again,” Tyler says.
I meet his eyes. His very pretty eyes. I think I’m getting lost in his eyes until he continues, and I blink out of the momentary trance.
“I’d like to be a part of Ty’s life. A very active, present part. As much as you’ll let me. I don’t want to overstep or anything, but he’s all I have left of my sister, and I’d already planned to be here with Sally and Ty, so…”
“Ty,” I repeat.
“Oh. Sorry. I felt like I was talking to myself in my head by calling him Tyler, and no one has ever called me Ty. I didn’t mean to… overstep. Just as I promised I wouldn’t a second ago.” He makes a face, and I smile.
“It’s okay. I like Ty. It’ll be less confusing this way, too. I’ve been mentally referring to you as big Tyler and him as little Tyler.”
He smiles, and my stomach flips. Wow.
“Okay, cool. Ty.”
“Ty,” I agree.
A beat passes.
“Not to keep pushing, but… the other part of my request?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Definitely. You can have as big a role in his life as you want. I don’t have family I’m close to. You might have just saved him from being raised by a whole lot of hockey players.”
The truth of those words settles on my chest. Maybe I hadn’t realized it quite yet, but it’s the truth. I couldn’t keep going on the way I was. I was going to need help, and there’s no one else I’d call than my friends.
“Two of them aren’t hockey players,” I correct. “Two are.”
He smiles again, but this time it’s softer. “That’s not a bad thing. Family is who you love most in the world—those you trust and confide in. Those who are always there to support you. Family isn’t defined by genetics.”
I let my head fall back. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but I agree. These four guys are my family far more than those I’m related to.”
“Sally and I only had each other, so I get it.”
“Just so I’m not surprised again.” I pick up my head. “You don’t have other siblings that are going to show up on my doorstep, do you?”
His smile once again covers his face, and Jesus fucking Christ. Sexy. That’s the only word for it. Sexy.
“No. Just us. At least, that we knew of. But who knows?”
Who knows? I know that feeling.