Chapter 10
Ten
Sebastian
Tucker called me Big Daddy. He was teasing like my teammates, but unlike when the boys said it, his words hit differently.
And I…liked it.
I don't know what that says about me, but I’ve been thinking about it a little too much, and I enjoy being around him.
Maybe I shouldn't. He’s just a nice guy, and he’s been super kind and supportive of me when he definitely didn’t have to, so I shouldn't read into anything.
Yet here I am, fucking replaying a dude calling me daddy days later.
Yeah, I’m in so much trouble.
My phone vibrates on the marble counter next to where I’m heating Enzo’s lunch that Chef Rudy prepared for us on Monday.
He batch cooks all our meals and leaves them labeled in the refrigerator for the week, so I know exactly what we’re going to eat.
He follows a nutritionist-approved meal plan for me and makes sure Enzo has a healthy and balanced diet that’s still kid-friendly.
I look over and see it’s Ma calling, and pick it up as I slide the plate to Enzo.
“Hey, Ma, what’s up?”
“Sebastian, it’s been so long, you never call me anymore. You don’t come over, and you don't invite us over, either. Are you too good for your old parents now? Do you want Enzo to forget his Nonnie and Papa? We miss you!”
Oh, here we go with the immediate guilt trip.
“Ma, you know that’s not true. We miss you, too.
It’s just been busy. Enzo has his pre-k program, and he’s starting skating lessons now.
Between his schedule and mine, we’re barely home enough to see each other.
I promise we’re thinking about you, and he will never forget you or Pop. ”
“You never even call us. That’s easy enough.
You could FaceTime so we could at least see our only grandchild, but you don’t even text to tell us you're alive and our grandson is healthy. Is he eating enough? Do I need to bring you a lasagna or some soup? He needs hearty foods, Sebastian. He can’t live off chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese forever, you know. ”
I bite my lip to keep from saying something I’ll regret.
“Ma, you know Enzo’s a good eater. He eats more than chicken nuggets and mac and cheese now.
That was just a phase that most kids go through.
He’s eating broccoli and potatoes with chicken right now and not complaining at all.
” I look over at Enzo. He holds up his fork triumphantly, showing the broccoli floret on it before he puts the whole thing in his mouth and chews aggressively with a smile on his face.
He loves his broccoli, which is a huge win after our beige period about a year ago, where veggies weren’t an option.
“I still think you should have made him eat regular meals instead of catering to his whims. He’s a child.
He shouldn’t be the one dictating to you,” Ma says, clucking her tongue through the phone.
“That wasn’t a diet that could sustain a kid.
He needed balanced meals. You were too soft on him.
All it would have taken was a day where you told him he could have the food you offered or nothing, and he’d get hungry enough to eat it. ”
I swallow my retort, knowing it won’t do any good.
We’ve had this argument a million times.
I didn’t force Enzo to eat things he didn’t want to eat.
I just made sure to sneak veggies into his morning smoothie so he’d get his nutrients, and let him eat what he wanted throughout the day.
He eventually wanted to eat what I was eating because he was curious, and then he realized he liked it.
It worked out for us, despite Ma’s protestations that he’d get brittle bones and scurvy that way.
I’d had to fight with Ma and Pop, who would keep Enzo while I was on the road for away games, telling them to let him be, to give him the mac and cheese and nuggets if that’s what he wanted.
It was a brutal six months, and I’m glad we got past it.
“I know your feelings on the matter,” I reply as diplomatically as I can. “I just hope you can respect that I want to raise my child differently, and it’s still a perfectly valid choice.”
I hated being forced to eat certain foods as a kid, and that stuck with me. I never want Enzo to have to feel that way, so I’ve stuck by my decision. I’d rather my kid be happy than avoid conflict. He’s worth fighting for.
Ma makes a sound of dismissal, ready to move on because she can't win this fight.
“That still doesn't answer why we can't see Enzo. If he’s such a good eater now, he should be able to spend time with us without you worrying about what we’re feeding him. I miss my little baby,” she says, her voice taking on a pleading tone that kills me.
I hate that I’ve had to push her away to gain the necessary independence I crave.
I know it’s good for us both to have the separation in our lives, but she’s right that she deserves to see her grandson, and I feel like an asshole for keeping her away from him.
I cave like a delivery box that’s been drop-kicked to the door.
“It’s Saturday, and we don't have plans tomorrow. Why don't I drop him off for a sleepover tonight so you can spend some time together? I’ll pick him up tomorrow when I come by for dinner. Would that work for you and Pop?” I ask, hoping I’m doing the right thing and giving her what she needs, while still maintaining the independence I’ve barely carved out for myself.
“That would be perfect!” Ma says happily.
“We can watch a new movie I saw advertised about dogs that I thought he’d love, and bake cookies.
He loves my pizzelle. Can you drop him off in the next hour?
Your father has to leave for an appointment at three, and I want him to spend some time with Enzo before he goes. ”
I sigh. There she goes, dictating my schedule and life like mine doesn't even matter. “Yeah, Ma, I think I can drop him off in about an hour. We have some errands to run first, but we’ll try to make it work.”
“Good, good. I’ll see you soon, Sebastian!” She hangs up before I can even say goodbye.
“Well, buddy, sounds like you’re going to Nonnie and Papa’s for a sleepover tonight. Sound good?” I ask Enzo, who has cleared his plate and is playing with his stuffed dog, Mutt.
He looks up and gives me a crooked thumbs-up. “Yeah, Daddy, I can't wait. Can I watch a dog show before we go?”
I look at the oven clock. I need a quick shower, anyway. “Sure, kiddo. Let me put something on for you.” I follow him into the family room and put on the dog show he wants to watch before heading to my bathroom.
I’m fucking frustrated. Ma makes me feel so small when she questions my choices as a parent. Nothing I do is good enough, and she wants to micromanage my life. On top of that, it’s been months since I got laid, so there’s a general sexual frustration tied up in the overall picture.
I only take women home when I’m on the road for away games, because I don't want to risk Enzo running into a strange woman in our house. With the offseason and training camp happening, that’s been nonexistent.
I don't even remember the name of the last hook-up I had, or when it took place, only that I felt, like always, like I was cheating on Eliana’s memory by being with another woman after she’d given everything for our son.
It’s another fucked up reminder that I’m not even a good enough man to stay loyal to her after death.
I roughly crank the shower on and avoid my reflection in the mirror so I don't have to face the look of utter disappointment I have in myself. Nameless hookups and emotionless flings with forgettable puck bunnies to get my physical needs met when I’m at my lowest have only led to more self-loathing and insecurities.
Will anyone love me like Eliana did? Will I love anyone as much as her? How will I replace her? Am I terrible for even considering that?
Shouldn't the love of my life, the woman I was with for five years, and the mother of my child, be irreplaceable?
I step into the shower and let the hot water pelt my sore body.
Coach Kennedy has been running us ragged on the ice, and Scotty’s ensured that dry land training has been just as rough.
The team will be more than ready for our first game next week, and our conditioning will no doubt be perfect.
The power our team has on the ice is already so much better than last season.
I grab my shampoo and quickly wash my hair, rinsing the suds out and watching them circle the drain, wishing I could wash my guilt away as easily.
I lather up the new body wash I got from the line Tucker told me about.
The scent fills my nose with notes of sandalwood, reminding me of the way his beard felt under my palm.
It was so soft, the golden-brown was the perfect shade against his lightly tanned skin.
He has a scattering of light freckles across the bridge of his nose that get lost in the color of his cheeks, giving him a youthful appearance.
Having spent a decade or more in the police force, he has to be older than me, but he still looks so young.
My cock starts to stir as I recall the way he looked at me while I was shirtless at the photo shoot, like there was something more than a friendly interest there.
He’s given so much of his time to me already, just listening and not judging me when I shared some of my failings as a father and the guilt I struggle with.
He allowed me to feel normal, seen, and supported.
The fucker has the strongest arms I’ve ever been hugged by, and to be held when I felt like breaking created a bond I wasn't expecting.