Chapter 1
Chapter one
Duncan
When it becomes...
"You're out of milk." I tell Crosby as I pour cereal from his pantry into a bowl the following week. "Again."
He looks up at me from where he's reading something on his phone. "Sorry."
"Everything alright?" I nod my chin towards his phone as I crunch on the dry cereal like it's a handful of pretzels. I pick up my flipper this afternoon. My sensitive gums are not happy about this snack choice. But I’m not in the mood for fruit and the only other snack Crosby has on hand is Sour Patch Kids.
The idea of that sour powder on my open mouth wound makes my dick shrivel up.
"Yeah, just Dad shit." He mutters. And that’s all he needs to say. Where I have the most loving and supportive family, who border on being too loving and supportive, Crosby's got the king of all assholes as a parent.
"You sure you don't want to come to Scotland with me Crocs?” I swallow a mouthful as I glance at the pile of footwear in his hallway. A plethora of colorful rubber shoes that got him this nickname. "You could pretend you don't get international coverage or something."
"You know travel isn't my thing." He says. And I do. Especially since he got his pup Stella, he's locked it down even further.
I don't harp. Crosby Loughty, star defenseman, and best bud, doesn't need anything heavy from me.
I’ve known him since college. We were paired on the same line and you bond with your linemate like your life depends on it. Because, in a way it does. You have to work as a unit, knowing where the other is going to be. Anticipating their moves as much as the opponents.
But I’d never tell my teammates I take hockey so seriously.
I’m the guy who is going to keep it light, move things forward. And right now looking at my buddy Bingo (another nickname derived from Bing Crosby), my job is to help him crack a smile.
"If you insist. Actually, I am disinviting you." I say with a wave of my hand.
His brow furrows. "Why, Granny Franny loves me."
"Aye," I play into my Scottish brogue. "But I canny have all the lasses, and laddies, looking in your direction and not mine, ya kin."
He rolls his eyes but laughs and my work here is done.
I brush the cinnamon and sugar from my hands and clap them together. Crosby's pup Stella ambles over and I give her a good scratch behind the ears.
"Wanna come over for Scrabble tonight?"
"Sure." Crosby shrugs. He's been a little more morose than usual lately. I think something happened at the gala last Friday but I'm not going to push. Homeboy is in therapy already and he doesn't need me to pry.
"Actually, scratch that. I'm texting everyone and we're gonna make it a BrUNO night."
"I'll start stretching now." He grumbles.
"Fucking right you will. It's my last night stateside for ten whole days and we're gonna do it right."
***
"Did you see that?" Boba Tea (Bryson Svoboda) says with an astonished laugh. He just completed a set of three cartwheels through my open concept condo after his blue three was topped by a red three and then a yellow three.
This BrUNO rule is called Color Wheel and if you stack primary colors on top of each other the first person to put down the primary card has to do the number of cartwheels on the cards.
Simple rule, tricky task.
Emmett stands and claps. "I am very impressed."
"I'm more impressed he didn't knock any shit off the wall." Felix adds, as only our “Mother Hen” of a captain can.
"Yeah, that's my prized teef photo." I head over and lift the frame off the wall. I use the hem of my shirt to jokingly polish it.
My older sister, Delilah, paid extra to get it printed and shipped it to me in one business day.
It’s the photo Granny put together last week but in a beautiful 8x10 frame with a mat.
One side is toothless, six-year-old me wearing Del’s hand-me-down pink hockey helmet with the cage flipped up and the biggest fucking grin on my face.
I've always loved hockey.
On the other side of the frame is a picture of me from two weeks ago in our last game of the season with my front teeth missing after they got knocked out by a flying puck. It's a shot our team’s social media admin, Lydia, took as I walked down the tunnel after the game.
"How do the dentures feel?" Our goalie, Aiden "Young Gun" Youngren asks as we settle back in to continue our game. I can’t think of his nickname without remembering his epic naming ceremony his first day at practice.
Truly an epic moment.
One of the best days of my life.
"A little weird but I'm starting to forget they're there." I shrug. It's true. "It's fun to pop them out and see people's reactions."
"Shut up, do you really?" Crosby looks a little horrified.
"Well, it accidentally happened when I was ordering a coffee on the way home from the appointment, my tongue just kind of bumped them and they slipped. The look on the guy's face was fucking priceless though."
"It's too far to get my teeth knocked out so I can play that prank on Jo, right?" Bryson asks and we all chime in with a yes and those of us close enough to him add a punch or shove.
"What will you do while you're in Scotland?" Felix changes the subject. Is it possible our incredibly caring, space holding captain is also getting annoyed with Bryson’s obsession with his soon-to-be fiance Jo Hamilton? With the proposal coming up we still have to give him the attention he’s demanding but it’s starting to wear on me.
"Granny Franny always has a few house projects she saves up for us to work on. And I'll get in some golf. Usually I don't go until July so I'm expecting the weather to be colder and drearier in May."
"Pack layers." Felix advises.
"Yes Daddy." I mock with fluttering eyelashes.
French Fry’s elevens appear between his brows, looking like, well a couple of fries. I doubt I’d get away with calling him Eleven when his number on the team is 44. Nor do I think he’d take kindly to being referred to as old. Even if he’s starting to grey at the temples.
The next two rounds are uneventful as we drop cards into the pile.
I’m down to three cards and one of them is a Wild Willy and I want to save that one for last.
Aiden plays a reverse in yellow, sending the game back in my direction. E.T. drops a yellow seven, and my eyes widen as I thumb the cards in my hand.
I might have a chance for a big one here.
All I need is for Felix to drop a yellow eight and I get to play out my favorite BrUNO rule.
The Seven Ate Nine.
Felix takes his sweet fucking time looking at his cards and I am twitching with excitement.
Slowly, painfully, he slides a card from his hand and lowers it to the pile.
Sweet mother of Davey Jones.
I slap my yellow nine on top of his yellow eight and cackle while the rest of the guys groan and roll their eyes.
"You just had to French Fry, you just had to give him an eight." E.T. grumbles.
"That's right boys, saddle up," I say rubbing my hands together excitedly. "I just played a nine and that means," pause for effect "it’s Dad Joke time."
"How do you always manage to get this sequence?" Bryson huffs.
"I want to know how he knows all these lame jokes." Aiden says as he straightens his hand.
"They're not lame jokes." I defend the honor of my treasured puns. "They're Dad Jokes. Actually, I’ve got one." I clear my throat. "When does a joke become a Dad Joke?" I ask.
Brows furrow, heads shake, E.T. looks like he's trying to calculate an answer.
"Give up?" They all shrug and nod. "When it becomes... apparent!"
"Cheese and crackers." Aiden grumbles.
I dodge a throw pillow that is launched my way as I cackle.
"Pick up cards boys! No one knew that one!"
The satisfaction I feel watching my teammates pick up UNO cards to add to their hand after successfully delivering a dad joke rivals that of having a great play in a game.
Dad Jokes, Talk Like A Pirate Day, Yes Day, they were all elements of my joyfilled childhood and if anything, becoming an adult has taught me to be grateful for it.
I'd rather laugh my way through life than get bogged down with serious, heavy feelings.
Life's too short to be taken seriously.