Chapter 9
JAMIE
GO GET THE CAT
“Good win, boys.”
It hadn’t been pretty, but a win was a win.
“Fuck, that was brutal.” Mitch tossed his helmet down in his stall, peeling the soaked jersey from his back. He turned to Jamie, a frown on his face. “See anything from up top that might help?”
“We’re getting isolated trying to get the puck through the neutral zone,” Jamie said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks.
It didn’t feel right, being clean and dry and buttoned up while the team, his team, bore the evidence of a battle well-fought.
“I think working up the walls a little more in practice could help.”
Mitch nodded.
“Cap,” Liam Olsson shouted out.
Jamie wound his way through his teammates to the tall, long-limbed Swede. He was young, only in his early twenties, and still had the shadow of acne scars on his red cheeks. Blonde hair stuck out straight from his head. “Good work out there,” Jamie offered, clapping a hand to Liam’s shoulder pad.
Liam shook his head. “I’m getting beat on defense. Playing second line is different. More quick.”
“You’re holding your own,” Jamie said, even though he’d seen how tough the matchup had been for Liam, who was playing up on the second line to fill in for Jamie. “How about I stick around after practice tomorrow and we can run some drills to get your footwork a little cleaner?”
The relief was obvious on Liam’s face as he smiled. “You are very good captain, Sully.”
“Not much of a fighter, though,” Cooper called out from his stall down the wall, his grin teasing as he unlaced his skates. “Let Carter do the dirty work next time, eh?”
“Fuck off,” Jamie mumbled, but as the team broke out into laughter around him, he didn’t mind being the butt of the joke.
Cooper wasn’t wrong–letting Carter Belanger, their tough as nails fourth line center, take care of the fighting would have been the responsible thing to do.
The teasing was fine with Jamie, good even.
If it meant the boys were together, that the team was finding their stride, he’d throw himself under the bus every time.
“Oi, Cheerios!” Matt Lee was one of the first out of the shower, his dark hair damp. “We playing ‘Chel at your place?”
Oliver Campbell and Onni Koskinen looked at each other and then, as expected, looked at Jamie, twin questions on their faces. They frequently hosted the rest of the younger guys on the team for NHL Xbox tournaments.
Jamie sighed. “How many times do I have to remind the two of you that, just because you live in my basement, it doesn’t mean I’m your dad.”
Oliver grinned while Onni flushed pink and looked sheepish.
The two rookies had moved into his basement right before training camp.
Oliver was coming out of Canadian juniors, while Onni was coming over from playing in Finland.
The basement was already set up like an apartment, with a separate kitchen, a comfortable living room, two bedrooms with a shared bathroom, and, most importantly, its own entrance.
Jamie loved having the rookies there, but he also didn’t want to be woken up in the middle of the night when the kids came home from partying.
“If I crash on the couch, does that mean I can get in on Sully making breakfast tomorrow morning?” Matt went on.
Onni scowled, looking up from where he was carefully situating his goalie pads. “No. Sully breakfast is special. Just for us.”
“Not fair!” Matt turned to Jamie. “Is he serious?”
Jamie felt a smile tug at his mouth and shrugged, leaving the kids to sort it out.
“Are you still beating yourself up?”
Jamie glared at Mitch. “No.”
They walked together down the corridor from the locker room to where the families waited. Mitch had showered and changed back into his suit.
“I don’t know why you think you can get away with lying to me. The mustache gives away all of your secrets.”
Scowling, Jamie shoved him in the shoulder. “Fuck off.” Then, after a moment: “Does it look bad?”
“My god, man. The mustache looks great. Tyler was looking at it like he wanted to eat it off your face.”
“What?” Mitch couldn’t really mean that. There was no way Tyler had been looking at him like–
“Not my best choice of words,” Mitch said, huffing out a laugh. “But the other night, at dinner? That man looked at you like he wanted you. Carnally.”
Jamie stared at his friend, trying to ignore the rising heat on the back of his neck as his mind tried to come to grips with the word ‘carnal’ in the same sentence as Tyler. “Jesus, Mitchy. What have you been reading?”
“I have an extensive vocabulary!”
“Is that what you and Layla text about on the plane that gets you all fidgety? Wanting each other ‘carnally’?”
“Who does my husband want carnally?” Layla stood in front of them, blonde hair pulled up into a sleek ponytail and a stylish green sweater hanging off one shoulder.
She looked immaculate, as always. Henri, their eldest daughter, was chasing one of Sergei’s kids behind them, while Jack was on the floor with his nose in a book.
“Sully’s talking about you, baby,” Mitch said, pulling his wife into a deep kiss. “He’s just jealous there isn’t a man in his life who wants him the way we want each other.”
When they pulled apart, Layla cocked a brow at her husband. “You’re a menace, but your passing looked better tonight. Don’t forget to look for your shot on the power play–you’re on the first unit for a reason.”
Jamie grinned. “Listen to your wife, Mitchy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mitch said, leaving them to say hi to his kids.
“Did Tyler and Rowan make it to the game?” Layla asked.
Right. He’d managed to shove that out of his head. The messages sent with no reply, the seats empty.
All he’d wanted was to do something nice for Tyler, but somehow it had backfired.
“They made it,” Jamie finally said. “I got them great seats in the lower bowl, and I sent him a bunch of recommendations for food, but they left about halfway through the second period.”
Layla let out a loud sigh, looking at Jamie with her lips pressed together.
“What did I do?” He asked.
“Objectively,” she began, “getting someone lower bowl tickets is a really nice thing to do.”
“But?”
“Sully, this is a late night for a little kid. Stef stays home with the nanny when the games start this late. When they’re that age, one late night can mess up their sleep schedule for a week.
And it’s loud down there. I don’t know if you’ve been up to the WAG’s suite, but there’s a whole back room, where we bring toys and books, that is shielded from the noise of the arena.
Some of us even bring a Pack n’ Play for the little ones to nap.
It’s a lot for a little kid, especially one who’s never been to a game before. ”
Jamie stared at her. He reached his right hand up, tugging at the hair on the back of his head. “Damn it,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Layla put a hand on his arm. “If you’re going to do things like this–” she raised her brows knowingly– “for someone with a young kid, you’ve got to think about the kid. That’s what he’s thinking about all the time. If you want him to give you the time of day, think about the kid.”
Jamie nodded, not sure what to say.
“He seems like a good guy,” Layla added. “And into you, too.”
“I don’t think that’s on the table,” he said, flexing the fingers of his injured hand. He felt a twinge of pain and winced. “I don’t even know if he’s queer, and every time I talk to him I feel like he’s barely tolerating me.”
Layla smiled at him. “I mean, you could ask him. Tyler seems like someone who takes time to warm up to people. He’s probably trying to keep himself safe.”
An hour later, when he pulled into his three-car garage, he checked his phone. No response. Nothing.
He let out a loud, frustrated groan, slapping his good hand against the dashboard. Sure, Layla had made a good point about getting them tickets for an evening game. And maybe picking the lower bowl, where the crowd was even louder, hadn’t been the right call.
But even with all of that, he couldn’t pretend the radio silence from Tyler didn’t hurt.
If Oliver or Onni noticed Jamie’s shitty mood the next morning at breakfast, neither made a comment. The boys did the dishes like they always did, thanked him for the food, and then retreated to the basement to do whatever the hell they got up to before heading to the rink.
The team was flying out on a seven day, four game road trip later that afternoon. Normally, Jamie would go for a run in his gym, sit in the sauna, and then do a round of laundry before packing. But without the team schedule driving him, he wasn’t sure what to do with his time.
He washed his sheets. He mopped the dark tile floors in his kitchen. He walked down to the lakeshore, careful of the slick steps, and checked the ice. It wasn’t quite ready to skate on, but another hard freeze and it would get there.
Finally, after reorganizing his pantry, he flopped back on his couch with his tablet to watch the most recent game tape.
He grabbed the pad of paper he kept on his coffee table to take notes in, groaning when he remembered his injured writing hand.
He grit his teeth, ignoring the little flare of pain as he gripped his pen.
He’d gotten through the first period when a loud ding interrupted him. Grabbing his phone, he read the notification on his screen:
Dotty:
Come over and see your mother. We know you’re probably home moping. She made muffins.
Jamie looked up at his empty, quiet house, at the spotless kitchen and the almost heavy absence of anyone else.
Normally, he was too busy to feel lonely. Now, without hockey, it was inescapable.
Jamie:
See you soon.
Tossing the tablet aside, he got up, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door.
He showed up at his moms’ place with a drink holder balanced in one hand, and didn’t bother knocking. “Hey,” he called out, as he pushed through the front door.
“We’re in the kitchen!”