Chapter 28
DENNY
I walk down the hall with the front of my tee between my thumb and first finger, hiking it up just to smell it.
It doesn’t smell bad. Not at all. It smells clean.
Weirdly clean. Softly clean. I can’t describe what I’m trying to say, though now that I think ‘softly clean’, I feel how incredibly soft the shirt is.
Clothing doesn’t retain that kind of softness after a few washes.
Tyler’s looking at me with amusement when I join him in the living room. “I’ve seen your closet. If that shirt smells dirty, there are many others.”
Huffing, I shake my head. “Smell it.” I get close enough for him to smell my shirt. When he leans down to do so, I grip his chin and pull his face up so I can kiss him.
Tyler laughs against my mouth. “I’ve seen that thirst trap and still fell for it.”
Grinning, I pinch my shirt and hold it up to him. “Me too. That’s why I did it. But I was still serious about the shirt.”
This time, I let Tyler smell my shirt. He meets my eyes, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t see the problem. It smells good. Fresh.”
“Yes, it does! But it smells different than usual. Did you change my detergent and not tell me?”
He’s still amused. “Yes, but it’s still fresh linen scented. What’s different is that I added fabric softener in the wash and a dryer sheet in the dryer.”
“Oh.” I glance down at my shirt. “Was that necessary?”
Tyler laughs. “Not in the least. One helps with freshness, and the other helps with wrinkles and static. I can stop washing your laundry with them if it bothers you.”
“Okay, first question—is that why my shirt is so soft?”
He grins. “Probably.”
“Second—why are you doing my laundry?”
“When I don’t have a full load of mine but need to wash something, I dump yours in too. Not your hockey stuff. That smells awful. But your regular clothes. I can also stop doing that if you don’t want me to.”
I bring him to me and kiss him again. Tyler sighs into my mouth. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I’m not going to be one of those stupid men who think that, because you’re home all day with the kid, that you’re sitting on your ass, filing your nails.”
“Good to know. And I already knew that about you. If I do something like your laundry, it’s because I’m doing mine, and it’s stupid not to throw yours in too.
It’s selfish of me to throw my dishes into the dishwasher and leave your glass on the counter when it will take me an extra three seconds.
I’m all about equal partnership and household responsibilities, but I’m not so selfish that I will intentionally not do something to make sure you’re pulling your weight. ”
“Thank you. I like that, and I agree.”
“Though, for the record, I don’t mind keeping the house since you’re bringing in the bacon and I’m not working. You’re not a particularly messy man,” Tyler adds.
“Noted.”
“Besides. You innately clean up after yourself. I’ve never followed behind you like a dog to clean up your mess.”
“And you never will. That’s not the kind of person I am. I don’t have a cleaner because I feel like I can clean up after myself.”
“You know,” Tyler says, and takes a step away from me.
I watch his sexy ass in those sexy socks that disappear under his pants that aren’t quite to his ankles. I still have no idea why I find socks on this man so fucking hot! They’re socks, for fuck’s sake.
When he continues, I remember we’re having a conversation and try to remember what we’re talking about.
“I saw an interview with Hugo Bladen once,” Tyler says, and yeah, I’m not sure what we were talking about if he’s bringing up Hugo.
“He said that hiring someone to clean your house isn’t always a sign of laziness or privilege.
Yes, it means you’ve reached a certain monetary threshold where you can afford someone to come in and clean for you, but he read an article that emphasized how valuable your time is.
Our days are taken up by obligations all day, between work and life, and expectations.
If you have kids, you have all their commitments and shit.
If you can outsource your chores so you can actually enjoy some quiet moments in life, then it’s an expense well worth the time you gain. ”
“Huh.”
“I’m not arguing for a cleaner,” he says, flashing me a smile as he picks up Ty.
“I’m just saying. Yes, you’re an adult and can clean up after yourself.
You should clean up after yourself. But I’m talking about deep cleaning the kitchen and fridge.
Vacuuming. Dusting. Cleaning the windows, the baseboards, and the fans.
The toilets. Not do your dishes after every meal or your laundry, or pick up your mess off the floor.
The chores that actually take hours out of your day to do.
You’re also helping someone make a living wage. ”
“You had a cleaner, didn’t you?” I muse.
He grins and brings me Ty, placing my sleepy boy into my arms. His eyes are opening, though. Blinking sleepily, and he yawns so big! I never manage to look at Ty and not smile.
“I didn’t, but it was one of the things Sally and I talked about getting when I moved out here, and we had two incomes,” Tyler says. He adjusts Ty’s shirt, and I see why he brought me my baby when he was sound asleep.
His little hoodie—yes, hoodie, and it’s so damn cute—says ‘Future Hockey Player’. It shouldn’t, but for some reason, seeing it chokes me up.
“Where did this come from?” I ask.
“The totes from Sally’s house,” Tyler answers. He leans up on his toes to kiss me. “I’m going to finish the wings.”
I’m not heartless. I’m not immune to the fact that Sally died. I was simply overwhelmed with the new reality of my life that fucking terrified me, and I didn’t have a moment to feel the sadness that accompanied Sally’s death. Looking at Ty’s hoodie, I feel a ball of grief in my throat.
We weren’t close. We rarely talked. We went on one date, fucked and made a baby, got engaged out of panic, and then continued to live our separate lives.
I joined her at a company event. She joined me at a hockey holiday party.
It was my intent to be a better husband than my parents were as spouses, but as time stretched, I dreaded everything about the life laid out before me.
That doesn’t mean I wanted Sally to die. That’s not the out I wanted. I wanted to grow some fucking balls and tell her how I was feeling. My only big regret in life is that I wasn’t honest with Sally before she died. She deserved better from me.
And now I’m on the verge of crying over a damn shirt! “Way to be late with your fucking emotions, man,” I mutter to myself.
Thankfully, the doorbell rings, and I sigh. No time for crying. Time to entertain. I bring Ty up and kiss his forehead. “Ready to meet a whole lot of crazy uncles?” I ask. “Don’t let them breathe on you. You can slap them away.”
I love that his eyes seem to be focused on me. He’s tired. Always tired. Being alive is exhausting. Yeah, buddy. It doesn’t get better. He’s only barely awake, though, even as he stares at me.
I know who’s not at my door. It’s not Kroy. Even if that man lived across the street, he’d still be late. That’s just in his DNA. It truly doesn’t matter what time we tell him, either. If I told him to be here at noon and everyone else at 12:30, he’d still not be here until 12:40.
“I’m going to guess it’s Ren or Carson,” I tell Ty. Both live close, but Carson lives a couple blocks away. Ren is just always punctual.
I’m not disappointed when I open the door to find Carson. Ren’s car is pulling into the driveway as Carson comes inside. I wait until I hear his footsteps on the stairs before opening the door again. Zenia’s car is turning down the street as Ren walks in.
“See?” I tell Ty when I don’t see Kroy’s car. “Kroy is always late.”
Zenia laughs. “You don’t expect anything different, do you?”
“He’s going to be late to his own wedding,” Carson says, amused.
They’re all laden with bags. We decided to have a little potluck of game-day foods and see if we can find a game on television. I also made it clear that I’m not passing Ty around. One person may hold him, and that’s it. Someone else can have a turn next time.
True to form, Kroy arrives at 12:41. He grins when I open the door. “Hey, DILF.”
I roll my eyes. “Get inside. It’s fucking cold.” His grin remains as he kicks off his boots and hangs his jacket. Like the others, he has two big bags in his hands. I can smell beans. He makes the best beans. They’re practically candy.
“I’m going to check on Tyler and the wings. Lock the door, yeah?”
Kroy nods. “Yep. Need help?”
“Nope. Everyone else—who was here on time—is already in the living room setting up the food. You know the way.”
He doesn’t bother apologizing for his tardiness anymore. Honestly, we don’t care. We’ve gotten to the point where we take that into account and plan accordingly. Kroy is Kroy. None of us actually want to change him. Not even the fact that he’s never on time.
Tyler has a large platter that’s nearly as long as the coffee table, filled with different wings. They’re separated with celery sticks, carrot sticks, and cherry tomatoes. There are also little bowls of dip throughout the tray.
“So, there’s garlic butter, sweet honey, buffalo, devil-pepper hot, and Korean barbecue.”
I tilt my head. “Korean barbecue?”
“You judge, but I promise, it’s really good. Sweet, tangy, a little bit of heat. Trust.”
Grinning, I nod. “You want to take Ty, and I’ll bring this in?”
“Yep.” He washes his hands and then takes Ty from my arms.
Ty’s almost asleep again already. He doesn’t stay awake long, but I love how he looks around for a few minutes between naps now.
“Incoming,” I call ahead of me.
There’s a chorus of ‘Ohhhh’ as I bring in the big platter of wings.
As I suspected, the table is filled with other dishes.
Which isn’t unusual. This isn’t our first feast. That’s why they’ve already pulled out the end tables and brought them to the back of the coffee table.
Wings go on the high platform as a thing to worship.
“Damn. Look at all the different kinds!” Zenia says.
I try to go through the different flavors, but get them all mixed up. When Tyler is finished putting Ty in his swing, he corrects the wrong order.
Tyler and I sit on the couch with Ren. Kroy is on the floor. Zenia is in the recliner, and Carson is on the other couch that’s now primarily loaded with all the things that had been on the end tables.
We talk about nothing for a while before I suddenly have a lap filled with wrapped gifts. In baby-themed wrap? “You understand we celebrate his birthday in a year, right?” I ask.
“Yes,” Carson says. “But life took an unexpected turn, and we didn’t get to throw you a baby shower. We’re late, but we still wanted to do that.”
“They’re not just for ladies,” Zenia says. “My sister has been to several over the past year where there have been guys. One had more guys than girls.” He shrugs.
“There are gifts from some of the guys on the team, too,” Ren says. “They understand that you don’t want Ty exposed to so many germs, and that’s why we were keeping it small, but they wanted to be involved.”
I bow my head and close my eyes. I’m either getting really soft in my new status as father, or I’m finally settling into this new role where all my emotions feel like they can surge to the forefront and demand I acknowledge them.
“Thanks,” I manage to say in a somewhat even voice. It might only crack a little.
Tyler is smiling softly, watching me as he munches on his wings. I set one of the boxes in his lap, meeting his eyes.
“You’re opening too.”
He bows his head, his smile spreading. Carson offers him a napkin to clean all the sauce from his fingers.
“That’s really thoughtful,” Tyler says and looks at me. “You have really great friends.”
I nod, meeting their eyes one at a time. “I do,” I agree.
“Damn straight you do, cutie,” Kroy says, winking. “Open. Hurry up. We’re stupidly excited about this.”
Laughing, Tyler and I take turns opening the gifts. Halfway through, Carson says, “We assumed you had all the infant things at this point, so we were concentrating on hockey things.”
Since we’ve primarily opened hockey gear for a damn toddler, I can see that. I’ve never seen gear so damn small, and it’s fucking cute. I can’t wait to get Ty in this stuff.
“He’s going to be skating before he walks, isn’t he?” Tyler asks, amused as he holds up the small goalie stick.
“That’s from Felton,” Ren says. “He’s insistent that Ty will be a goalie. He’s offered to personally train him as soon as he’s on skates.”
“Can you see that?” Zenia asks, his smile wide. “Giant Felton Badcock with a tiny little Ty Willow on the ice?”
I think we all take a minute to imagine just that. It’s no wonder we’re all smiling at nothing as we stare off into space.
“You know, he might not want to play hockey,” I say. “He may hate it.”
As if Ty knew we were talking about him, he wakes up and begins fussing. Tyler leans forward, setting his plate on the table. “I’ll get his bottle ready,” he says.
“We need to take a baby break,” I tell the guys, setting the rest of the presents to the side and digging myself out. “I need to change Ty before he eats.”
“Cool. We’re going to clean up the food a little,” Kroy says.
“Not a chance. We’re not finished eating,” Carson says.
“You had three plates of food. Where are you putting it?” Zenia demands.
“Are you calling me fat?” Carson counters. “I’ll have you know, I’m still pretty, even if I’m soft.”
I’m chuckling as I pick Ty up and head down the hall. Their bickering continues, and I smile the whole time I hear their voices. “I can’t wait for you to get big enough to play with them,” I tell Ty once we’re in his room. “You’re going to have them wrapped around your little finger, Ty.”