2. Chapter Two

“It’s almost hockey season, and that means you’ll find me and the rest of your Wilkes-Barre Comets spending our down time at Tony and Lila’s Italian Eatery! With beautiful views of the Susquehanna River and the best manicotti in the region, you’ll leave with your belly full and your wallet happy. If you drop by on Tuesdays, it’s two-for-one night on all entrees, a deal that my teammates and I never miss! So bring the family to Tony and Lila’s Italian Eatery located on Riverside Drive right across the street from the Filkes Mortgage Arena, where Comets are seen every night, rain or shine!”

“Cut! Perfect! Oh my God, such perfection!” Lila, the wife of Tony, ran into the frame to hug me. Lila was a big hugger locked in a teensy frame. Tony not so much, but he liked the ads that me and a few other players did for his restaurant, so he put up with his spouse embracing giant dudes in pads. “Look at this face. Tony! Look at this face!”

She cupped my cheeks and twisted my head to face her hubby. Tony nodded and grunted, then returned to discussing the shoot with my agent.

“You got a face!” Lila told me, pinching my cheeks and patting them. “I have some food for the crew. Come and eat. No, do not tell me you’re watching your waist. You boys will burn it all off! I made some lasagna for you with no red meat.”

Aw, she was so sweet. She always remembered that I was a pescatarian.

“Thank you, but I will need to get going soon. Luke, my agent, booked an outdoors event for me in Elmira at five and I want to call home to check on Kyleen.” She nodded up at me, her brown eyes sparkling at the mention of my little girl, and gave my face another firm pat.

“You bring her in soon, okay?” Lila said and released me to go spread her cheer among the others here for the filming. I made my way to the small men’s room off the dining room where we had shot the commercial to change out of my gear. While in there, I hurried to call Aunt Zada to check on my baby girl. There was barely room for my big feet with all my padding lying around, but the AC felt good blowing down on my shoulders. It was hotter than normal in here in Northeastern Pennsylvania, and while that was good for my aunt’s vegetable garden, it was not at all good for men in sweaters and heavy pads.

“Hey there, honey,” Aunt Zada said when she picked up. I moved to the left slightly to stare at myself in the mirror over the sink as we talked. “She’s sleeping right now. We had a busy day picking tomatoes and cooking them down for spaghetti sauce. Are you done being a TV star?”

That made me chuckle. “I am far from a TV star, Aunt Zada. Was she good?” I stared at myself. Man a shower would be nice, but that wasn’t on the agenda because I have that show in Elmira. Sometimes I hated all the off-ice travel to this place for this event or that place for that commercial. It took me away from my two best girls when I wanted to eke out every minute with them that I could. So yeah, heading to New York for an expo about campers wasn’t where I wanted to be…at all. Still, cash was important.

I might hate the time spent away from home, but I did like the money. Money that fed my daughter and aunt. Money that paid for a nice place for them to live. Money that paid for utilities, food, clothes, and the pretty pink sneakers that Kyleen had insisted on having to begin kindergarten this year. Imagine having the balls to ask for a hundred bucks for a pair of shoes that the child would outgrow in six months. Highway robbery. But all her neighborhood friends had them, so she felt she had to as well, and since I have trouble saying no to the child, I signed on for more endorsements. It was scary how quickly kids were subjected to peer pressure and commercialism.

Also, and this was just me being petty, Elmira was just a little too close to Watkins Glen. Nothing against the village itself. I liked the town just fine. It was our rival team that ground my gears. Since I had to look at Baskoro tomorrow night, I’d prefer to keep my distance. Not that looking at the man was painful. Far from it. He was beautiful, but he was also a jerk and I did not have time for that kind of negativity in my life, fellow queer player or not. “Did she eat well?”

“She did eat some of the cauliflower we harvested yesterday, but I had to douse it with cheese.”

I chuckled, turning on the water. “Well, at least she got some inside her.” Someone rapped on the door four times, then rattled the handle. I sighed and scowled at my reflection. That was Luke’s signal to hurry up. “Luke is at the door being a pain in my backside.”

“Just keeping us on time. Hey there, Aunt Zada,” the tiny man with the booming voice shouted through the crack in the door. “Give our girl a smooch from Uncle Luke. Marcus, ten minutes, buddy.”

“That man is a taskmaster,” Aunt Zada sniped. I agreed, but it was nothing that I hadn’t signed up for. Every dime counted, and my pay to play in the AHL wasn’t going to ensure a nest egg for Kyleen’s college fund. We did not make millions down here in the minors like the pros did. Someday, soon—I hoped—the call-up would come and I’d be living high on the hog, me and the girls, but until that day came it was sporting expos, ads for local eateries, and lots of hockey. Good thing I loved the game.

“He’s just trying to keep me busy and making money. Tell her daddy loves her and I will see her in the morning. Thank you for everything. We couldn’t have made it—”

“Tut, tut, you stop that right now. I love you and my great niece to bits. Now go be famous.”

I smiled warmly at the phone in my hand, grateful as hell for this woman and all she had done for my child and me. If not for her, I’d not be living my dream.

“Love you. Give my baby a kiss from her daddy. I’ll see her soon.” After hanging up, I lifted my gaze from the phone, and found myself in the looking glass.

I looked tired. I was tired. Training camp had been a real ballbuster this season. Coach had let slip that management was not impressed with our performance last season and they were looking to divest the squad of those who did not perform. Moving with my elderly aunt and a five-year-old was not at all what I wanted to do. Sure, we all knew that moves were part of the game, but we’d just gotten settled nicely and my game had been good. They surely wouldn’t cut me, would they? I made a face at myself.

No, they would not, not if you showed up and gave them 110 percent.

And that was what I planned to do. First team on the list to come up against the super determined Marcus Newley were the Gladiators. If anyone needed to be knocked down a peg, it was Baskoro “I hate you but I refuse to say why” Huda.

I flung the bathroom door open two minutes later to find Luke hunched over his phone, muttering about clients, as I wiggled through the narrow door with my bags of gear. His hazel eyes rose from his Android. He took me in and nodded.

“You look good. Nice shirt. Did you forget a razor? Never mind, it’s sexy to be scruffy. Time to roll. Lila has some food for us for the road. It’s in the car.” He straightened to his whole five foot six inches, ran a hand over his wavy dark hair, and motioned to the dining room. “Shall we?”

“Yes, we shall,” I replied with lots more joy than I really felt. I’d much sooner be home for bath time and a story, but a man had to do what a man had to do for his loved ones. “Let’s go sign some shirts and help sell some tents.”

***

“Daddy, is a banana a veg-able?”

I glanced up from my eggs and toast and looked at my daughter. Big brown eyes rested on me, her popping crispy cereal with sliced bananas snapping in her favorite unicorn bowl.

“No, it’s a fruit,” I told her between hurried bites. She had ten minutes to get to the bus down at the corner.

“That’s so sad. If they was veg-ables then it would count and I wouldn’t have to eat anymore today.”

I smiled down at my plate of scrambled eggs. “You know,” I said as my sight lifted from my food to her round, sweet face. “Eating more than one serving of vegetables is good for you.”

Her tiny nose crinkled. “They’re gross. But banana is good.” She hoisted a fat slice of banana from her cereal bowl, milk splashing over the table and her clean dress as she hurried to shove the spoon into her mouth. “Oh, Daddy, I made a mess.” She sighed dramatically around her mouthful of food.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, and yeah, you did. Eat up, I’ll go get you clean clothes.” I jammed a slice of toast into my face and then sprinted up the stairs to the second floor of my house. Sidestepping toys and a Barbie car, I hurtled across the white and pink room, found some leggings and a sparkly top, and then rushed back downstairs to the kitchen. Aunt Zada was snoring away in her bedroom on the first floor, enjoying the only morning she would have to sleep in for a few days.

Kyleen frowned at my choice of clothes. “Daddy, those are ugly.”

“So is sour milk on your dress, and since we now have four minutes to catch the bus, this is what you’re wearing.”

She complained bitterly, but we did the deed. Then it was out the door, bookbag in hand, child skipping along as if the big yellow school bus wasn’t idling at the corner waiting for us. Four days into the school year and we had set a precedent of being late. Great. Way to go Newley clan.

“Thanks for waiting,” I panted as I led Kyleen by the hand to the open bus door and then passed over her tiny backpack, also with unicorns. She was big into horses with horns this year.

“No problem,” the older Black gent replied, tapping his Comets hat. “I’m a big fan. Have season tickets. Hope you beat the boogers out of them Gladiators. Name’s Charlie, by the way. Could you sign my cap?”

“That’s the plan, and of course,” I answered with a wink and autographed the rim of his yellow cap. Then I looked at Kyleen poking at something on the floor instead of getting into her seat. “Kyleen, go sit down, girl.”

She bolted off and jumped onto the long green padded bench seat next to Mica, who was her boyfriend. Her words, not mine. I wasn’t all that sure Mica was down with being in a committed relationship at six years old, to be honest. She started chattering at the boy instantly, and he bobbed his blond head up and down. Kyleen liked to talk. She got that from her mother as well as me. I liked to think I was a friendly guy, polite, kind to animals and kids and the elderly. I didn’t smoke, drink, or eat red meat. So why did Baskoro Huda hate me so much?

And why the hell was the man back inside my skull? Shaking free from the specter of my rival, I waved at Kyleen, who was too busy being bossy to notice, her mouth still running at Mica.

“Good luck tonight,” Charlie called as I backed off the lower step.

The doors closed and the bright yellow bus took off. Kyleen was far too involved telling Mica what to do to wave at her poor father standing on the corner. How had she gotten so big so fast? Seems like just a week ago she’d been handed to me by her mother without so much as a “take good care of her” or “I’ll see you two someday” which, hey, would have been a lie since the woman had let out for parts unknown. You’d think she would have at least contacted us on birthdays and/or holidays, but whatever. We didn’t need her. Kyleen was my daughter and while she didn’t have much family, she had me and Aunt Zada.

I turned and ran into several women, all mothers of kids on the bus, who were sending off vibes that made me edgy. I felt like poor Mica as the kind but overwhelming horde of females closed in on me. Single dads who were jocks and not total trolls were pretty popular among the single slash divorced women in this neighborhood. I’d not seen them when we arrived. Had they been hiding in the wildly overgrown rhododendron bushes in Mrs. Laycock’s front yard?

“Ladies,” I tossed out with all the debonair I possessed. They closed in like piranhas hearing a monkey falling into the Amazon River. I’d been bi long enough to know that I was in their sights for potential boyfriend material. Yep, me and Mica were in the same boat. “I’d love to stay and talk about reading rewards at the local ice cream parlor, but I have to get home and pack. Road trip today. Have a good one!”

I ducked and weaved around the local single women and made it back to my house with only one pie and an invite to a picnic next weekend. Aunt Zada was awake and making coffee when I stepped into the kitchen. Her titter made me frown.

“Ah, so Charlene from down the street made you another pie. That’s the fourth one in two weeks. That woman is hot to trot.” She nodded at her own words, then pulled off her sleeping cap, revealing silver curls laying tight to one side of her head.

“She’s trying way too hard. Besides, I’m really only low-level into women. Also, who has time?” I placed the pie on the counter. “Do they not realize hockey season starts today?”

“Honey, all they care about is snaring a beautiful Black man in his prime who likes kids.”

“Well, they’re wasting all their flour and cherry pie filling. I’m kind of burned out on women with agendas.”

“Good thing you swing both ways then or your right hand would be too tired to catch pucks.”

“Aunt Zada, the things you say!” I choked out and laughed. The woman was a pistol, and the only member of my family that had stood by me when I’d come out as bisexual when I was in college. She’d been the lone soul that had loved me enough to accept me as myself then had leapt in when I’d found myself with an unexpected child and no partner to help raise her. The woman had uprooted herself to move to Wilkes-Barre with me and Kyleen when I’d been picked up by the Comets. When I say that my daughter and I would have been in deep, deep shit without her, it is not an exaggeration. “You want me to take the pie to the barn?”

“No, I’d like you to leave it here, but my doctor would scold me if I ate a whole pie in two days,” she said over her shoulder as she stirred some cream into her coffee. Her summer robe was bright yellow and green, with big flowers, and it matched her sleeping scarf. She disliked slippers so she was barefooted. “Take it to the boys.”

So, that was what I did. An hour later, I arrived at the Filkes Mortgage Arena with a cherry pie. As soon as I climbed onto the waiting charter bus, the guys zoned in on the pie like beagles on a rabbit scent.

“God bless Charlene and her baking skills!” Crispy shouted as he removed the pie from my hand and then curled over it like a lion protecting a fresh kill. After I stowed my overnight bag in the overhead, I sat down across the aisle from our team captain, and my best friend on the team, and settled in for the ride to Watkins Glen. “You ever going to give her a chance to be wooed by the best goalie in our division?”

“Doubtful.” I sighed as I tucked my travel pillow behind my neck. “I’m not in the market for a long-term anything.”

Crispy—also known as Lee Crispen—slapped at Tom Finnerty when the defenseman tried to jab a spork through the crack of the seat in front of Crispy to spear some pie. I mean, come on man, at least get the foil off the pie first.

“I will leave you bloodied,” Crispy snarled, which made Tom howl in amusement. “Jerks with their sporks.” Crispy placed the pie on the empty seat beside him. Most of us had to sit with someone, but the captain had special rights. I glanced to the left to see my road buddy and fellow goalie, Ooni Aalto, napping with his gold head resting on the tinted window. Ooni was a good sort, affable, and easy to travel with. We roomed together and while he was kind of a slob, he did pick up after himself so I could overlook the wet towels tossed over the dressers. “Also, I never said anything about something long term.”

“Nah, I’m not really into that shit anymore. I have a kid, man, and I want to be a good example. The next person I bring home will be someone that I have feelings for, not some random hookup. I want Kyleen to see that her daddy has morals.”

“Good on you, News,” Crispy replied as he reached over the aisle to rap knuckles. “I wish I had that kind of moralistic determination. I see a pretty woman or a sexy dude and I’m all over that.”

“Having a kid changes everything,” I told the only other out player on my team. Were there more queer Comets? I had a few suspicions.

“Yeah, I can imagine. Hey! Get your damn dirty spork out of my pie!” Crispy bellowed as we pulled out of the parking lot and headed north. With a pie war raging across the aisle, I pulled out my phone, opened my audio book app, and dug out my earbuds. The ride was a short one, about two hours and forty minutes. We’d have enough time to check into our hotel, nap and eat, and report to the Schaffer Salt Arena for the game at seven p.m. I could feel the pulse of excitement curling around inside my belly. This was going to be my year. The year the Comets won the Calder. The year the pros finally took notice of me. The year that my life was going to be exactly what I dreamed it would be. All I had to do was beat Baskoro Huda. It was an all-out war in the eastern division and only one team would be victorious.

I cued up Ken Dryden’s book and slid in my earbuds. It was time to get serious about this game we played, and it all started tonight.