"I'm going to go out with some teammates for a bit tonight. Not sure when I'll be home...probably late."
"Roger dodger," she says merrily, and because my eyes don't naturally roll at her goofiness, I realize I'm starting to get used to her dorky nature. "Want to speak to Ben?"
"Yup," I acknowledge, and I hear her pull the phone away from her mouth and call out, "Hey, Ben...put down that stick of dynamite you're playing with and come talk to your daddy."
That causes me to issue a half-smile/half-grimace.
I'm torn between being amused at her humor, because there's no doubt she's trying to get a smile out of me, and annoyed that she references me as his "daddy." Ben has always called me "Dad," but Kate always says "Daddy," because that's apparently what all southern girls call their fathers. She doesn't mean anything by it, I know that logically. She's just going with her habit...a southern custom, so to speak. And now Ben has started calling me "Daddy" lately and it actually shames me that I find irritation in it rather than thinking it's cute.
Yup...it irritates the shit out of me. But then I give myself a mental slap and make myself try to think of the positives that Kate brings. Such as that while she focuses most of her energies on Ben, she also gladly steps away from him when I'm home, seeming to sense my need to also provide a caretaker role. I grudgingly admit she goes out of her way not to step on my toes as his father, and she always defers to me in all child-rearing matters.
"Hey, Daddy," Ben says as he takes the phone, and fuck...is that a little southern accent he's mimicking? I grit my teeth over my new moniker.
"How's it going, buddy?" I ask him gently, so he can't hear the disgruntlement in my voice.
"Good," he says simply. "Kate and I are playing with Play-Doh. She showed me how to make a snake with it and said we should hide it in your bed to scare you tonight. That would be funny, wouldn't it?"
I hear Kate mutter in the background, "That was a secret, Ben."
And there's just no stopping it.
I laugh...genuinely...pleased to see how Kate still tries to involve me even when I'm absent from home. "That would have been funny for sure."
Ben then whispers into the phone, "Maybe I should hide it in Kate's bed."
I laugh harder now, because that would be fucking funny. I love my kid. "Tell you what, if you promise to keep it a secret, we'll buy a fake snake that looks even more real than the Play-Doh one, and we'll hide it in her bed. But it has to be a secret, okay?"
"Okay," he whispers as he giggles.
"So, listen...I'm going to go out with some friends tonight, so I won't be home to tuck you into bed. Is that okay?"
"Okay," Ben says, completely unfazed, and it makes me feel better to know he's seemingly secure enough with this. I've been home every single night since I was released from the hospital following the accident and I think he's forgotten what it was like before when I would be on the road traveling a lot.
"Good boy," I tell him. "Okay, I've got to go. I love you and I'll see you in the morning."
"Love you too, Daddy," he says.
"Dad," I correct him automatically, but he's already handed the phone off to Kate.
"I swear the snake was Ben's idea, not mine," she says when she gets back on.
I can't fucking help it...the corners of my mouth tip upward involuntarily. While Kate's main duties are to take care of Ben and her secondary duties are to help me take care of the house, she's also apparently put it on her chore list to try to make me laugh. She is a complete and utter dork sometimes, always dancing around and making up stupid songs to sing to Ben. She makes up a different nickname for me and Ben each day, refusing to call us by our real names unless we acknowledge her use of the nickname at least once. Ben always gives in because he thinks they're hilarious. Just yesterday he was Mr. Tadpole Climbing a Beanpole and I was Miss Sparkly Skates.
Yesterday, she asked, "Hey, Miss Sparkly Skates," which caused Ben to double over in laughter, "I'm doing a grocery run today; anything special you want?"
I refused to answer her, instead continuing to surf on my laptop while I sat at the kitchen table.
"Hey...Miss Sparkly Skates...I'm talking to you," she called out in a singsong voice.
I took a sip of coffee and ignored Ben's conspiratorial giggle.
"Hey...Miss Sparkly Skates...what's wrong? Did you lose some rhinestones or something?"
I looked up at her and she just stared at me from behind those thick eyeglass frames, her head tilted to the side in anticipation.
"More bottled water," I muttered, and bent my head back down, trying hard not to smile and thus encourage her. I didn't miss the high fives she and Ben exchanged over my defeat.
I take a look over at Alex and Garrett pulling their towels and shower kits from their lockers. Maybe I shouldn't go out tonight. What if something happens to Ben? He gets scared? Or needs me for something? What if he can't go to sleep because I'm not there to read him his favorite story, The Giving Tree, before I tuck him in?
"You there, Hell on Skates?" Kate asks, breaking into my insecure thoughts, and I swing my gaze back to the front of my locker.
"Much better than Miss Sparkly Skates," I say drily. "Are you sure you're okay by yourself with Ben tonight?"
"We'll be fine," she assures me confidently. "Besides, I don't let him play with dynamite after dinner."
I suppress the snort that wants to break forth and instead tell her, "If anything happens, call me. Also don't hesitate to call Michelle either."
This time it's Kate who snorts, rather loudly and unladylike, at the mention of my neighbor. She clearly wasn't impressed with her when I introduced them this past weekend, and I totally get why. Michelle was...well, sort of a bitch to Kate, which is not surprising. Michelle is always sort of bitchy to most people, with the exception of Gina, and of course, after Gina died, she became much nicer to me.
I mean a lot nicer.
Almost...too nice.
Not to Kate, though. When I introduced them, Michelle slowly rolled her gaze over Kate, taking in the baggy clothes she favored wearing, the hair pulled up and away severely from her face, and the thick-framed glasses she sported. She gave her a plastic smile and ignored Kate's hand that was outstretched to her in greeting. Instead, she turned to me and said, "If she needs any help or guidance or you have any concerns, you know I'm here for you and Ben."
Now, as a man who has pretty much ignored everything and anything around him for the past four months and has been basically immune to the world, even I was appalled at her snub to Kate. I felt the weird need to stand up for Kate, so I just said, "Kate's doing a great job. She has it all covered."
Michelle is a piece of work. She's twice divorced, having dumped husband number two more than a year ago because he was cheating on her. It didn't make her give up on men, though. Gina told me that within a week of the papers being signed, Michelle proudly stated that she was already on the hunt for husband number three. Since she was getting up in advanced age--to her, turning thirty was like a death sentence or something--she decided to get some enhancements to help in her quest.
Gina and I couldn't help but laugh as she first got breast implants, then cheek implants, and then hair extensions, and finally capped it all off with a new slutty wardrobe. She pranced around the neighborhood in low-cut shirts, Daisy Duke shorts, and high heels...in the fucking wintertime.
I shit you not.
Looked fucking ridiculous, but Gina was partial to her, and Ben and Beau got along great, so I put up with their friendship and tolerated her with a friendly smile.
I'll admit she's become frustratingly more annoying in the last few months, taking it upon herself to cook for me and Ben a few times a week, which in my estimation gave her an excuse to come over with Beau and try to flirt. Luckily, I was so immersed in depression and guilt, most of it slid right off me. But lately, as I've been trying desperately to find things to grasp on to and open myself back up to life, it's been grating on me.
I sure as shit am not looking to become husband number three to her or anyone. Hell, I couldn't even bring myself to become husband number one to Gina, and just thinking that makes a fresh wave of culpability slam through me. That I couldn't even commit myself enough to Gina to make an honest woman of her.
Shaking my head, I clear my throat, which has tightened up. "Listen," I tell Kate. "I could be really late, so don't worry. I'll just see you both in the morning."
"You got it, HOS," she says smartly. "And that's H-O-S...Hell. On. Skates."
This time I laugh, and I welcome it. It chases the guilt away for a few blessed moments. I disconnect and toss my phone into my gym bag that sits at the bottom of my locker.
I proceed to get out of my practice gear, throwing the sweaty uniform in the massive rolling laundry cart that sits in the corner of the locker room and which the equipment manager will handle washing later. I grab my towel and shower kit and walk into the showers. It's filled with my teammates, laughing and joking as they wash the sweat of a good practice and an even better season off of themselves.
I let it all in...the camaraderie, the joking, the unity and bonding that happen among a close-knit team. These men were all there for me when Gina died. They all supported me through my recovery and never once made me feel as if I wouldn't be back out on the ice with them one day.
Next to Ben, the Cold Fury team is the only thing that is giving me the fortitude to want to fight my way out of misery and try to lead a happy life again.
Chapter 6
Kate
I close the book I'm reading and place it on the nightstand beside my bed, not able to get immersed in the sweeping epic romance of a lifetime. Or some crap like that.
Normally, I'm a true romantic at heart. You may not know it by looking at me, but I am the type of woman who hopes her knight in shining armor comes to sweep her up one day. I know it's a long shot, especially since I don't do anything to encourage said knight to look my way.
Quite the opposite, actually.
Ever since I reached the age of thirteen, I went out of my way to make myself unnoticeable to the opposite sex. This came on the heels of being cornered at my locker at school one afternoon in a deserted hallway by four older boys. Puberty came early to my body and I filled out on top in such a way as to catch the boys' attention. Because we were so poor, I had no choice in the clothing I wore, which consisted of only Kelly's hand-me-down stuff, and because she was the type that liked boys at an early age, her stuff tended to be tighter and more revealing. I'm thinking that's maybe why she got pregnant with her first child when she was sixteen.
At any rate, the boys scared a few years off my life by getting suggestive and grabby with me, making lewd comments about my breasts. When one of them tried to drag me into the boys' bathroom, I kicked him in the nuts and screamed my head off, which caused one of the teachers to come barreling out of her classroom.
I couldn't help the tears in my eyes because I was scared out of my mind, and with a shaking voice, I told her what happened.
And do you know what she said to me?
She said, "Well, if you wouldn't wear clothes like that, the boys wouldn't notice."
And you know what else?
I wasn't even mad at her. Even at thirteen, I was smart enough to realize she had a very good point.
From that day forward, I borrowed my daddy's Tshirts and sweatshirts to camouflage my shape, I didn't wear makeup, and I certainly didn't call attention to my hair. The glasses couldn't be helped. I needed them to read, but I also realized soon enough they were equally effective as a deterrent, so I kept them on at all times except when I was sleeping.
My boy problem was solved. What I didn't have in the looks department, I more than made up for by being friendly, outgoing, and funny at school. So I was sort of popular with a wide range of classmates...as popular as a severely poor and nerdy kid can be. My high school years weren't too totally horrible, and I survived by looking on the bright side of things.
Always.
Unfortunately, by the time I got to college and realized that maybe I'd like the attention of some of the boys, and that my white knight would never find me the way I looked, I really didn't know what to do with myself. I had no clue how to style my hair or wear makeup, I had no money to buy pretty clothes, and I was almost depressed with the futility of it all.
But then I found out something else about college.
There were so many boys--I mean men--that by the grace of sheer numbers, there were some that were interested in me, just the way I was. At first, granted, they were interested in my brain. I had a grand total of two boyfriends while going to college the last five years, and I met both of them in upper-level classes where the students were taking their schooling seriously.
The first one, Kelton, didn't last long. He was my first kiss and my first trip to second base, which I found to be wildly exciting, but scary too. My inability to go to third is what killed the relationship. He didn't seem to mind my lack of style and my generally dorky ways, but he did mind that I wouldn't put out after a month of dating.
My second boyfriend stayed with me for a year. His name was Anthony and he was a brilliant mathematician. He was also cute in a studious way and was utterly charming to me. We bonded quickly over late-night study sessions and philosophical arguments. Anthony was a virgin, same as me, so both of us were very unsure as to how our relationship should progress. It developed slowly, over time, and eventually we used a twelve-pack of beer to help us bust through our reservations and finally my hymen. It wasn't a pleasant experience for me that first time, but I will say it got better over time.
Unfortunately, unlike Kelton, Anthony ultimately did have a problem with the way I dressed and the silly way I acted to compensate for my other shortcomings. Actually, it wasn't so much that he had a problem with it as it was his parents, two local prominent doctors, had a problem with it. I came to quickly realize that I was an embarrassment within their social circles because my clothes were cheap and my accent was too backwoods. We did not end on good terms, but on a happier note...I ran into Kelton about a month after I broke up with Anthony, and I ended up having sex with him just to show him how far I'd come. It was good...really good, but I never went back for seconds. I knew without a doubt Kelton wasn't my white knight.
And thus was the extent of my romantic experience with men. I suppose it's why I usually loved to get lost in a good romance novel, because it would let me escape into the fantasy that I hoped to make come true one day. I'm the girl that believes in Cinderella...except I'd prefer to get my master's first and prove to myself I can be a success all on my own. Then he can move in and sweep me off my feet. Maybe by then I'll be making enough money to actually put some care into my clothes, get a good haircut, and splurge on some fancy department-store makeup.
My stomach grumbles and I think maybe I'm not interested in my book because I'm actually hungry. I ate a hefty enough dinner with Ben. I made tomato soup and grilled cheese, a meal that was an absolute luxury to someone like me.
Zack had made it clear when he put me in charge of the grocery shopping and meals that he wasn't a picky eater, nor was Ben, and I could make whatever I liked and they'd be happy with it. That turned out to be true enough, and so this past week I've eaten better than I ever have in my life. The best part of all is if I get hungry late at night, I can just go down to the kitchen and get a snack.
A snack!
Absolutely sinful to my way of living.
Yup...a snack sounds good. A bowl of cereal or maybe some popcorn. No, ice cream! Definitely ice cream.
Rolling out of my bed, I glance at the clock. Almost ten P.M. I take my glasses off, fold them, and hook one of the arms into the neckline of my top so it hangs over the front of my chest. When I'm alone, I remove my glasses when I'm not reading, but I always try to remember to carry them with me in case I need them.
Zack had texted me about an hour ago to check in. I assured him the dynami
te was all packed up and Ben was sleeping soundly. I hoped that produced a smile on his face. It's my goal every day to try to get one. I fail miserably most times, but sometimes he just can't help himself.
He merely texted back that it would probably be really late before he got home and that he'd see us in the morning.
Glancing down at my outfit, I hesitate before leaving my room. I had already changed into my pajamas, which are basically a tank top and matching boy shorts that Anthony gave me for Christmas a few years ago. I would never step foot out of this room if there was a chance I'd run into Ben or Zack, but the chances of that seem small. I've realized that Ben is a sound sleeper and he won't stir until close to seven in the morning, and Zack shouldn't be home for a few hours yet.
My mission to get food should have me in and out of the kitchen and back in the safety of my room in less than two minutes.
Decision made, I make a quick break for it. As I trot down the back staircase that leads into the kitchen, I take both hands and lightly scratch at my head, sifting through my thick wavy hair. It's such a relief to take it out of the tight bun I wear every day, but it's just easier to do that than try to worry about what to do with the massive length that comes down to my mid-back. I need to break down and get it cut, but haircuts cost money and that seems like a frivolous expense to me right now. Besides, I'm able to cut my own bangs myself, and that's at least some effort I put toward my hair. I still keep my bangs really long--just down to my eyebrow line--but I keep them pulled back with a headband because I'm not quite sure what to do with them, yet I can't seem to successfully grow them out either.
I wonder if all women have these problems. I really wouldn't know since I don't have any close female friends. I've always sort of been more interested in books and my studies than I have been in developing relationships. Most of the friends I do have are ones I developed through study groups--like Mark--or who are going into the same field as me.
The lighting in the kitchen is dim. Zack keeps on only the lighting underneath the cupboards at night, which perfectly illuminates the counter to the right of the freezer that holds the ice cream. I don't need much to be able to scoop out some Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie, a treat I first indulged in when I saw some in the freezer a few days ago. I thought I had literally died and gone to heaven.
Zack Page 5