by RJ Scott
Thankfully, we didn’t end up in a federal pen somewhere for sharing secrets with Russians. There had been this opera singer, some friend of a friend of Stan’s from the homeland, who had sung a song from Madame Butterfly that had left some of us hockey players slightly stunned and a little weepy. No one would admit that they’d teared up over some dumb opera song, so that went to the grave with us. They did hoot and holler and slap my back repeatedly when Mads and I made the big announcement.
It had been the best night.
Now, sitting in the desert, staring out of the window as I worked on strengthening my left side from brain to fingertips, I felt the tug of homesickness.
Midway through January and here I was still, working my ass off, alone, Declan having returned to his team two weeks ago. I missed him. He’d been someone my own age whom I could hang with, but he wanted to be back on the turf, the gridiron was in his blood like the ice was in mine. I did not fault the man. I was chomping at the bit myself.
Patience was hard to come by as my recovery sped along. Every day I’d ask the therapists and doctors when I was getting sprung. And every day they’d reply with something meant to inspire me to stick with the program. They cautioned against leaving early, which I could do at any time. This wasn’t a prison. There were no locks on the doors. But—and there was that big but—if I wanted to heal those pathways the brain bleed had destroyed, I needed to stay put and put the time in here. So I did. I put the time in and then some. I missed Mads, though, and the team, but mostly Mads. I sorely missed hockey despite glutting myself on Railers games, Raptors games, hell, any NHL game I could find, and streaming all the OU hockey games. There was a massive part of Tennant Rowe that was missing.
Dedication and hard work. That was what was needed to get that chunk of me back in place. So I worked. And I dedicated myself. And I sweat and cursed and threw things and laughed and cheered myself on because…
Because I had one hell of a wonderful life ahead with my soon-to-be husband. I was damn sure going to be one hundred percent healthy for the rest of our time spent as one whole instead of two halves. Like that old 80’s song that Mads liked to hum in the shower, our future was so bright we were breaking out the shades.
Epilogue
Jared
When it came down to it, I had absolutely no say in Ten getting back on the ice. The doctors said they were cautiously sure, which sounded like medical bullshit to me. Management had all kinds of legal documentation in place to keep him safe, but that surely was their way of covering their backs. Sponsors had major advertising in place. Even TenWatch was all in for Ten skating with the team.
I wanted him to stay at home. In bed preferably.
I may have come over a little too protective, and it came back to bite me in the ass when I found Ten rummaging in our drawer of medical things. He’d placed two bags of cotton balls on the counter, and he was still looking for whatever he needed. I immediately went to his side because he still had issues with remembering odd things, and some of the bigger words took him a while to form.
“What are you looking for?” I asked, in my best I’m-not-interfering tone.
“More cotton balls. Or bubble wrap, I don’t care.”
Was he hurt? Bleeding? My chest tightened, and I did a visual search of every part of him I could see. Why bubble wrap? He wasn’t making sense.
“Ten, what’s wrong?” I finally asked when I couldn’t hold back anymore.
He very deliberately shut the drawer, turned to face me, then crossed his arms over his chest. “You keep wanting to wrap me up somewhere safe where I won’t get hurt.”
“Ten—“
“Let me finish. Seriously, there aren’t enough cotton balls or bubble wrap to stop me getting hurt again, Mads. It’s the game.”
“I can’t help being worried.”
You can worry, yes. But ask people to watch out for me and not hurt me? That’s a big fat no.”
Oh shit, how did he find out?
“I don’t know what you mean.” I was lying. I knew exactly what he meant, but him getting hurt wasn’t just all about him. There was me as well, the scared lover who wanted to protect his man.
“I know you called Coach Benton last night.”
Fuck.
“I know you told him to talk about our Defensemen and ask them to protect me.” He raised an eyebrow, and I stopped because there was no point in lying to Ten. He knew all my tells.
“I just wanted…”
He held his hand up to stop me.
“Also, I know you have individually asked at least seven of the team to look out for me, to which Stan immediately replied directly to me… wait, let me get my phone.” He pulled out his cell and read from a text. “I’m known peoples for putting warnings on NHL website for not hurt Tennant Rowe.”
I was busted.
“I’m sorry, Ten. I can’t help that I’m worried.”
He softened, cradling my face then. “At home we are lovers, going to get married. Here you can worry over me and love me and make me breakfast every morning. But at the rink, I need to do my job. You understand that? Right?”
His speech was so much better, no stumbling over the words. He sounded so completely determined that I had nothing to say back to him. Rationally, I knew that he needed to get back, that he was always going to be a skater. He was like a kitten desperate to get out of the house, so utterly determined and very nearly like the old Ten again.
I grasped his hand, the feel of the ring on his finger giving me a jolt of love mixed with worry. “When I sat next to that hospital bed, I thought they were going to say you were dying, Ten. I hate that I can’t separate the two, but I love you, and if you let me worry just a little, then we can do this.”
“But no telling people to look after me.”
I sighed noisily. “Does that mean I need to cancel the bribes to the other teams?”
He laughed, then kissed me, and I wanted to stay right there in the kitchen and do this with him forever. But I couldn’t, which was why I was now on the bench, watching practice and seeing my lover out on the ice in a no-contact jersey, practicing with his team for the first time since the accident. There were flashes of old Ten, a deke and spin, a poke check on Stan, laughter as he put home a goal on Stan at one end, then caught the bouncing puck as it squirted out from the net, then traveled the entire length of the rink, avoiding all of our D-men and scoring against an unsuspecting Bryan. We kept the practice light for him. He needed to work on his strength, but he had no fear.
Even after what happened, he hadn’t lost his confidence.
I have to believe in him as he believes in himself.
I found him after practice, sitting next to Stan, listening intently to the big man about something that had them both smiling.
“There is news from Russia bad news mix up with good news. Many cousins over dies. Much bad news. Leaves his children with no family. So much more bad news. I go to fetch children, bring to America and makes ours to raise like American children with much clothes and phones and teenage bad angst. So big much happy news!”
“That sounds great,” Ten replied and punched Stan in the arm.
“You be godfather for our new children? Spoil them, raise them if Erik and I die in tragic scuba-diving accident?”
“I’d be honored,” Ten said, emotion making his voice crack.
I opened my mouth to ask if Stan and Erik had ever been scuba diving, but Ten noticed me standing there and grinned widely, high on excitement, about what I’d just heard him being asked, and probably the rush of being back on the ice.
“I’m going to be a godfather,” he announced, “and you know what else? Trainers are pleased with my progress, Doc is ecstatic, I feel great, and I’ll be back on the team in March, I’m sure of it.”
And knowing my stubborn fiancé? He probably will be.
THE END
Stan
Watching snowflakes flutter by the window, I was struck by how beautiful snow was and yet how
deadly it could be. Like now, it was soft and fluffy and would blow off the wings as soon as the 747 I was seated in took off. But there were snows that could cripple an airplane, sticking and freezing on the wings. Such was how many things were. Such was how my homeland could be. Russia was a beautiful country, rich with history and stunning cathedrals. The people were proud and vibrant and loving. But there was a dangerous side to Russia, one that might make my return risky. It was not a good time for gay men in Russia. The government called us terrible names, jailed us, or worse… simply for loving someone of the same gender.
I glanced at the flight attendant helping the other first-class passengers find their seats and stow their carry-on bags. He’d told me his name was Howard. He was older, distinguished, slim, with salt-and-pepper hair. His accent was British, very pretty, and he fussed over his passengers like a mother goose does her goslings. He’d assured me that, once we were in the air, he would come with the drink cart. Generally, I did not drink much. On New Year’s Eve of course, but other than special occasions, athletes skipped alcohol. Erik was not much on boozing it up. We were happy homebodies.
I looked back out at the snowy airfield. Erik. I missed my beloved already, and the plane was still sitting at Harrisburg International Airport taking on passengers. I shifted in my seat, glad for the leg room that first class gave me. Also, the seat was plush, the blanket thick and warm, and the food and drinks would be above par. Sadly, I would be enjoying all of this luxury alone. Erik had to stay home with Noah. There were hockey games to play, a nanny to find, and paperwork to have in order when I returned with our new children. The team wasn’t happy to lose me for the time required to make this trip, but they had given me leave to go. My stomach flipped in excitement and apprehension yet again. Ever since the call had come during the night two weeks ago, all of us had been bouncing between terror, anxiety, and joy.
Funny how a man’s life can change with just one phone call.
I’d been sleeping soundly the night the news had come, Erik in my arms, our bodies tacky with sweat and semen. My eyes had felt as if they had just closed when Elvis started singing Hound Dog over and over. I had found a new ringtone app called ”Elvis Ringtones” and picked a new song every week. Elvis had released many, many songs, so I could have a new ringtone whenever I wished. That night, it was Hound Dog, and it played repeatedly. Erik had slid over me, mumbling, and grabbed my phone off my nightstand.
“It’s for you. Someone saying something in Russian,” he’d grumbled.
I slung an arm over his back to keep his belly pressed to mine. He let his head drop to my shoulder and his leg shimmy between my thighs. Perfection, I remember thinking before I put the cell to my ear and everything went upside down and inside and out. Is there an ”and” in that saying? I shook my head. No, I didn’t think so. Inside out. Yes, inside out is right. So yes, the call had come through, the line raspy with static as the service in the small town I had grown up in wasn’t good.
It was bad news. My fourth cousin on my father’s side, Anatoli, had been killed in a terrible accident involving a truck and him on a motorcycle. The two children he had looked after, children of another cousin, had been left alone upon his death, as their parents had died several years earlier. Their father from cancer and their mother from alcohol poisoning. She had been just a young woman, but her drinking was bad, as it is for many in the backwoods of Russia. When I was a child, I would look at the people of my small village and see only gray faces filled with great hardships and bleak futures. Which was why I had worked so hard to get out and make sure my sister and mother did as well. I did not want my mother to die before her time, her life dreary and sad.
The children, it seemed, had now been left to me, or maybe the better explanation was that I had been named as their next-in-line guardian. The poor children had been passed from pillar to post and had never known a stable family. The message was clear—could I come now to Leskovo and fetch them before they went into the government system. It seemed no one in the family could afford two more mouths to feed. I had sat up, stunned and shaken, unable to think of the proper words to say back to one of my uncles. I’d had no knowledge of my cousin naming me as a second guardian of his children if anything should happen to Anatoli, and I had told Erik that, after I’d blurted out some reply to Uncle Maxim about giving me time to make plans and to not allow the little ones to go to the government.
“I do not know how the government treats little ones with no parents, but if they treat them as bad as they do gay people,” I mumbled as Erik hurried to dress and find me something to pull on. “I go now.”
“Stan,” he said a moment later as I pulled a pair of jeans over my ass, “I’m sure they’ll be fine for a few days until we sort through all of this. You can’t just fly to Russia and toss the kids into a plane headed for America.”
“Why not? I am chosen next guardian by father. I go now. Bring home. We adopt. Make them ours. We want more children; you say so too. Now we will have three!”
I padded to the closet to find a suitcase. Erik slid between the closet door and me. “Stan, you can’t go off halfcocked. This is going to be a tangled-up bureaucratic mess to wade through. We’ll need a lawyer, probably an adoption representative, maybe state and federal permission. Things between the US and Russia aren’t exactly stable right now. And there’s the fact that the Russian government knows you’re in a relationship with a man here in the States.”
“Pah. I do not care. The Kremlin can suck my fat cock.”
Erik rolled his pretty eyes. “Stan, the point is you can’t just run over to Russia and expect to come home with two kids the next day. There’s protocol that we’re going to have to follow. And two kids? I mean, at once? Who don’t speak a lick of English? What are their names? How old are they? What sex are they? Are they healthy? Are they immunized? I don’t want any kids around Noah who haven’t been immunized. What if they’re mean to other kids or pets? What if you get over there and the government is waiting, and they lock you up to make a show of you, or they take you to the top of some high fucking office building in Moscow and throw you off just because you’re—”
“Hush now, hush.” I pulled him into my arms and held him for a long, long time. He clung to me, fingers digging into the skin on my lower back, his nose buried in my throat. I kissed his golden curls as he sucked in a long breath, then slowly let it out. “Nothing bad happens to us. We are strong family. Much love. This will be good.” I ran a hand up and down his back. “We will make this good, you see. Big family means much more love and strength.”
The soft rumbling of the plane rolling out to taxi jarred me from the memory. I fastened my seatbelt and turned off my phone. Howard checked on me, smiling and patting my shoulder, and then went on to make sure the others were obeying the rules. The flight was long, over eleven hours, and would afford me plenty of time to dwell upon things. Such as my mother’s reaction the following day when she had learned of our fourth cousin’s death. She said she’d never liked him, but she had wept softly for the children, holding Noah on her lap. Then I’d had to tell her about me being the chosen adult to take them.
It made sense to me and to Erik once we’d returned to bed the next night and talked things out as best we could. I was the most successful one in our big family. My cousins all knew I played professional hockey, and that I was now studying to be an American citizen. They had seen the images of my house, my car, my family here in Pennsylvania. I’d not pushed my wealth under their noses, but even just sharing pictures on social media, my family back in Leskovo would comment on the luxuries they saw. So, me being listed to take Anatoli’s children if there was no one else made sense. Also, who didn’t want to immigrate to America? This was the country of opportunity! The Statue of Liberty said so. She called to the weak and frail of other countries to come to her shores. I loved her so much, Lady Liberty. Every time we played in New York City I went to see her, and I thanked her for taking me and my family into her
country.
So, me being picked seemed reasonable. I had been chosen, and I would fulfill my obligation to my family and those children. Mama had broken down when I’d told her I was returning to Russia as soon as we could arrange the legal things. Erik had been tasked with the paperwork. He was well spoken, his English smooth, and his bearing that of a prince. I was big and scary, and while my English was wonderfully better, it was still bumpy sometimes.
I’d hushed her as I had Erik the night before, assuring her that I would be welcomed back to Russia with open arms. She’d not thought so, but she had quieted when I reminded her of those two children—a girl and a boy, we had learned—who had no one to love them.
“They will need much love. They never really knew their parents, and now they have lost a guardian. They need more even than Erik and I can give them,” I’d whispered to her in Russian as I’d knelt beside the rocking chair in Noah’s room and held her. “They will need a sweet gam to tuck them in when their pappa's are not to home and bake pryaniki for them.”
She’d patted my cheeks and sniffled, her chin coming up a bit. “I will do whatever they need, but you must promise to come home to me, Stanislav.” She’d stared at me with eyes the same stormy color as mine. “You bring the babies home. Safe. All three of you. I will work hard with Erik to make the house ready for them.”
“You are a good woman.” I’d pulled her to my chest and kissed her damp cheek.
“And you, my son, are a good man.”
The plane began to roll down the runway. I felt the pressure against my chest as we lifted off. Turning my head to the left, I looked out of the window and watched Harrisburg slowly get smaller and smaller.
“I will be back soon,” I whispered to Erik, then pulled the shade down and patted my passport and the packet of legal papers riding in the interior pocket of my winter coat. Never had mere paper felt so heavy.