by RJ Scott
“Let’s go.”
Sherwin-Williams was quiet, but that didn’t mean the Railers’ phenom that was Tennant Madsen-Rowe didn’t get attention the moment he stepped inside. He’d worn a cap pulled down, neither of us were wearing Railers’ gear, but this was the face of the Railers, and it started as soon as the greeter, a young girl with braces whose badge said Ella, welcomed us and offered us help.
“I’m so sorry that you didn’t get further,” Ella shook Ten’s hand. “That last goal was wrong, it should never have been allowed. Poor Stan was steamrollered.”
He gave her an autograph and chatted for a while as I slunk over to the paint aisle with my anonymous-self blending in with a multitude of color cards and paint cans. I located the lemon fast and added that and all the extra bits, rollers, trays, into the cart. I was halfway through checking the suitability and toxicity of various gloss paints when someone stumbled into me. I glanced up, expecting an apology, but a big bear of a man was looming over me, a can of paint in his hand and a nasty, twisted expression on his face.
“Call yourself a fucking team?” he shouted, his breath nothing more than fumes. “Fucking no one can shoot straight on your fucking rainbow shit, no wonder you let a pissant team mess you up sideways. Too busy fucking in the locker room.”
I attempted to de-escalate and step back a little, but I was trapped between the cart and the paints and the drunk man, and realized the only way to deal with this was to gather myself, and pull all my NHL experience to the fore. I tilted my chin, drew back my shoulders, and decided that silk-covered steel diplomacy was the best way to go.
“If you could please move, sir.” I added the honorific even though what I wanted was to shove a fist in his face. Respect first, even in the face of bigotry.
He loomed again, snarling, and I readied myself to hip check him the fuck away from me, but he abruptly sprawled on the floor, and Ten was there, a security guard in front of him. Ten’s expression was focused, and he yanked the cart away and stood between me and the incoherent shouts from the man on the floor.
“You okay?” he asked, his tone urgent.
“Yeah, I’m okay. He’s drunk.”
“He’s a fucking asshole,” Ten muttered and turned to head, where I didn’t know, maybe to sit on my adversary, who knew? I grabbed his arm and held him.
“It’s okay, Ten, nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”
Ten rounded on me, his eyes narrowed, a ferocious expression on his face.
“We shouldn’t have to!” he snapped. “Charlotte shouldn’t have to.”
And I didn’t have anything to say, because he was right.
Chapter Six
Ten
October
It had been a month since the showdown with the bigot at the paint store, yet it lingered at the fringes of my mind. While I was on the ice the worry stayed in the shadows, but when I lay in bed at night next to my husband, the concern returned. What kind of intolerant world were we bringing Charlotte into? Were Jared and I being selfish not to consider that aspect of our desire to have a child?
The worry dogged me, robbing me of rest, the whispers growing louder with each passing day. And since I couldn’t stay on the ice twenty-four seven, I spent a lot of time stressed—until the day of our first game against Philly.
We arrived in the City of Brotherly Love around noon, the train ride less than two hours. Trent had made us reservations at his favorite French bistro on Walnut Street. Over a late lunch where I’d picked at my warm shrimp salad, I fell back into mulling over the future.
“Why are you not clapping?” Stan asked, driving an elbow into my side.
I grunted, dropped my fork, and applauded whatever had just taken place at the table. Dieter and Trent were kissing each other.
“What happened?” I asked on a whisper.
“They have set wedding date,” Stan replied, his dark eyebrows knotted. Then he stood. All eyes flew to him. “I have much gas in my bowels from oysters. We will walk and make seafood toots outside.”
With that, I was hoisted out of my seat and led out into a chilly Philadelphia afternoon.
“Come walk. I wish to see Liberty Bell.” Stan steered me along, his mouth running constantly as we rounded Franklin Square. “This park is planned by the famous William Penn who our great state is named after. There is big statue of William on top of the city hall. He wants for Pennsylvania to be free state for all religions and minorities.”
“Shame people forgot those principles,” I muttered.
Stan made a sound in his throat then continued regaling me with American history. He knew more about his new country than I did, and I’d been born and schooled in the States.
We found the Liberty Bell and I took several pictures of him standing in front of it and a few of both of us for social media. Layton would be pleased.
“I send to children. We are discussing Revolutionary War much since seeing Hamilton,” he said as we meandered to a nearby bench and took a seat.
“That’s cool.” I sat there for a bit watching Stan interact with his children online. He grinned at me after Noah gave us a rousing rendition of “Right Hand Man” with Mama and the elder two kids providing the booms of the cannons.
“What is making you so sad and hating the shrimp?” he asked, ending his call home then lifting his eyes to drink in Independence Hall.
“I just…” I blew out a breath. “It’s this place. The world. How do you justify bringing kids into such a hate-filled place?”
He nodded gently. “Is natural to worry. I think often of the climate change problem. Erik and I also see the hate at times.”
I twisted on the bench to stare at his placid profile. “How do you not freak out over it? How do I justify bringing a child into a world so filled with toxicity? I just… I feel like I was selfish to do this.”
“No, you are not selfish. You and Jared are loving couple, wishing for a child. Procreation is natural drive. To wish to have a child is good, strong, it makes families. And families are the strength and backbones for fighting against the bad things. Perhaps Charlotte will be the one who discovers how to clean the air, or cure cancer, or a million other things that will make our world happy place. Our children, they are our hope for a better future, yes?”
I thought on that long and hard then nodded. “Yeah, they are.”
“There will always be people who hate, but if we fill the world with enough love, then we win! Oh! A soft pretzel man! I must have some!” He shot up off the bench and thundered over to the dude passing by with his rolling pretzel cart. Five minutes later we were making our way back to Walnut Street, chewing on soft pretzels, and discussing all the marvelous things that Charlotte would do to help save the planet.
“I think she will team up with Noah and make massive big plant that filters water for poor countries, and also set up a shelter for abandoned goats.”
“Pollution control and goat rescue. Yeah, I can see that for our kids. Hey, Stan, thanks, man. Talking about it with you, well, it helped.”
He smiled down at me. “You are welcomed. What are best friends for if not to make a dark day sunny with pretzels and goat talk?”
What indeed?
That night we arrived home on a high. We’d beaten Philly handily, my worries over the world while not gone were considerably lessened, and I’d managed to get my first hat trick of the season. Still feeling the effects of the adrenalin rush from the game, I pounced on Jared the moment he got through the front door. He gasped in shock when my mouth crashed down over his. He tasted of the coffee he’d had on the train ride home. I licked and lapped at his mouth, grinding my dick against his, and pulled his suit jacket off without breaking the wet kiss.
“Hat trick horniness,” he chuckled when we stumbled into our bedroom a few minutes later, our clothes scattered behind us like a trail of breadcrumbs.
“Yeah, sort of, and other stuff. You’re still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Can I fuck you?”
I rubbed against him, hot flesh to hot flesh, cock to cock, my hands slipping around him to cup that sweet ass of his. Jared didn’t bottom often, that was usually at my request because I loved the feel of him filling me, but every so often I wanted to top the man. Was it tied to a hat trick?
“I’d love that,” he replied, steering us to the bed. We tumbled into the thick, firm mattress, legs and arms tangled, lips seeking skin. I sucked a dark mark on his shoulder then pushed at him to roll over. “You really are in a mood tonight.”
“Mm, yeah, three goals in one game and I’m Tony the Top. Jesus Jared, your ass is a work of art.”
I grabbed both cheeks and squeezed while making my way closer to him on my knees. My thumbs skimmed his hole. He groaned. My dick kicked and I grabbed it at the base just in case it thought it was done. It was far from done, and it had better realize that. I laid over him, pressing him into the mattress, and kissed his shoulders and throat as I humped away madly. My cock sliding over his hole made him cuss and shudder.
“Ten, shit, get in me.”
“Ah, man, I love hearing you say that.” I nipped at his shoulder, pushed up, and jerked him back to his hands and knees. He reached for the nightstand then tossed me the lube. Licking my lips as I eyed his ass, I slathered lube over my cock then used two slick fingers to open him up. He rocked back, his blond head down, his powerful thighs easing his ass onto those digits so far in him.
My cock was leaking pre-cum. I withdrew my fingers, nudged his knees apart with mine, and settled myself right where I needed to be. Hips flat to his ass, my cock eased into him in one slippery thrust.
“Ah, shit!” he growled, rising from his elbows to slam himself backwards. My eyes rolled back. I grabbed his hips and pounded him across the bed and into the wall. When my balls drew up, he was spread over the headboard, his cheek against the wall, his cock spurting. His ass grabbed my cock, milking it as I blew apart inside him. “Ten, ah shit…yes…”
“Mm,” I replied. Words weren’t happening yet. I leaned up, got another quarter of an inch, and let my eyes drift shut as I emptied myself in his heat. When the last of the tremors eased, I pressed my lips to the back of his neck then eased out, taking just a second to enjoy the sight of my spunk leaking out of him.
Then I fell face first into the bed while he slipped off to clean up. “Sorry about that wet spot on your pillow,” he called just as my face hit the goose down.
“Oh, dude, come on! Really?” I muttered and patted my pillow. Finding no wet spot, I called him a jerk of the highest caliber then buried my face into my pillow as a man should after fucking his spouse into the wall. Like, literally fucking him into the wall. I had a big, proud moment.
“Did you really think that I’d come all over your pillow?” he asked a moment later, dropping a wet washcloth to my head.
I reached up, pulled it off my hair, and rolled to my back to enjoy the sight of him picking up our clothes. “No, I guess not. It’s not like you’re me or something,” I teased and got a soft over-the-shoulder smile. Then he moaned when he bent over to pick up a sock. “You okay? Nothing slipped out of place from that robust fucking from your stud of a younger husband? No hip breakage?”
“Oh please, do go fuck yourself,” he countered then straightened and whipped my underwear at me. That made me chuckle. “I’m fine but thank you for your concern. The floor just seems to get further away every year.”
“It’s okay, I still think you’re sexy AF. Bend over again so I can check out your ass one more time, won’t you?”
“The next ass that gets checked out will be yours.” He dropped our clothes into the hamper as my dick stirred. “And I’ll make sure your face is smashed into a wall.”
“Name the place, babe,” I said while I wiped off my dick then flung the wet cloth toward the hamper. It missed. He harrumphed and picked it up, and I got that last look at his ass and balls. Such a fine sight.
“So, what did you and Stan talk about during your little walk to the Liberty Bell?” He pulled on some clean underwear then padded over to the bed as I lay there gawking at him. “What? You think that just because we coaches don’t go to the team meals we don’t know what’s happening? Trent and Dieter have finally set a date for next July and are flying to the Philippines for the honeymoon.”
“Oh cool! I kind of missed all that,” I confessed as I eased the covers up over me.
“So I heard. Want to talk to me about it?” He crawled in next to me.
I snuggled into his side, my cheek on his chest. God, he was warm and firm. I loved how the gold curls on his chest tickled my nose.
I dropped an arm over his belly. “I was stressing about the future. Charlotte, the world, global warming, anti-LGBTQ rhetoric, you name it. That guy at the paint store accosting you like that really stirred something up, deep down.”
“I can understand that. When someone threatens someone you love, it’s frightening.” His fingers skimmed the shell of my ear. It was dark outside, the house was quiet, and we were wrapped in each other’s arms after making love. Hands down, this was one of my beloved times. Just Jared and me, cuddled close, the smell of sex and his cologne on the air…utter perfection.
“Yeah, it scared me, and kind of stunned me. I’d gotten complacent, I guess. Most of the hate and shit at the games has died down over the years. Sure, there are still a few assholes, but overall the fans know I’m there to play. Who I sleep with is inconsequential. They’re learning, slowly as shit, but they are learning. Then that jerkwad shows up out of nowhere and brings all that shit back. And now we have a baby coming in two months. And that hate…will it be directed at her? When she grows up, will she be harangued for being what she is? Will the world still be like it is now? I just… it began to swallow me up.”
“Why didn’t you come to me about your worries?” He sounded hurt. Fuck me. I pushed up to rest my head on my hand, his gaze locking with mine. Such beautiful blue eyes.
“I don’t know, honestly, I don’t.” He made that face he always made when I said something he didn’t like. His eyebrows knit and his lips turn into a papercut. “Maybe I didn’t want to bring you down with my stupid head stuff.”
“Tennant, your head stuff is not stupid.”
“No, well, yeah, I know. And not my head injury stuff, just the freak-out stuff.” He studied me silently. “I don’t know. Maybe I thought you wouldn’t get my concerns because you’d fathered Ryker so long ago and couldn’t relate to the problems this world and my generation are facing.”
“I can see that. It’s total horseshit, but I can see that. Yes, things were different twenty-five years ago. But we had worries back then, just different ones. Ten, every parent worries. It’s what a parent does. You’ll see. It starts at the moment of conception and ends… well, it ends when they put you in the ground. I still fret over Ryker, the world he lives in, him marrying a man and the hard times that may bring him. The world is never safe, and our children are going to face some mighty hard times, just as we did and our parents before us but they will face those challenges and they will overcome them. I have great faith in the younger generation. They’re so woke.”
That made me snigger. “‘Woke’ coming from you is just so funny, but yeah, I get what you mean.” I kissed his crinkled brow. “Stan said that kids are the future and the hope.”
“Mm, well, he’s right. Charlotte will do amazing things.”
“Yeah, she will. That girl will take the world by storm! I can see her now, facing down some corporate polluter or some bigot, shoulders back, chin high, strong and brave as Zena or RBG. Maybe she’ll be a badass warrior Supreme Court justice!”
“That I can see happening.” He smiled then so I kissed him softly on the mouth. His phone started buzzing and we both scowled at it. He reached to his nightstand then fell back into the bed. I wiggled in tight, the post-sex stupor falling over me as he answered the call. My eyelids were lead and my body now craved sleep.
“Eddie, hello it’s—Oh no.
Okay, yes, we’ll be right there.”
My eyes flew open. Jared kicked off the covers. “What?” I asked, fear shoving away the happy vibes I’d been wrapped in.
“We have to get to the hospital. Isobel is in labor.”
No. Oh shit. No. God no, not our baby.
Chapter Seven
Jared
With Ten driving, we made it to the hospital in record time, and in the fifteen minutes it took to get from our house to Mercy we were silent and battling our own fears. I didn’t want to voice the worst scenario. The one where maybe we were losing our daughter, or that Isobel was in danger. What if something happened to Isobel? It would be our fault, and Eddie and the kids would be destroyed.
What have we done? Who do we think we were to imagine we deserve anything as beautiful as a daughter? Why did we even name her?
Why did we invest so much of us into something that could go horribly wrong?
Oh God. My chest cramped, but I didn’t let any one single breath of pain escape because giving voice to any of it might have made it real. We were in that empty place where we knew nothing at all, and part of me wanted to stay there even as I needed to know what was happening. Ten was twitchy and tense, his jaw set, but at least he had the driving to think about, and it was only when we parked and he didn’t move from his seat that the dam broke on his emotions.
“Fuck,” he cursed, his hands curled so hard around the steering wheel that his knuckles were white. “We shouldn’t have done it, what if—?”
“We have to stop,” I interrupted him, and he stared at me, his eyes wide, and the fear in them was worse than when he’d thought his career was over. “We don’t know anything yet. Let’s be calm, go in, and be the best we can be for Isobel and Eddie.” I didn’t know if I could do any of that, but I was the voice of common sense. Not that it lasted long.