Bringing down our towers of unused youth
Beauty lies
They say
In the mouth
Where what we state can hurt or heal
Where what we hear can give us peace
True peace reaching through passionate release
Giving the courage to look within and feel
There was a noise, and he looked behind them again, seeing Uncle Bingo’s brother had pulled out a red bandana and was wiping his eyes. He watched as Mason settled a hand on Uncle Harddrive’s shoulder, pulling him close. Aunt DeeDee walked up on the other side of him and wrapped an arm around his waist, her mouth twisting with sadness as she leaned her head on Uncle Harddrive’s shoulder. Sam turned back to look at Jonny and swallowed hard at the tears he saw in his best friend’s eyes.
Beauty lies
They say
In the heart
Where what we hold turns faith to certainty
Where what we endure imbues our dreaming
Filling private passion with rich meaning
Eager ardor wholly worthy of raw clarity
Beauty lies
They say
In the soul
Where what we consume feeds our brightness
Where what we absorb can nourish good
Enthralling brilliance blinding as it should
Our tribe surrounded free in captive rightness
They stood in silence for a moment when Jonny finished reading, not even the shuffle of boots breaking the quiet. “Love you, Uncle Bingo,” Jonny whispered, his fingers occupied with working the paper back into a neat square, creasing already established folds before shoving it into his pocket. Lifting his head, it looked like he finally became aware of their expanded audience and ducked his chin in embarrassment, using the back of one hand to wipe across his eyes. With resolution, Jonny sucked air in through his nose, releasing it slowly as he firmly said, “No tears.”
His throat was thick and tight, that sick feeling seeming stuck there for the past two days, and Sam pushed past it to say, “You and Kane want to come over? Mom and Aunt DeeDee already said it’s okay with them.”
Jonny nodded, jumping off the metal bar, pushing off with both feet to land well away from the hole. Sam followed suit, and they ran over to where Kane stood, gathering him before they all went running back to where Mom waited.
You want me, you got me
Hoss lay in bed beside her, head pillowed on his arm, watching her sleep. He trailed his fingertips down her body, between her breasts, then onto her stomach, finally settling his palm over her belly. Now that they knew she was pregnant, he couldn’t imagine how they had missed it, how he had missed the changes to her body. On their last bi-monthly visit, the doc had confirmed it was a girl, reassuring them all the blood work had come back normal.
He shifted in bed, turning to put his head on Hope’s thighs, nuzzling into her pussy. She still preferred to sleep in one of his tees, and he reached out to drag the soft fabric up, exposing her belly. Using his teeth and lips, he plucked at her underwear then nuzzled her through them again before lying still, laughing quietly at her groaning protest in her sleep. Turning his attention back to her belly, he stroked her skin with his palm, softly grazing the roundness developing between her hipbones.
Closing his eyes, he let his hand rest there, breathing in her scent, feeling the heat from her body where he was curled around and over her. There was a light but solid thump against his hand, and his eyes shot open. She had been trying to get him to feel the baby kick for two weeks now, but he had not yet been graced with this…thump…miracle. “Our child,” he whispered, letting his eyelids sink closed again. Thump.
***
“How’s Hope?” Jase asked from his position on the ice, leaning up against the boards, where Hoss stood watching the boys’ practice. “She get over the pukey-face antithesis to fun?”
With a grin, Hoss nodded. “Yeah, she’s hungry all the time now. Eats like every two hours, seems like. Love watching her. So fucking beautiful, I can’t even express what I feel, man. I think it’s fair to say she’s over the pukey-face.”
Jase laughed. “Did you hear Slate preening the other night? Twins again, man. I think I’m gonna get him a shirt that says Slate’s Super Swimmers.”
“Yeah, Ruby and DeeDee were at the house yesterday, planning baby showers and shit. I got the full rundown, as Ruby put it, on pushing not one but two watermelons out of a lemon-sized hooha.” Both men laughed, gazes on the kids gliding across the ice.
“DeeDee’s over the moon again. All these babies, she’s been in baby heaven.” He shifted his feet, blades sliding back and forth. “Got our tribe, too. Fucking miss Bingo, man.”
They stood quietly for a few minutes, Jase frequently calling out drill commands to the kids, eyes following their swoops and curving lines across the ice. Hoss broke the silence between them, asking, “How are the boys doing?”
“Kane’s a fuckton better than Jonny,” he answered immediately, the quick response communicating this was something wearing on his mind. “I have the twins in another skate group, and they’re doing well.” He tensed, watching something the kids were doing and then leaned back, relaxing. “Tyler and Megan, the two oldest, they’re hit hardest, which is only natural. Lost their mom to cancer, then Tyler’s own battle with it, and now Bingo. They remember their mom, you know? Gilda, she was barely born when her mom passed, so she doesn’t have memories other than the ones family members have planted with stories, cultivated with repetition.” He shook his head. “Jonny, though. He’s tore up. Loved that old man like he was blood.”
“Sammy gets in the way of them healing, you let me know.” The three boys had been inseparable since the funeral, and it seemed if Sam wasn’t staying at Coach Spence’s house, the other two were at Hope and Hoss’ place, heads together, talking about everything and anything.
“He’s a helpful cuss, eh?” Jase glanced his way, and then focused back on the kids. “Gotta go. Time for some competitive play. Kinda sorta needs an adult.” He glanced over again and grinned. “I’ve looked for one of those around here for a while now, but can’t seem to find an adultier adult than me, so I guess I’m all we’ve got.”
Grinning, Hoss lifted a hand in a casual wave, watching Jase glide out to where the boys were gathering at center ice.
***
Sam focused on what Coach Spence was telling them. It was to be a quick set of drills, two players taking the puck up ice to the goalie, trying to score, wave after wave of attacks on the lone defender. This was one of his favorite exercises, because it was offensive, not defensive, so no hooking or slashing as they moved up the sheet of ice, just the control and finesse brought to the maneuvers with your own puck handling and ability to work as a team.
Jonny skated up, trying a new backwards stop they were learning, nearly taking a tumble when his hips turned far beyond the ninety-degree position. Sam frowned and told him, “Your back foot wasn’t right. Get the back of the blade out beyond your shoulders, past your helmet.” Jonny nodded, pushing off to skate a circle, turning backwards and coming in again, this time performing the maneuver correctly. Sam grinned, looking down at the skim of shaved ice dotting his pants and socks. “Nice dusting. Are we on the same practice line?”
“Yeah,” Jonny responded as they watched two different lines run through the drill, neither of them scoring on the goalie. “You dump to me,” Jonny told him, turning to face Sam, who nodded. They worked well together, and the play could go either way, but he was fine with Jonny’s plan. Tentatively, Jonny asked, “How’d the video thing go today?”
“Fine.” Sam had to go to the courthouse today. Again. It meant he didn’t have time to skate this morning, which made him mad, and he hadn’t wanted to go. He had pitched a fit, making his mom mad, because the whole thing reminded her that his dad—not your dad, Hoss is your dad, his brain said—had kidnapped him. That’s what the lawyer called it. Kidnapping. I’m a kid, h
e thought, remembering their first day in town, when Aunt Mercy turned him upside down. He burst out laughing, and Jonny looked at him with a grin when he stuck out his tongue and bleated like a goat.
“You’re weird,” Jonny said with a laugh as they skated up, Sam scooping the puck up on the blade of his stick and bouncing it in the air twice before he began moving forward.
“Ain’t it great?” he yelled, barreling towards the goalie then dropping the puck back and to the side. He skated across the area in front of the net, careful to stay outside the blue ice, screening for Jonny. There was a ringing clank as the puck hit a post, and then he heard the goalie groan, knowing from his response it had gone in. Raising his arms high, he shook his stick over his head, skating back towards center ice. He and Jonny were a great team.
***
“Hoss,” he said, watching the mirror to see his reaction. “Can I ask you something?” They had left practice a few minutes ago, headed home, the stinky scent that was hockey equipment permeating the inside of the truck.
“Sure thing, Sam,” Hoss responded easily, glancing into his side mirror before changing lanes.
He wished they were already home, wished he could touch Hoss’ face in the way Mom did when it was important. But, if Hoss didn’t agree, and he lost it, he didn’t want Mom to see him upset, so it had to be now, when it was just him and Hoss. With his sister coming, it was way too easy to make her cry, and he hated to see that look on her face. Like when he woke up yelling from his dreams, the ones where his dad—not your dad, Hoss is your dad—took him, and he couldn’t get home. In the dream, he ran and ran until he was so tired he could lie down on the rocks in the road and sleep, but he never got home. Even if he could see Mom in the dream, he couldn’t ever make it to where she was, and he would wake up yelling, mad and sad and scared all at once, and it made Mom unhappy.
“What is it, son?” Hoss asked, and that did it; that word was the trigger he needed. Because Hoss used that word real often, and Sam had to know if it meant what he thought it meant. Had to know for sure, even with the things Hoss had said in the past. Even with Hoss and Mom having a sister, who would be theirs in a way he wasn’t, knew he wasn’t, because his dad—not your dad, Hoss is your dad—wasn’t Hoss.
“Do you love me?” His throat was tight, and he knew he was making a face, so he turned to look out the window as if this didn’t matter. As if nothing mattered. Because if Hoss didn’t agree, he had to have a way to hide what it would do to him.
“You know I do, Sam,” Hoss said easily, turning on the blinker before pulling into the parking lot of the grocery store. They were running a few errands before heading home, and grocery shopping was one of them.
“I love you, too,” he said, hating how small his voice sounded, but when he glanced over, he saw Hoss nodding, eyes on the cars in front of them. “Can I call you Dad?” He swallowed. “I don’t have a dad,” he said, and then rushed to add, “and it’s okay if you don’t want me to. I don’t have to. I just thought with the baby it would be less confusing for her if we both called you Daddy.” Biting his lip hard, he tried to still the quivering taking over his chin, making it jerk up and down like a yo-yo.
The truck abruptly stopped, and was still rocking in place when he felt hands at his seatbelt. He barely had enough time to take a breath before he found himself hauled over the seat and tucked between Hoss’ body and the steering wheel. Hard arms folded around him, holding him safe and close, and he heard the thick in Hoss’ voice when he said, “You do have a daddy, son. Me. You want to call me Dad? You wantin’ to give this thing between us a name? Fuck, yeah, call me Daddy. Makes my fucking day you want that. I’ve waited a long time for you to ask, son.”
Sam started crying in earnest, wrapping his arms around Hoss’ neck and burying his face in that strong, solid, safe shoulder. Harsh and hoarse with what sounded like joy, Hoss said, “Love you so much, boy. You want me, you got me, warts and all. This baby coming doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with it, either. You’ve been my boy for a long time now.”
They sat like that for a while, Sam’s sobs finally trailing off to silence, Hoss seeming content to sit and hold him as long as he needed. “Can we change my name to Rogers?” This was the second question he wanted to ask, because if Hoss was going to be his daddy, then he wanted the world to know where he belonged.
“You want that, son?” The thick was back in Hoss’ voice and Sam pulled back, looking up to see tears standing in his eyes. Wordlessly, he nodded, and Hoss’ arms pulled him back into another tight embrace. “I’ll see what we can do, boy. Gotta get Mama on board with this one, but I have an idea that will pave the way.” He sighed, his breath ruffling the hair on top of Sam’s head. “Can you keep a secret?”
Sam scoffed, because of course he could keep secrets when it was important. “Yeah,” he said, his tone indicating it was a silly question, and Hoss laughed. He moved, one arm leaving Sam’s shoulders, and he dug in the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a box. Plucking the offering from the flattened palm, Sam opened the box and stared. There was a beautiful ring inside. He had seen enough movies to know this was important, the kind of ring a man gave a woman when he asked her to the wedding. “You want to marry Mom?”
“Yep,” Hoss said. “In the worst way, or the best, depending on how you look at it. I’m hoping she says yes.” He paused. “Would you be okay with that, Sam?”
“Yep,” he replied, mimicking Hoss’ tone and drawing a laugh from him. “So we’d all be Rogers?”
“Yep,” Hoss said again, and they both laughed this time.
***
Hoss watched her moving between the kitchen and the table, hair wild around her head, mouth moving faster than her feet as she carried plates and silverware to the sink. God, she’s beautiful, he thought, remembering back when they had first met and he knew in his gut she would have been gorgeous carrying Sammy. I was so right, he thought, smirking a little to himself.
Sammy had surprised him today with his questions, shocking the shit out of him and blowing him away with the ask. Hoss knew a bit about the adoption routine. He had worked with the club’s lawyers when Bear was going through the process to adopt four kids who had lost their daddy due to club business. Granted, the bastard had died because of his own fucking choices, but the club took care of their own, and Bear had stepped into the void to take on the kids. Reluctantly at first, but then fully embracing the role pressed on him.
Gradually, he realized Hope had stopped talking. She was leaning against the countertop looking at him. With an apologetic smile, he moved to her, putting his hands on either side of her waist. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m sorry, baby. I was a million miles away. What did you say?”
“I asked if you’d considered the names I texted you.” She smiled up at him. It wouldn’t be long now and they would be holding their daughter. All the more reason to move forward with what he intended, making her and Sammy his legally, not just in the eyes of the club.
“I love you,” he said, and she tilted her head.
Nodding, she said, “I know you do, Hoss. And, I love you, too. Is this your way of telling me you didn’t like the names?”
He dropped one hand from her waist, pulling his phone from his pocket and thumbing the screen to life. He pressed buttons, pulling up the text application, and grinned at her. “Peony Ann?” Looking down at her, he barked a laugh. “Seriously, woman?” She made a face, and he looked back at his phone. “Zinnia Emily?” Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her forehead again, laughing openly. “Were you doing the wrong kind of nursery shopping today?”
She was supposed to have been picking up sheets and blankets for the baby’s room. He hadn’t noticed any bags when he was in there earlier, putting the last pieces together for the bassinette that went with the crib they purchased.
“Shut up,” she said, pressing her cheek to his chest. Her words were muffled when she said, “I admit I might have been at th
e kind of nursery that needs soil and water to nurture life. But Peony is a great name.”
“Huh-uh. Nope. Baby, say it slow. Pee On Knee. She’d never survive junior high. You gotta predict the nicknames, make sure you pull only good options into the mix.” He laughed again, putting his phone back into his pocket. “Does your middle name have significance?” he asked.
“Not that I know of,” she said, sighing and leaning into him a little deeper. “I hate Annabelle, anyway.”
“We’ll find the right one, baby,” he said, sliding his hand up her back, rubbing her neck and the back of her head. “Six more weeks, and she’s going to be right here with us.” There was a rumble of thunder in the distance and he glanced over at the windows, seeing clouds were scudding across the sky, blocking out the evening sun, reminding him of their first sweet, soaked embrace. Six weeks, he thought. Time to get moving; time for the biggest ask he had ever considered. Adjusting his stance, he leaned against the edge of the counter, arms locking her into place.
“When did you know you loved me?” he asked.
“What?” Her tone was startled, and she tried to pull back, but he tightened his arms.
“When did you know you loved me?” Repeating the question, he scanned through the snapshots in his head to find the one he wanted. “I think I knew when I walked into Mercy’s apartment that first day and you were sittin’ on the couch, back to the door. I’d spent the morning with Sammy, loved his ass already, because he was so protective of you. He didn’t take no shit. The kid drew a hard line with me. Loved that about him, hated what it said about what you’d been through together. Then, that afternoon, I walked in, heard you talking about piecing things together to make your way, and knew I had to make things better for you. Couldn’t think straight for trying to find a solution I could live with.”
“What does that mean, something you could live with?” Her voice was small, and he reckoned she was thinking about the first few jobs she held, working for the club.
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