by Shey Stahl
This guy, someone I would consider one of my best friends, still got to me. That night in Cabo he sweep checked me with just a few simple words. He went down on one knee and took me out at the knees.
Now what was going to be my next play?
This was my power play.
Drawing in a deep breath, I took a step forward, my heels clicking against hardwood floors that shined bright against the lights throughout the restaurant. “Here we go.” I said as I approached Leo’s I-don’t-give-a-fuck stance slouched in the chair. Maybe he did care, maybe he didn’t but in the way he stood as I approached, it certainly didn’t seem like it. He was dressed nice as always, black slacks, black tie and a gray dress shirt rolled up to his elbows revealing black tattoos that went up both forearms.
As I got closer, I tried to think of everything I was going to say to him. I had gone over it in my head. Everything. The tone, what I would say, how I would present it, but as I neared him, I couldn’t remember a goddamn thing of what I needed to say.
All I remembered was, wrong number. Try Remy.
I felt my cheeks heat at the memory, the pain, the anger that was still very much present. I expected him to say something, anything, but there was only silence, the awkward kind before his eyes deceived him and he briefly looked at me.
He had a table near the windows, still standing as I approached. I’m not sure where he learned it given his family, but he always stood when a lady approached the table.
Giving me a nod, his eyes were tired, dark circles under them, hiding pain and regret I knew just as well.
Hold your ground. You can do this and you know it.
But did I? Could I do this on my own?
It was seeing him now that made me question my resolve. I despised that feeling.
I noticed the cut under his eye first and remembered he took a nasty shot to the face in that game against the Coyotes. “How’s your eye?”
“It’s fine.” He said, sitting down as I took my seat as well. There seemed to be a nervous edge to him. I didn’t care either way at this point, not after what I’ve been through the past few weeks.
The waiter approached the table, his stare on mine, and then Leo. “My name is Mike. Would you two care for drinks?”
I would kill for a beer.
“I’ll have water.” You could literally hear the sadness in my voice, like I was a recovering alcoholic or something.
Leo’s eyes casted down at the table. “I’ll take a porter.”
Giving us both a nod, he smiled. “I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu.”
It was silent for a moment, the noise of the open restaurant drowning out the heavy beats of my heart.
“So Mender got ya?” I asked gesturing to his eye again. It was clear he had some stitches in it and the swelling was still very much there, not to mention the array of colors, deep purple and black outlined a half circle.
Pulling at his hair, I almost couldn’t breathe being this close. His eyes were puffy, wearing these last few days on his face. “Yeah.” A half smile tugged at his lips. He knew I watched his game. “So,” his left hand that was on the table twirling a coaster between his fingers raised to graze down his jaw. “You went to the doctor?”
“Yeah,” my eyes dropped to the table intent on my hands that were cupped around my water glass the waiter just handed me. I waited as Leo took a drink from his beer before I spoke. “I’m due September twenty-fourth.”
“Right when pre-season starts.” He mumbled, and then stared at me. “What are our options here?”
Our options? Our fucking options?
I flinched, biting my lip and praying for my eyes not to tear up. I gave him a look of disbelief, my brow scrunched together. If it weren’t for the music in the restaurant, everyone would have heard the sharp intake of breath I took.
My heart started flopping around, jumping up and down in my throat. I really, really needed to relax, but I was running on adrenaline. But that was it. I couldn’t hold my temper or my emotions back any longer. I was done.
He knew instantly what he’d done, and by the look on his face, what it meant.
Reaching inside my purse, I took out the pamphlet on abortion they gave me and slid it across the table at him. “Here’s some fucking options.” I said, spitefully, feeling all the fears I’d been having start to surface again.
A silence spread throughout the restaurant waiting for him to say something about the pamphlet in front of him. The only sounds were my erratic breaths and Leo’s heavy breathing as he stared at the table.
He raised his head to look at me, no humor in his eyes. What surprised me was his fist slammed on the table rattling the water glass and silverware. I’ve never seen Leo display anger toward me and right then it was as if my words, or word for that matter, set him off.
“You’re not aborting my kid.” He spoke low and cold, his voice was harsh with an emotion I couldn’t identify.
“You said it wasn’t yours.” I barely breathed the word, wanting to spare myself the humiliation again. My stomach clenched at the memory, the anger I still felt.
His head sank to the table with a groan. After a minute, he looked up. “I’m sorry.” He said abruptly, shaking his head and exhaled slowly running his hands through his hair and then tugged at his tie. “You and I both know it’s mine.”
My anger for the situation temporarily blocked the words from forming. I stayed quiet as he spoke until I couldn’t any longer, until it burned to keep the words inside any longer. “Why? Why did you say that and humiliate me like that?”
He looked up at me then, wide-eyed and confused, giving way to regret and sorrow for the damage he’d done. “I was scared.” He watched me, waiting on my reaction, and then looked thoughtful, as if he remembered something he wanted to say. He started to say something, but then abruptly shut his mouth and shook his head.
“Then why did you ask what our options were?”
He looked up at me, grimaced in pain, and I hated him. But in that moment, I saw something I thought I would never see in Leo. He was scared. “I was talking about me and you.” He frowned, looking frustrated. I could tell he was struggling to express himself this way. “I don’t know where we stand in all this. I can’t… I can’t even fuckin’ read you. You’re like a closed book about this.”
“I don’t need you to do this.” I said, allowing him to keep my gaze longer than he had any right to. “I can do it on my own.”
We stared at each other, his eyes flashed with regret. “I know that. I know that anything you want to do, you will.” He swallowed, seeming nervous, “What I mean is that, I want to be a part of it. I never wanted to be a dad, I still don’t, but that doesn’t change anything. I still want to be here for you.” He said, opening himself up, showing me himself, leading into something. I never thought I would hear him say things like this.
I know the Leo who’s full of himself and determines the flow of a game by making plays. I know the Leo who’s wide open and dangerous on the ice.
Not this guy. This guy had just sweep checked me again.
“You mean something to me,” he said, not missing a beat.
“Oh, well that’s nice of you to say,” I replied humorlessly, only to have him shake his head, relaxing into his seat.
After everything, Leo didn’t deserve an ounce of forgiveness, but I didn’t care. That wasn’t what this was about. I saw him struggling before me with his decisions, his regrets, and I just wanted to believe it could be different. Maybe if I gave him a chance it could work. Because in reality, I’d never really given Leo a chance to prove me wrong. Ever.
I had absolutely no idea where this was going. Or even where this night was going, but I was giving him a chance at redemption.
An opportunity to show me it could be different.
After dinner, we sat inside his car outside my apartment, neither of us talking, but neither making an attempt to part ways.
That’s when he turned to me. �
��Listen…I’m sorry. I don’t know if that means anything to you but I am and I hope that you believe me.”
His words washed over me and I thought about them for a moment. Him repeating his apology again, as if us parting meant he needed to say it once more so that those were the last words I was left with.
“I know you are.” I said reaching for the door handle.
By nature, Leo wasn’t an insensitive guy. Him saying it wasn’t his had more to do with him being scared. That much I understood.
Where we went from here was anyone’s guess but at least this was a start at something.
It seemed I wanted to get everything over with, when it came to telling everyone I was pregnant on Monday. Told my boss, Bethany, she was so happy she cried. I have no idea why but she has known me since I was fourteen and said she could already see a difference in me. As if being pregnant had suddenly matured me.
I think she was talking about my breasts because they were huge! Wouldn’t even fit in my button down shirts anymore.
I could tell Bethany wanted to ask, how, or I guess, why now? It’s known by many that I sleep around, a lot. “Who’s the father?”
“Leo.” I waited, folded two pairs of panties and then looked over at her.
Her bright green eyes went wide. “That hockey player? No fucking way.”
“Yes, that hockey player.” When Bethany said that hockey player, she was referring to the time Leo and I had sex in the dressing room after hours and I almost lost my job because we were so loud that a security guard heard us and called it in saying someone was being injured. Looked pretty funny when Leo was the one with the fat lip.
“So…” her brow raised but she never stopped folding the panties. “Are you dating him now?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “Just having his baby.”
Bethany wrapped her arm around my shoulder hugging me to her side. “You’ve come a long ways, Cal.”
I set down the panties in my hand. “Thanks.”
Bethany knew me very well. Not only was she a good friend and my boss, but when I graduated high school, I lived with her for a year before I could save up to afford my apartment. If anyone knew the real me, it was her. She understood that me doing this had more to do with my stubbornness but still, I liked to think she saw the bigger meaning behind it.
Her hand went to my stomach. “I’m so excited! When are you due?”
“September.”
She sighed, as if she was absorbing the news, almost like a proud parent.
“Bethany,” I looked at her and I know she saw the pain, the confusion, but also the determination that I could and would do this. “I have no idea what the future holds for me and Leo, but one thing is for sure, I have this baby and that’s all that matters right now.”
Bethany leaned in giving me the shoulder bump, her way of showing me she knew I could do this on my own if that was what was in the cards for me.
After telling Bethany, I left work around three that day because I wanted to tell my father. Just wanted to get it over with. We didn’t talk much these days, a phone call once a month, a dinner maybe once every three months. I’ve pretty much been on my own for as long as I could remember. He seemed almost shocked that I called and asked if he wanted to go to dinner on Valentine’s Day. Surely I had a man to be with, not that he would care, but it definitely threw him off.
Ed Pratt is a bull-shouldered man, built strong, with a deep condescending voice who played hockey his entire life until a knee injury ended his career. He’s what I would describe as intimidating. Not much for compassion but he sees the game for what it is. A battle of passion and heart.
Only, I’m not sure Ed knows a goddamn thing about how to show passion himself.
Was I scared to tell him I was having a baby?
No.
I didn’t care what he had to say, therefore I wasn’t scared. I was doing this with or without his support. This wasn’t something where I expected him to help me. I’ve never once asked that man for money since I was sixteen. And I wasn’t under the notion that he would be supportive or a nurturing grandfather.
More than likely he was going to tell me what a big mistake I was making.
Still didn’t care.
Around five I met him at Hub 51. He stood when I approached, much like Leo had. Made me smile, but only for a minute. My father never made me smile. If I had to say what my fondest memory of him was, it was the day he gave me his season tickets to the Chicago Blackhawks when I was fourteen.
And then maybe the day I moved out when I graduated high school.
Greatest day of my life because I no longer felt like I had to be around him. I’m sure that he did the best he could raising a daughter on his own but I spent more time with my nanny growing up than I did with my father.
“How have you been?” He asked, like he cared, his eyes on the drink menu. Ever since he became the GM of the Blackhawks after the Stanley Cup win, he became even less personable and more of a business man. Before that he was a broadcaster for years announcing the play-by-play for the Blackhawks. Prior to that, he played hockey for twelve years here in Chicago only to have a career ending botched knee surgery that left him with a permanent limp.
Some GM’s traveled to the games, others didn’t go on the road because they didn’t want to get close to the players and develop relationships. Made trades easier.
Ed was that guy. Never went on the road and sat high above the rink in the box during the game.
“I’ve been fine.” I wasn’t going to beat around the bush here.
“So…” Ed looked up from the menu, brown eyes that matched mine raised for the briefest moment, and then back to the menu. “No date tonight?”
“Nah, not tonight.” I picked up the menu in front of me staring at the beer.
Damn it.
Just looking at it depressed me.
The waiter came, much like the night with Leo, when he asked for the drinks. I chose water, again, and that was when my father knew something was up.
He just stared at me in silence and then nodded.
“I’m pregnant.” I blurted out, without thinking. “I’ve heard drinking isn’t good for you in that situation.”
The look on his face went from shock to anger fairly suddenly. In fact, it was like in the blink of an eye the anger overtook him.
Before he could say any more, not that I expected him to, I said, “I wasn’t telling you for approval, or help, I just… wanted you to know you would be a grandfather. It’s up to you what you do with that information.”
He stared. Just fucking stared at me and I honestly thought there was steam coming from his hairy ears. His chest heaved in a breath as he sat the menu down on the table. “How the hell are you going to raise a baby? You can’t even take care of yourself.”
That pissed me off. Not once have I ever asked him for money or a helping hand. Ever. “I live on my own, Ed. I pay my rent, I go to work like I’m supposed to and I make a living for myself. I have absolutely no debt, aside from rent and a car payment. I think I take care of myself fairly well and have done so since before I got out of high school.”
He stood, anger ruining his appetite as he tossed a hundred dollar bill on the table for a glass of water and a beer he took two drinks from. “You’ll be raising this child on your own.”
As I left the restaurant, soon after him, I had one thought. He didn’t even ask who the father was.
Leo Orting
High Stick - A minor penalty called when a player carries his or her stick above their shoulder, or hits an opponent with it, whether unintentionally or intentionally.
When I left Callie Sunday night after taking her to Girl and the Goat, I found myself unable to sleep. I don’t know if it was the news of me being a father soon, or what, but I was wide awake. And likely to remain that way.
Rather than toss and turn, I got up to eat a bowl of Captain Crunch around one that morning.
I thought, hoped, that my fee
lings would have changed by now after the road trip and the time for the news to sink in. But it hadn’t, and in that moment I realized it probably never would. I didn’t want to be a dad. I couldn’t change my feelings on it.
Maybe my reasons were selfish but I was on the road from October to April most years, twenty-three and nowhere near the maturity needed to be a role model for a child as far as I was concerned.
How would I manage taking care of another life?
And let’s not forget the childhood I had.
I never wanted a child to feel what I felt. That sense of loneliness knowing you were a mistake. You’d never know it looking at me now. I had everything I have ever wanted because I worked for it. I fought for me.
When I thought about why I didn’t want to be, most reasons were selfish, I didn’t want to take care of someone else. And then I thought about my childhood and how that related.
I thought of my dad leaving and the visions of the door slamming shut knowing at three, he was never coming back.
I thought of my mother looking at two little boys like they were a burden, something she was stuck with and never wanted.
All I ever had that I could remember, that made me feel anything, was hockey. It was so much more than a bond for me. It was a life, an intensity that turned to adrenaline. An addiction. A family I didn’t have but I did on the ice.
My love for hockey began early when a friend asked me to play street hockey with him. I did and never looked back. Suddenly nothing else mattered. Playing hockey wasn’t cheap either. A kid like me wearing hand-me-down clothes couldn’t afford to play. Hell, my mother couldn’t even keep a steady job half the time. When I wasn’t playing hockey, I worked for our neighbors and anyone who would let me work for money. Eventually I got help from coaches when they saw my talent because they couldn’t stand the thought of me not playing.
When Callie told me she was pregnant I freaked out and reacted in ways I shouldn’t have. I said some things I didn’t mean. Understanding how I was raised explained why I felt so strongly about not having kids. I never had a father around. He bailed when I was three and Patrick was just eight months old. My mom had boyfriends but never anyone I would have called dad let alone looked up to or took advice from. By the time I was twelve, I was all hockey and nothing else. Wasn’t at home much unless it was to check on Patrick. And I haven’t lived at home since I was sixteen.