"That's not?—"
"That's exactly what you're doing." He crosses his arms. "And it's not working. Because she probably thinks you're fine with the roommate thing. That you don't want more."
I sink onto the bed. "What am I supposed to do? If I ask for an official custody document, she’ll think I’m being controlling. If I don’t, I’ll walk around constantly scared she’s going to bail.”
"Or she'll realize you're being honest about what you want. Which is the opposite of what Grentley did, by the way.” Alder sits beside me. "Tucker, you can't keep waiting for permission to want things. At some point, you have to take the risk."
I know he's right. But the thought of telling Sloane how I feel, of risking the fragile peace we've built?—
"Come on," Alder says, standing. "Let's go to the rink. Get your head in the game."
The energy in the locker room is familiar, and despite the anxiety and superstitions flying around, it feels calming to me. Better than fretting over my misguided romantic urges.
Guys taping sticks, checking equipment, talking shit to each other.
I'm sitting in my stall when Alder settles into the one beside me. We're both in our base layers, gear laid out in front of us.
"You ready for this?" he asks.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
He grins and reaches up to his mouth, carefully removing his false tooth. I do the same with mine. We turn to face each other, both grinning with matching gaps.
"We look ridiculous," I say.
"We look like hockey players." Alder's grin widens, and he takes a selfie, sending it to the family group chat. "Mom's going to kill us when she sees the photos."
"Worth it."
We sit there for a moment, two grown men with missing teeth, and I think about my twins. Will they be like this someday? Goofy together, comfortable in a way that only comes from sharing everything?
God, I hope so.
"What are you thinking about?" Alder asks.
"The babies." I set my flipper tooth in a cup in my locker. "Wondering if they'll be weird like us."
"They're Stags. Of course, they'll be weird." He claps me on the shoulder. "But they'll be lucky. They'll have you."
"And Sloane."
"And Sloane," he agrees. "Who, by the way, you need to tell that you're crazy about."
"One crisis at a time."
My phone buzzes. I grab it, hoping?—
Sloane
Good luck tonight!
My chest tightens. She’s reaching out. This has to be progress, right?
Sloane
Also got my stats exam back. C minus. Not great but not failing!
I grin, typing quickly.
