“They made it,” Jamie finally said. “I got them great seats in the lower bowl, and I sent him a bunch of recommendations for food, but they left about halfway through the second period.”
Layla let out a loud sigh, looking at Jamie with her lips pressed together.
“What did I do?” He asked.
“Objectively,” she began, “getting someone lower bowl tickets is a really nice thing to do.”
“But?”
“Sully, this is a late night for a little kid. Stef stays home with the nanny when the games start this late. When they’re that age, one late night can mess up their sleep schedule for a week. And it’s loud down there. I don’t know if you’ve been up to the WAG’s suite, but there’s a whole back room, where we bring toys and books, that is shielded from the noise of the arena. Some of us even bring a Pack n’ Play for the little ones to nap. It’s a lot for a little kid, especially one who’s never been to a game before.”
Jamie stared at her. He reached his right hand up, tugging at the hair on the back of his head. “Damn it,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Layla put a hand on his arm. “If you’re going to do things like this–” she raised her brows knowingly– “for someone with a young kid, you’ve got to think about the kid. That’s what he’s thinking about all the time. If you want him to give you the time of day, think about the kid.”
Jamie nodded, not sure what to say.
“He seems like a good guy,” Layla added. “And into you, too.”
“I don’t think that’s on the table,” he said, flexing the fingers of his injured hand. He felt a twinge of pain and winced. “I don’t even know if he’s queer, and every time I talk to him I feel like he’s barely tolerating me.”
Layla smiled at him. “I mean, you could ask him. Tyler seems like someone who takes time to warm up to people. He’s probably trying to keep himself safe.”
An hour later, when he pulled into his three-car garage, he checked his phone. No response. Nothing.
He let out a loud, frustrated groan, slapping his good hand against the dashboard. Sure, Layla had made a good point about getting them tickets for an evening game. And maybe picking the lower bowl, where the crowd was even louder, hadn’t been the right call.
But even with all of that, he couldn’t pretend the radio silence from Tyler didn’t hurt.
If Oliver or Onni noticed Jamie’s shitty mood the next morning at breakfast, neither made a comment. The boys did the dishes like they always did, thanked him for the food, and then retreated to the basement to do whatever the hell they got up to before heading to the rink.
The team was flying out on a seven day, four game road trip later that afternoon. Normally, Jamie would go for a run in his gym, sit in the sauna, and then do a round of laundry before packing. But without the team schedule driving him, he wasn’t sure what to do with his time.
He washed his sheets. He mopped the dark tile floors in his kitchen. He walked down to the lakeshore, careful of the slick steps, and checked the ice. It wasn’t quite ready to skate on, but another hard freeze and it would get there.
Finally, after reorganizing his pantry, he flopped back on his couch with his tablet to watch the most recent game tape. He grabbed the pad of paper he kept on his coffee table to take notes in, groaning when he remembered his injured writing hand. He grit his teeth, ignoring the little flare of pain as he gripped his pen.
He’d gotten through the first period when a louddinginterrupted him. Grabbing his phone, he read the notification on his screen:
Dotty:
Come over and see your mother. We know you’re probably home moping. She made muffins.
Jamie looked up at his empty, quiet house, at the spotless kitchen and the almost heavy absence of anyone else.
Normally, he was too busy to feel lonely. Now, without hockey, it was inescapable.
Jamie:
See you soon.
Tossing the tablet aside, he got up, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door.
He showed up at his moms’ place with a drink holder balanced in one hand, and didn’t bother knocking. “Hey,” he called out, as he pushed through the front door.
“We’re in the kitchen!”
Jamie slid out of his tennis shoes, and padded into the blue kitchen in his socks. His mom was at the stove with an apron tied around her waist, and Dotty stood at the sink in her yellow rubber gloves, doing dishes.
