“Tyler!” Kids' voices were loud in the background when Layla answered the phone. “How are you? I saw the articles. What a bunch of crap.”
Tyler made out Henri’s voice shouting, “Mom, crap is a bad word!”
“Yes, I know, sweetie. But sometimes people do mean things and it’s okay for Mom to use a bad word. Really, Tyler, are you guys okay?”
Tyler smiled, even as his eyes welled up with tears. “Rowan’s got a stomach bug,” he managed, his voice cracking. “Sorry. A lot going on right now, you know?”
“Oh, babe,” Layla said. “That’s so much. How can I help?”
“No no, you’ve got your hands full with the kids.” Tyler sniffed, running a free hand over his eyes. “I just needed to talk to a friend.”
“I’m so glad you called. You never need a reason to call me, okay? Raising kids in this world is hard. It’s so, so hard. Even when you have all the resources, it’s still hard. You’re a part of this family now, and we take care of each other. Do you have what you need? Tell me what’s going on with Rowan and we’ll get you taken care of. You’re not alone in this, Tyler.”
Tyler was really crying now. He wiped tears from his cheeks ashe explained Rowan’s symptoms, and within minutes, Layla had asked for his address and had ended the call with a promise that everything would be taken care of.
He let out a shuddering exhale, tightening his arms around Rowan.
We’re not alone in this.
The next few hours passed in a blur. Rowan woke up and allowed Tyler to move him into the bath. He gave him a quick wash and changed him into clean jammies before carrying him to the living room.
They cuddled up under a quilt on the couch with a pile of books. It had been a while since Rowan had last thrown up, but Tyler wanted to be certain before he tried to get Rowan to eat anything else.
When Rowan said he wanted to draw, Tyler climbed onto the floor beside him, a pile of colorful crayons laid out beside an old brown paper grocery bag. He cut it in half to expose the blank paper on the inside.
Tyler let his mind wander for just a quick, brief moment. He thought about Jamie standing up for him at the club, the misconstrued photos and articles, the gravity of the Winter Classic, and again, about Jamie. What he had with Jamie was still so new, but the past twenty-four hours had solidified Tyler’s belief in what they had together.
He loved the way Jamie had stood up for him and Rowan. Tyler never would have put “protective instincts” on a list of desirable qualities before, but now that he’d seen Jamie’s commitment to taking care of them? It made him feel cared for and safe and like maybe hedidn’thave to do it all by himself.
He wasn’t going to let some bullshit that people were saying on the internet keep him from showing up for Jamie.TheirJamie.
We just got him, and he belongs to us. Maybe,maybe, we can belong to him, too.
He remembered what Jamie had said in Sharon’s office:I want to see the people I care about wearing my name proudly.
Rowan’s soft humming pulled him from his thoughts. Tyler leaned over, looking down at the swirls of blue, orange, green, and gray on the paper. “What are you working on, kiddo?”
“This is the day we met Jamie.”
“Oh yeah?”
Rowan nodded solemnly. “Mmhm. It was gray out, but he was big and tall and serious, and now we know him and he’s our friend and you give him mouth kisses sometimes.”
Tyler didn’t know what to say. Toddler words were remarkable like that–simple combinations, no beating around the bush.
Honest. Raw.
Rowan resumed his drawing. Tyler leaned back against the couch, reaching for his phone. His fingers itched and there was a warm humming head as he navigated to his social media profile.
There were still so many things Tyler didn’t know. He couldn’t predict the future. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to build a life that felt financially stable. He didn’t know how long they’d be able to rely on Dotty and Sandra.
He didn’t know how to shield Rowan from a future where strangers publicly criticized Tyler’s job.
But they were going to go to that fucking hockey game.
It only took him a minute to find the right picture. It was the snowman Jamie had made them on Christmas morning, Muskies jersey and all, illuminated in the dim light of the gray morning.
He quickly typed:Always cheering our captain on.
