* * *
Dads and the twins are here too. Somewhere. They drove up to watch the game and then Dad is taking Dad on a wine tour. The captain messaged me for a list of what I thought the best wineries were. Thankfully, we’d kind of done a wine tour of our own when the guys and I drove up here at the beginning of the season or I’d have nothing to tell him. I haven’t even walked by a winery this season with the strict liquor regulations, and we lived at Rodney’s every season before this one.
Damn, they’re so sappy though, my parents.
Maybe that could be my grand gesture for Merc. Take him on a wine tour. The drinking ban will be lifted after the game. We could sip on merlots and hate pinot noir together. We could buy cases of our favorite wines and plan all the dinner parties we’ll have with all our other couple friends. Nothing says relationship security like planning dates with other couples, eh?
But then I remember that I don’t have any friends in couples and neither does Merc other than his eldest siblings so that doesn’t count. Ugh. I’m not going to come up with something and then I’ll lose Merc too. I suck at this. How does a guy who has the world’s most perfect parents suck at relationships so much?
Dressed in my suit, I take the back hallways out to the stands before I get into my gear. Dad’ll be stoked. He complains all the time that he never gets to see me in my suit, but he’s one to talk. I’d bet my entire earnings this season that he’s wearing his Birkenstocks to the arena and last I checked, those are not dressy attire. Not that he needs to be dressed up for a hockey game, but point is, he wears them everywhere.
A set of familiar voices travel from the end of the hallway. At least I think so, but the level they’re raised to is something I’ve never heard them at. Not to each other anyway. I freeze, needing to check to be sure.
I don’t understand the context of their fight, but it’s a real fight. One where Dad is legit mad at Dad, and they definitely don’t see eye to eye. In fact, the more I eavesdrop, I get the impression it’s an old-news fight, one of those persistent and reoccurring things. Like when Rhett and I would fight time and time again about me living in my sweats and I’d declare my annoyance for him always having to iron creases into his slacks.
My childhood has been a lie! My parentsdofight. I’ve never been so happy and relieved to hear an argument.
I race to the end of the private hallway and make my presence known. They halt their fighting immediately, but stand frozen, jaws tight, speechless. I hug the fuck outta them. “Hey, guys.”
They each wrap an arm around me. “Sorry about that, son. Dad and I were just discussing something,” the captain says.
“Nah, you were having a wicked fight and man am I glad for it.”
Dad shifts onto the balls of his feet, his toes on full display in the Birkenstocks I knew he’d be wearing. “You are, honey?”
“Yeah. You two are amazing. It gives hope to guys like me.”
The captain takes Dad’s long-fingered hand in his and squeezes it with genuine affection. “Dad and I love each other very much,” he says as if I’m six and worried one little fight means they’re splitting up now.
“I know you do, Dad. I’m not worried. You know, I’m kinda glad I didn’t see that when I was little, but as an adult? I get it.” Something occurs to me though. “Is that the real reason you two have so many time-outs?”
“It’s sometimes the reason,” Dad admits. “Some fights you just can’t take a time-out from.”
“Then how did you two do it?”
Dad bites his lip and looks to the captain to make sure it’s okay to share since—I’m assuming—the information belongs to both of them. The captain nods. “When you boys were old enough to leave alone for a few minutes, we went outside to duke it out in the car. If things still weren’t finished when we were needed again, we had a pact to press pause on it while we remained functional for you boys. We saw no reason not to love each other through a fight. Though now that you know, you might detect coolness at times.”
“There are a ton of other little things we’d do too,” the captain adds. “Every disagreement is different, but we definitely fight things out as you saw. There’s always going to be shit to deal with in a marriage.”
“Yeah, well. I had this whole idea you went off to separate corners to figure yourselves out or something. The whole time-out thing.”
“Sometimes, but it’s not realistic to think you’re going to get a time-out for as long as it takes you to figure your shit out, Jack,” the captain says.
I groan. “I did think that, but yeah, this makes way more sense.”
“Good. Now where’s your man? We want a picture of you two before the big win,” the captain says.
I don’t have the heart to tell them we’re maybe broken up. Hell, I plain don’t want to let thoughts like that enter my head. Merc is mine and if I have to drag him into my arms kicking and screaming that’s what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll get to use my Krav Ma Ga on him for real. “He’s busy with the team. I snuck away and will probably get in shit for it, but I wanted Dad to be able to get a picture with me in my suit.”
“We don’t want you in trouble with the coach,” the captain says, winking. “Let’s get quick pictures so you can be with your team.”
* * *
On the Ice
An aggressive rush of nerves runs through me as I stand, stick in hand in a lineup with my team. The ice chills the air around us and the crowd is dead quiet as our national anthem rings proudly across the arena.
I’m chomping at the bit to get into this battle and shove down the bone-weary tiredness of too many playing hours and not enough recovery. That’s the playoffs for you. But there’s something to be said for pushing your mind and body to the limit like this. I like knowing just how much I can take, and I haven’t broken yet.
