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Roman decides that he doesn’t want to be Captain anymore.
He started thinking about that months ago, really, when the season started and he failed to pass the puck during their first three weeks on the Power Play. He thinks he deserved the captaincy when he was elected six seasons ago, but, maybe he didn’t deserve it afterward.
He became Captain of the team during an easy, meaningless year of his career. There are seasons that you know are seasons to remember, and there are others that you can’t recall, and rightfully so. The 2017-2018 season was fine – it was just fine. His newfound position on the team didn’t change much, and Roman didn’t want becoming Captain to change anything. He wanted to get on the ice every other night and win, the title of Captain was only auxiliary.
Then his contract got extended.
Then he got married.
Then he had two kids and the team’s leadership started to crumble and maybe there was a rebuild, maybe there wasn’t, and there was no hope for making it past the first-round a few years in a row… And then there was the summer he spent with Juuse that finally caused his scale to tip.
He decides he doesn’t want to be Captain anymore as he sits in the backseat of an SUV, a rental car that Filip’s wife had been driving around Denver. She’s sacrificing a lot for Roman as she drives him to the hospital, letting him control the music by leaning over the center console and talking him down as he won’t stop speaking, blabbering about anything that comes to mind, grunting every few seconds from cracking his ribs again.
She took over the leadership for the team’s wives and girlfriends after Roman asked for a divorce. And from all of the work she’d done since April, she definitely deserved to sit in the arena and finish out the Finals. Roman was so tired of asking for favors.
But, he couldn’t drive in the shape that he was in. He would have skated it off if it weren’t for Juuse, occupying all of his attention, distracting him through the entire game. Roman wished that there was a god of hockey sense that he could pray to.
Roman holds back his head and stares up at the sunroof and decides that he doesn’t want to be Captain anymore. It’s between 2 and 3OT in the fourth game of the Stanley Cup Finals and his daughter is about to be born. His second daughter, his third child, his first set of children’s half-sibling.
He wishes that he could go back to his life in, say, 2015. When it was him and Seth and Pekka and Shea, when the mustard of the Nashville Predators was a slightly different yellow, when he was perpetually single and was really just a kid, when Juuse wasn’t even in Milwaukee.
If he had the chance, Roman would go back in time and live his life differently.
He’d stop working himself to death to live up to his title of the ‘Golden Boy of Swiss Hockey,’ he’d give up that Norris trophy, he’d take a few more boys trips during the summer break, he’d drink a few more shots and take a few more risks. He’d let someone else become the Captain and have been able to focus on his life outside of the rink when he needed to. He would’ve gone home to get married, like he’d wanted to for so long. He’d have spent more time with his kids when they were too young to walk. He would have figured his shit out earlier if it weren’t for late nights talking with coaches, wondering what he’d say next to a ref, what community outreach that he’d spend his summers doing. He would have figured out that he was bisexual, that’s for damn sure.
It’s too little, too late. Or too much, too fast. Roman feels like he hasn’t lived at all since he became Captain of the team. His days have all been the same since that September in 2017. He could have been a better man if it weren’t for work. He’d lived and breathed hockey since he was six years old, and that was twenty-eight years too long.
He closes his eyes as he keeps his head up. The streetlights reflecting on the sunroof have made him motion sick. He’s been feeling ill since the end of the first OT, when he skated off the ice in so much pain that he could vomit on the ice, and before he could make it to the locker room, he was pulled aside.
Juuse reached out to Joey’s girlfriend for help. She used an emergency call to speak to someone at the Avs bench. They’d spoken to Joey, he’d gone on the ice and pretended to pummel O’Reilly, yelling into his ear instead, gladly taking the penalty for checking him.
Roman walked into the locker room and collapsed into his stall, beginning to untie his laces while three of the team members worked to get him undressed. Everyone wanted Roman out of the locker room as fast as possible. They all wanted to see pictures of their team baby, they all wanted to hear how things went.
He shoved a slice of pizza into his mouth, sat on a table near the back door. And he took a plastic cup of water and crushed it in his hands as he drank it back.
He thinks it’s a fair trade, giving up the captaincy, since Juuse will never play professional again. It’s the worst thing that Roman could have done to a teammate, ending their career, except that Roman didn’t injure Juuse during practice, but that he got him pregnant. There’s no protocol for that. There were no other instances in the NHL of players leaving the game because of that.
And there’s not been too many instances of Captains taking away their C, it’s almost always been stripped of them instead. Roman thinks that there’s a first for everything, but he’d rather not involve himself in those first steps.
Roman can’t believe he’s thinking it, but he’s happy that he got to leave the game. Because, who cares about the Cup and who cares about hockey and who cares about anything else in the entire world when their child is being born. It makes him feel guilty, not for his team or for the fans, but guilty for himself. He scored two assists the night that his son was born, and he went to practice the morning after his daughter was born. It makes him feel guilty and it makes him feel like an asshole. He regrets everything that he’s done when it comes to being a parent. He doesn’t regret his children – he loves them more than he can explain – but he regrets how many milestones he missed, how many early mornings spent cooing at them that he spent instead at the Sportsplex, how many hours he could have spent with them in the backyard, or watching Bluey, or picking out their clothes. His career was supposed to come first, that was the culture, but it shouldn’t have been.
He’s happy that he got to leave the game because that means he won’t be hounded for hours afterward, giving soundbites to broadcasters and going through a thousand post-game rituals. He doesn’t deserve to be the Captain, so, he doesn’t deserve to hoist that cup – if they win it. Maybe 3OT will be the charm.
His chest seemed to cave in as a nurse slapped a sticker to his pocket, a grainy photo of him and his name attached to it, a visitor’s pass.
This time, he’d do things right. He’d do it all differently.
Carina is born and it’s one text to the group chat before Roman sees the Stanley Cup in the bed of a pick-up truck. Oh God . That’s just disrespectful.
Luke Evangelista
is typing…
Luke Evangelista
Heading your way.
He doesn’t want the first photo that he takes of his child to be inside of the Cup. But he thinks that Juuse will get a laugh out of it.
Juuse is asleep. He’s been asleep for an hour. Their daughter was born and he kissed her head, pulled her to his chest, and closed his eyes. He’s curled into his side and snoring, his blanket tight around him, his skin pink and his face holding onto a look of exhaustion.
Roman Josi
Ok. And who all is coming? It’s five in the morning, think I’m the only one awake in this hallway
Roman had spent the past hour adjusting the bunny ears on the television that hung to his right, sifting through the channels and attempting to watch their team finish out the game. He fought with the remote, constantly changing the volume, having to turn it up to hear the puck slap off of sticks and to turn it down when sports betting commercials began with booming music. Juuse had missed all of it, but Roman didn’t think he’d want to be woken up. He could use some sleep himself, noticing after he took off his sweatshirt that his chest was black and blue, big, purple bruises beginning to form at his side. The adrenaline would wear off soon and he’d feel even worse.
He could use the sleep. It would be the most sleep he’d be getting for weeks. Carina was swaddled safely in the nursery, and there was nothing to worry about that would keep Roman awake any longer.
Luke Evangelista
U think Juice is down for the parade on Sunday?
It was a Wednesday morning and Juuse was an hour out from giving birth to their daughter. And in two days, there was a scheduled flight to take them home from Denver with the rest of the team, two-day-old child in tow, along with a collection of championships rings and hockey sticks and everything else they’d flown in from Nashville. Roman was dreading it. He already wanted it to be over with. He most definitely wasn’t up for their parade on Sunday, having to ride on the back of a fire engine down Broadway and throwing t-shirts to fans, getting champagne sprayed in his face and already being drunk at eight A.M.
Roman Josi
I think he’d rather die
He was overexaggerating things, and was speaking more for himself. Roman could picture Juuse on Sunday morning with his jersey on and athletic shorts, a backwards hat on his head and gold beads around his neck. He’d shrug at Cole’s suggestion that he’d been a duster all season and ask someone to lift the beer-filled Stanley Cup to his lips. Juuse was a good sport. He’d do anything for the rest of them. Even if that meant dragging himself out of bed that Sunday, exhausted and aching and a million new responsibilities hanging off his shoulders.
Roman thinks he’s maturing. That his newfound maturity is one reason he doesn’t want to be the Captain of the team. That hockey culture’s a bore to him now. That he’s happy he missed the locker room celebration, already imagining the mix of sweat and alcohol and people filing in and out of the room taking photos. A year ago, he’d’ve been all over it, considering their win as a reason to partake in a week long bender. No one would’ve been able to tell him shit – he was the Captain of a team that had just won their first Stanley Cup.
Juuse had taught him so much humility.
The photo of the ‘Preds Baby’ inside the cup (a term coined by both the team and the internet) goes viral. And, so does a dramatic, half-true, half-assed retelling of the game of telephone that Juuse, Joey’s girlfriend, Joey, O’Reilly, and Roman played before Carina was born.
The flight home from Denver could have gone worse. One of their team officials berates Roman and Juuse for not wearing suits for photos, and Roman wonders if that man has children of his own. Juuse sleeps for most of the flight, catching up the best he can, waking up every five seconds to check on the sleeping child at his chest. The plane is rowdy and Roman can’t take it, so he hides in the very back and organizes rolls of stick tape.
Maybe, just maybe, giving up the captaincy isn’t the answer.
Maybe Roman doesn’t want to play hockey anymore.
Demoting himself from the captaincy won’t fix much of anything. He’s still the player with the biggest media presence, and was even before he was Captain. He’s the most well-known Predator, other than Pekka, but he’s gone now, too.
He went down a rabbit hole a few months back about how horrible it was to be a hockey WAG – a word new to Roman. He’d read countless blog posts from wives he’d once known well, of how alone they felt, how they felt like single mothers, how they hated paying dues to the rest of the women, how there was the constant pressure to look and act a certain way. How all of that came from the need for connection while their husbands were away, either spending the majority of their day at practices or on road trips across the country.
He’d never really thought of what it meant to be a father, or to be a partner. He’d never thought of what it must feel like to give up everything to support the athlete in your life. There was no need to lament on his failures with his wife, they were divorced now, but he applied those same thoughts of loneliness to his children, all three of them, and he thought of Juuse. How similar he was to the women in the articles, how they’d given up their careers to be single mothers while their partners dedicated every second of their day to the game.
Roman knew of plenty of men who were able to keep up with playing hockey and being fathers, playing hockey and being husbands, playing hockey and having normal lives off of the ice. He’d never been able to do it, though, and realized now that he desperately needed to.
He thought back to the long road trip he took in January, coming home to Juuse and both of them dismissing each other. Roman had acted out because he was tired of traveling and was already thinking of conditioning that next morning. He remembered the look on Juuse’s face, his tired eyes, the worn-out t-shirt he wore. Juuse had acted out because he wanted more than what he was getting. He had acted out because he knew he was stuck with the short end of the stick.
Roman couldn’t live with the guilt anymore. He couldn’t live with the fact that when he found out Juuse was pregnant, that the first words that came out of his mouth were “I can’t do this.” He couldn’t get past the way that Juuse ignored him for months, how it took breaking three ribs to get Juuse’s attention. Even then, Roman knew he didn’t deserve him. He was hung up on how, even when they reconciled, if he could even call it a reconciliation, that Juuse was still cold to him. How Juuse could curl in his lap and laugh and initiate sex and love Roman, but still know that Roman wasn’t all there.
The only time that Roman felt as if Juuse fully trusted him was in the moments before their daughter was born, when Roman had miraculously shown up for him. He thought that only came from Juuse’s fear, though. Which made sense. He and Roman hadn’t talked about much of anything in the time they’d known each other, especially not what they were to do after their daughter was born, when they’d have to confront each other and their shared life head-on.
The parade that Sunday started out as a moment of pure happiness for Roman. There was just something about the atmosphere, riding through the parade and almost plowing through the thick crowd, all clad in mustard jerseys. Juuse presented himself exactly as Roman thought he would, showing up early with multiple 24-packs of beer.
“I finally watched the game last night,” Roman overheard Juuse say to Lanky. “You did good.”
Roman was unaware that Juuse had even wanted to watch the game, much less that he’d carved out time to watch ten pre-recorded periods of hockey. He’d purchased an apartment after his divorce and spent the night there, spending time with his first two children and soaking up the time he’d missed with them during the playoffs. Juuse hadn’t protested to it at all, but Roman did have to wonder if Juuse wished for him at his side instead. If Juuse were smart enough, he wouldn’t want Roman at all.
It was a bit funny, looking back, how Juuse had watched ten periods of hockey while sat on the couch beside his newborn child. Her first word would be forecheck, Roman thought
Juuse comes up to Roman before they start the parade and he grabs onto his shoulder. “’You ready for this?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Roman cracks a smile. “It doesn’t get much better than this.”
The smile that Juuse shares with him is fake. Roman’s smile is, too. But, there’s not much for them to say.
It is odd, seeing Juuse walk past barricades and sign autographs again. For him to wick sweat off of his forehead with the hem of his jersey, his flat belly beneath it. He is able to laugh as Juuse stands at the back of the parade float with the rest of them, giving Filip a disgusted look, probably because Filip’s undermined his ability to do a keg stand, which he does successfully. Juuse’s stamina is otherworldly.
Juuse thinks that now is the time to make his big decision.
He doesn’t know what it is that he wants to change, but he’s enjoying his new life so much that he never wants it to shatter.
He had been so hopeful that week, as Roman came to him when Carina was born, how he held her against his chest and was gentle with her. Juuse had decided then that there was nothing he and Roman couldn’t work past, that there was a love between the three of them – himself, Roman, and their child – that could mend all of their hardships.
And then he spent his first night away from Roman in months.
It’s been two weeks since the celebrations died down, and he’s lying awake one morning, watching YouTube videos on his phone and has his left hand resting on the bassinet.
He breathes in slowly. He likes this.
He really, really likes this.
He no longer dreads waking up in the morning, no longer feels groggy as he makes his coffee and forces down breakfast. He wakes up with a broad smile and then a purse on his lips, a kiss against his daughter’s forehead. He looks forward to this all night, or the two hours of sleep he can get consecutively. He can’t believe it took so long for him to want this.
Having a child was the best thing that could have ever happened to him.
Becoming a father was never on his radar. So far, it had been a pleasant surprise. A new reason to not limit himself from loving, to dedicate his entire life to a whole new person, to love an extension of himself.
Soft skin and huge eyes, and thin, silky hair, short curls. Small hands and pink cheeks, a toothless laugh and quiet breathing.
Juuse didn’t want to share this with anyone. He’d come to terms with that. How for so many months he’d lamented over his loneliness. Juuse wasn’t lonely anymore, at least not in practice, and he’d overcome that fear of life alone. There was nothing to worry about anymore, nothing to fear. He had his child to think of now – she came first before any other thought – and he didn’t feel anything but love when he thought of her. He could never replicate this feeling.
Roman was coming over in an hour. Juuse wasn’t looking forward to that.
Roman had been good. He’d been attentive, he’d been caring. He’d been stopping by for most of his day, just sitting beside Juuse in silence on the couch, accepting Carina from Juuse’s hands as he’d pass her over, trying to get some extra rest. Juuse had noticed that Roman didn’t know what to do when it came to her. He didn’t know how to warm milk or to rock her to sleep. Juuse guessed that Roman had missed those parts of parenting. He was probably at the Sportsplex, missing the net.
Juuse didn’t know those things at first, either, but he learned them out of necessity. And he didn’t have time to shift between attempting to sleep or spending time alone to tell Roman what to do. “You’ll figure it out,” was what he always said. Roman did figure things out, but it took intense trial and error. “Just don’t hurt her,” Juuse would stifle out a laugh.
It was nice to have Roman there, easing the weight on his shoulders, watching their daughter for part of the day. But, the nights were always better, when Juuse was alone and Roman was at his own home, dealing with his set of children that would always come first and ignoring Juuse’s calls. Each time that Roman didn’t pick up, Juuse would sigh in relief. He didn’t know why he would even call him in the first place.
He thought that was what he was supposed to do. To try to include Roman, to almost say that, you’re her father, too, let me tell you everything about her. Juuse was quick to realize that he didn’t have to.
The nights were the best, and the early mornings were a very close second. Calm, silent moments spent dozing off beside his sleeping child, listening as she gently snored, waking himself up gradually when he sensed she was restless. He wouldn’t trade those moments of solitude for anything. He wouldn’t trade those moments of peace and quiet with his daughter, the one person who meant everything to him, for the entire world.
He wouldn’t trade it for his and Roman’s relationship to work.
Juuse thought back to where he was a month ago, how he’d called Roman to stay with him after the Predators lost a game against the Stars, setting them back one game before they could try to reach the Conference Finals.
“You don’t say much, do you?”
Juuse shrugged. He guessed that much was true. That he stayed silent until spoken to, or until he truly cared. He cared about Roman, but didn’t feel that admiration in return. He knew that Roman loved him, it was more than just a possibility, it was fact. But love didn’t equate care, nor had it led to any solace for him. You can only say that you love someone so many times before you have to put that love into action.
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do,” he curled his lips toward his teeth. Juuse guided his hand to his record player, stopping the music, before crawling up from the bed to change out the vinyl.
“No, no,” Roman reached for Juuse, wrapping an arm around the curve of his belly, grabbing onto him in hopes he’d lay back down.
“Get off me,” Juuse took hold of a blanket and threw it over his shoulders, wearing it like a cape as he bent down, nimble as he sifted through a milk crate.
He could practically hear as Roman rolled his eyes, turning over in bed as Juuse started a new record. He’d forgotten the name of it, but it was by Taylor Swift. He’d grown tired of constantly being asked his favorite song she sang and not knowing an answer.
“I saw her in May, last year. And it rained all night,” Roman found his phone and began to scroll, mindlessly. “We were there until two in the morning.”
Seemingly not a pleasant memory. Juuse didn’t mind that, he could listen to whatever it was that he wanted, it was his record player and he was in a bad mood to begin with. He felt more sympathy for himself than he did Roman; Roman was upset because he had a bad game that afternoon. Juuse was tired and miserable and 8 months pregnant. He could listen to Taylor Swift if he wanted to.
“You obviously don’t want to see me,” Roman didn’t look away from his screen.
“I never said that,” Juuse could feel his brows knitting together, an action that had engrained itself into his subconscious. “I wanted to see you so badly.”
He wanted to be comforted, to be dotted on and taken care of. He knew that Roman was busy, that they were a game away from Conference Finals. If things were the other way around, though, Juuse would still show up for him. He’d be there every moment that he could. He’d invite him to the rink, the practices for the Cup run that were media only, haggling to get Roman in, because he was family. Juuse wondered if Roman considered him family. He considered that of Roman, not because they had any solid relationship, but because of their daughter. They were family, now, whether or not they truly wanted to be.
“You wanted to see me, and so I came over and we had sex. And now if I know you well enough, you’re going to take a shower and go to sleep, then wake up after I’ve already left.”
“Can’t I just have a few hours with you? Can’t I take whatever you can spare? Have you ever really thought of me? What I want, what I can handle right now, emotionally? Or is it just yourself, what you can handle under the stress of the game?” Juuse didn’t turn to look at Roman, either. He lifted the needle from the record, though, and cleaned dust off of its metal. Juuse continued to fiddle, finally dropping the blanket from his shoulders, and without saying a word, he left the bedroom to shower, ignoring Roman’s protesting.
He noticed that as he walked into the bathroom that his music didn’t stop playing. That made him smile, it felt like he had won.
Except that there was no real argument, just general discontent and the knowledge that this wasn’t going to work out. He thought it would be alright, just to pester Roman for a couple of hours each night. He’d suspected that Roman would be all for it, to lay beside him, to try to talk to him, to have sex after these big games, to sleep in a warm bed. He’d been so wrong in thinking that. He’d been so wrong to think that he could trust anyone other than himself.
No one had ever really wronged him. No one had betrayed Juuse. But, that was because he never opened himself up to anyone else. Until Roman came along, and there wasn’t a choice. Juuse knew from the start that hooking up over the summer wouldn’t end well; that, at the very least, it would lead to unresolved tension and shift the dynamic of their team. He never thought that he’d end up pregnant, and retiring from hockey, or that he’d be stuck alongside Roman instead of being able to ignore him.
He couldn’t find the strength to stay away from Roman. There was that knowledge that Roman loved him, and that feeling was irreplaceable. The relief that would wash over Juuse’s face in remembering that wouldn’t return as he saw Roman each day, though. Instead, it would be as if that joy never existed. If either of them didn’t know how to talk to one another, Roman was worse.
Juuse took his shower, shaking his head as he stepped into the water and it was far too hot. He turned the faucet to its coldest setting and he closed his eyes. He pressed the palms of his hands into his cheeks and started to cry. He couldn’t recognize himself. If he could talk to himself exactly a year before, that last May, he would have told himself to never give into Roman’s advances – no matter how large of a crush that Juuse had on him, or Roman’s ability to make him feel admired beneath him. He’d tell his past self to never move forward with the idea of a summer fling. He’d hurt too many people. He hurt his teammates, not being able to play the entire season. He hurt Roman’s wife and kids. He’d hurt himself. He didn’t recognize himself without his career, without his routines, with the daunting task of giving birth to a child that not only was his, but also half of someone who he cycled through despising and begging to be beside. That was only a month away.
He had a choice to make after she was born, whether or not he’d entertain the idea of himself and Roman as a coupling. Juuse knew that he couldn’t end things right now, not when their playoff run was going so strong, or when he was an emotional wreck at every hour of the day.
He heard the bathroom door open, barely audible from the water spewing from the showerhead. He knew that Roman would be there to open the curtain and to wrap him in a towel that would no longer close.
It was the little things that were almost enough.
It wasn’t enough when Roman arrived that afternoon, disheveled and out of it, clearly not all there. “Practice went terrible,” he shook his head.
“The season starts in four months,” Juuse said. “Who all was on the ice? Just you and one other person?”
Roman didn’t find it funny, even though it was true.
“I’m thinking about getting back out there soon,” Juuse picked at the skin of his nails. “In about a month, I might try.”
“You don’t seriously think that you’re coming back, do you?”
Juuse looked up from his cuticles and recognized the look that crossed his own face, how his eyes were low beneath his brows. He rolled his eyes instead, not wanting to show defeat. “No, it’s just… it’s just a lot of fun. I need a hobby, or two.”
He wanted to come back to the team. He knew it wouldn’t happen any time soon. He knew there would never be a spot for him again on the roster. He could play some charity games, he thinks. He misses the cold air that hangs above ice and the stretch in his thighs as he reaches across the crease, he misses the thrill of pucks flying beneath him, he misses his friends.
Juuse’s happiness isn’t tied to his career anymore, though, and he’s come to terms with the fact that an open skate once a week may be all that he has time for anymore. He’d be alright with ice skating downtown at a makeshift rink for Christmas. The sense of purpose that being an athlete gave him has been replaced with the dedication that he has to his daughter. She’s worth so much more.
He met Roman at his front door, initiating that ever-so-awkward attempt at conversation that came from standing in a doorway. Juuse went to turn on the television, sitting back against the couch and a dog jumping into his lap, his other dog laid beneath the bassinet in the living room. The first time Roman came over after Carina was born, both of Juuse’s dogs guarded her and showed their teeth at Roman, something that Juuse had never seen of them before.
Roman remembered that and pointed to the dog beneath the bassinet before he took Carina into his arms. Juuse drummed his hands against his lap and soon enough, both of his dogs lay against him, weighing him down and causing him to smile.
“She’s so small,” Roman handled her like he had never held a baby before. “I wasn’t there enough when mine were like this.”
Juuse is sure that Roman’s tongue is tied, so he decides to say nothing, but wants to remind him, this is your child, too. “Look at her eyelashes,” Juuse says instead. Long, thick brown lashes surround her blue eyes – which are quickly turning green. “She’s perfect.”
“So long,” Roman whispers and pulls her to his chest, her head fitting beneath his neck. He has his thumb against her back, rubbing a line back and forth on her pajamas. “And she has so much hair,” he kisses the crown of her head. It’s as if he’s never noticed these things before.
Her shoulders twitch and her hands curl into fists. Juuse stims from his throat, telling Roman to hand her over. The hair of her brows is too thin to see, but Juuse knows that they’re knitting together. His dogs are still on top of him, so all that he can do is reach out both hands. “Roman, I’ve got her,” he tries to grab at air as Roman is shushing her, trying to quiet her down before she cries.
(Roman wants to tell Juuse that he’s trying his best. He can’t get the words out. He can’t surrender his strength by saying that. As soon as he says that he’s been struggling and that he knows he’s not enough, the tears will flow. He’s never cried in front of Juuse before. He’s never cried in front of anyone.)
Carina starts fussing and Roman finally hands her over. Juuse holds her tightly and calms her down, until she’s barely crying anymore, and their ears aren’t ringing. He’s able to reach to the coffee table and take hold of a bottle from earlier, that he’d filled too high and was almost too warm. He makes sure that warmth is still there before he puts it at Carina’s lips, holding her upright as she suckles the milk and finally closes her eyes.
Roman’s kind of standing there, his arms loose at his side, a bit in awe of how natural that this comes for Juuse and a bit afraid.
“Do you want to go out for dinner?” He breaks the silence between them.
Juuse looked to the child at his side and laughed. “What?”
“I asked if you wanted to get dinner. It doesn’t have to be any place special.” Of course, not. “I just thought that you might like that… you’ve not left the house except to come to our parade. And she might as well get some fresh air.”
Juuse was trained not to draw any attention to himself. He would rather not leave the house yet; the parade was enough social interaction for the rest of the year. He had a child two weeks ago. He wasn’t comfortable with going outside. The parade was different, he was on an adrenaline high and incredibly excited for his team. He doubted that anyone would notice that he wore a new jersey, one size larger than he usually would, or that when he lifted his jersey to wipe sweat from his forehead his underwear rode high and he’d tucked in a t-shirt. And he wondered how he would react if Carina was crying in the restaurant, especially if she was inconsolable. That was just rude for him to subject other people to.
Perhaps Carina would behave. She was conceived after the only dinner he and Roman had ever shared. He thought of how they’d named their daughter after the chef they’d met the night she was conceived. He thought of how it felt like a mutual decision to name her that, after the one, the only, quality meal and conversation that they’d ever had. And he thought of how he wanted that to be her name all along, anyway, so that story didn’t matter. Kaarina… Carina. Same difference. Same name. Juuse felt like all of the responsibility for her life sat on him.
They sit in the back booth of the restaurant, both severely underdressed, having gone somewhere that reflected Roman’s expensive taste. Juuse tries to hide in his oversized t-shirt and his khaki cargos, but, of course, they’re recognized. And Carina is cooed over, and the owner asks for a picture to go on the wall, beside every other celebrity in Nashville (are they celebrities? They’ve won a championship, but, surely, they don’t belong in a picture frame beside Carrie Underwood).
Roman watches as Juuse multitasks, moving between reading the menu and keeping a watchful eye by his side. He rocks the carrier that Carina is sleeping in, sighing deeply each time that she opens her eyes and they water. “Please, don’t cry,” he says lowly, but he says it with such care, with a flush of his cheeks that only resembles the look of pure love. And she isn’t hungry, but he knows that she’s confused, having fallen asleep in the car and woken up in a dimly lit eatery. Juuse lets her play with his hand, drooling on his pinky and grabbing his thumb with her entire hand. Roman tries to initiate conversation, but Juuse doesn’t hear him. Rightfully so.
And Roman only stares at Juuse until a waiter stops by. This is what it must have felt like, last September, when the two of them had lunch and Roman tried confronting him. This is what Juuse must have felt like, that he had nothing to say that could fix things. Roman continues to stare, continues to study the curves of Juuse’s face, the swell of his cheeks and the velvet of his lips, his overgrown mustache and the shadow on his chin, the bags beneath his eyes that sit patiently for another sleepless night, the way that his eyes wrinkle at their sides from the permeant smile that he’s been sporting since Carina was born.
And Roman wonders how someone can be so beautiful. And he wonders how he could have ever treated Juuse so harshly, when they were both confused and worried and knew nothing about what to do. And he wonders how Juuse is so good at this, while he knows nothing at all about raising his kids. While he knows nothing at all about exercising his care for another person.
Roman is in love. That’s different than loving someone. Being in love means that the act of love runs through him. It’s a fire that courses through his veins. Roman needs to learn how to show it.
Kevin Lankinen
Ice tomorrow?
Kevin Lankinen
The team is playing against each other! Tomorrow night, all of us are getting together. Come!
Juuse sees the text messages appear and immediately swipes them away. He turns his phone flat on his nightstand and closes his eyes. He doesn’t care that he’s sat on his bed because he’s going to do laundry, planning to ball up its sheets and wash them. He doesn’t care that his overhead light is on. Juuse is going to sleep off the invitation and pretend he never read it.
It’s July, now. It’s Juuse’s first off-season that he’s spent entirely in Nashville. He’s never sweat through weather this hot before. He’s spent most of his time indoors, cycling between sleep, taking care of Carina, and attempting to take care of himself. There’s clear nail polish on his toes – a new hobby, and there’s a ball of yarn tossed on his floor, with crochet needles lost between his couch cushions – another new hobby, yet not as successful as self-care. He’s been driving around Nashville, circling its city center, with Carina in the backseat. The movement of the car keeps her asleep, and it’s a chance for Juuse to listen to music, humming beneath his breath to another Taylor Swift song. He likes one with a long title, he can’t fully remember which one (it’s Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve). Somedays, he’ll drive downtown, driving down streets just right of Broadway. Sometimes, he’ll take a walk through Centennial Park, pushing Carina in a big stroller and breathing in the scent of fresh-cut grass.
It’s 103 degrees tomorrow, and the idea of going to the rink is tempting. He’d like to catch snow beneath his skates, to rub it between his fingertips, to take off his helmet and imagine that his sweat has begun to crystalize.
It’s also been a month, exactly, since Carina was born. He took a sheet of printer paper and folded it into a cone, creating a makeshift party hat. Juuse sent photos of himself with Carina and his dogs, all celebrating, to the team group chat. Roman was one of the few who didn’t answer, but Juuse didn’t expect for him to. He hadn’t been stopping by the house as often.
Juuse tries to close his eyes and fall asleep, but he isn’t tired. He grabs his phone again.
Juuse Saros
Yes. What time? :)
He can’t believe he sent it.
Juuse covers his face with his hands, laughing at himself, imagining himself on skates again, big, bulky goalie pads weighing down his knees. He knows that he’ll fall on his back as soon as his feet meet the ice. He doesn’t think he’ll stop a single puck. That’s alright. He’s getting part of his life back.
“Hello?” Roman sounds drunk as he answers the phone.
“Hey, man,” Juuse has Roman on speaker in the locker room. It’s only him and Vange still getting dressed. “Where are you?”
“What?”
“We’re all here tonight. ‘Team’s taking part in some friendly competition,” Juuse nods. “You’re not going to leave us hanging, are you?”
“Juuse, I…” Maybe he isn’t drunk, but he still sounds inebriated. Or he sounds like he’s been crying. “I’m not going to be able to make it tonight, I’m sorry.”
Juuse swallows and nods again. For some reason, he already expected Roman’s absence. He can’t let on to any turmoil, though, because he’s noticed that Luke is listening to their call. “Okay, well, that’s fine. We might meet up again next week, if you’re down for that one.”
“I broke my contract.”
Roman says the words as if he’s been practicing how to say them.
“I’m not welcome back,” Roman continues. “I’m not on the team anymore.”
Juuse can sense how quickly Luke has whipped his head toward him. He takes Roman off speaker and finishes up the call.
“Did you know about this?” Juuse finally asks Luke, once they’re already on the ice and are talking strategy.
“No,” Luke shakes his head, a confused grin on his lips. “What the hell?”
Juuse’s time on the ice is overshadowed by his phone call with Roman. It seems like everything in Juuse’s life is overshadowed by him.
The scrimmage goes well. Juuse fails to block- well, he’d never admit how many pucks went past him in the first period. His half of the team pulls out the win, though. And it’s hugs all around. He’s missed the feeling of tapping helmets with his teammates.
What he didn’t miss, though, was the locker room afterward.
“’Youse wanna say what happened before we went out there?” Luke is combing through his wet hair.
No, not really .
Juuse shrugs and he takes a deep breath. Roman – or Pekka or Filip or someone else – had told the team that he was pregnant with his baby last November, so Juuse didn’t feel too bad about spreading Roman’s news. After all, whatever was said in the locker room was never supposed to leave it.
“I called Roman earlier. Y’know, just to ask if he was showing up tonight,” Juuse played with a puck between his hands, still frozen. “He told me that he quit."
Juuse expected total silence after he said it.
“He told you that over the phone?” Kiefer drew back his head in a mixed emotion of shock and disgust.
“I’ve not spoken to him in a couple of weeks,” Juuse is still playing with the rubber, snow melting in his palms. “How else would he have told me?”
That’s when the silence happens. A deafening silence, like that which comes after a nuclear war. Where there’s no pin to hear dropping on the floor.
Then comes the barrage of questions. You don’t live together? What do you mean, you haven’t spoken in two weeks? Isn’t your child four weeks old? Did he say why he was quitting? Was he joking? Did he break his contract? Why haven’t you spoken in two weeks? That one came up again and again.
Juuse doesn’t answer anyone. Rather, he takes his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. He’s already showered and changed clothes.
He’s quiet as he leaves the room, but he knows how loud his absence is. He knows what it means that he can’t answer their questions about Roman. It makes all of his fears real – that maybe Roman doesn’t care, and that Juuse should stop giving him the benefit of the doubt. They’ve played on the same team for almost a decade and they have a child. It’s not a good look that Juuse can’t answer where Roman’s been.
Roman Josi – (4) Missed Calls
Juuse is awake at four in the morning, watching infomercials and praying for Carina to fall asleep. She’s not been sleeping well, which means that Juuse hasn’t been, either. There are only so many lullabies that he can sing to her, or extra bottles to warm, or hours that he can rock her back and forth.
He’s missed all of Roman’s calls on purpose, but the guilt from leaving Roman hanging is eating him alive.
The television starts advertising for a portable vacuum and both of his dogs start barking. He hangs back his head in frustration and changes the channel to QVC instead of HSN.
Juuse checks his phone again and the notification is staring him down. Four missed calls, starting at two in the morning. There’s nothing else better for him to do at this hour, so he sends Roman a text.
Juuse Saros
Still awake?
Roman Josi
What do you think?
Juuse Saros
Your child has been keeping me up all night.
Are you OK? You can come over. Or we can talk again in the morning. Have you talked to anyone else on the team?
Roman Josi
is typing…
Roman Josi
Do you think I’d keep her awake even longer?
Juuse Saros
I don’t know. You’ve never been with us at night.
He decides to turn off his phone, completely, and to not put it back on its charger. Roman will come over if he wants to, Juuse thinks.
Roman wakes up at noon and Juuse is wrapped around his back. He’s snoring into his shoulder and has his hands tight on his chest.
Juuse’s chest is wet with sweat but he hasn’t moved. It’s from Roman clinging to him all night, forcing himself as close to his body as possible. He wonders if Juuse is lonely, but remembers that Juuse has their team to fall back on. He wonders how their scrimmage went last night without him.
Juuse finally moves, inching away from Roman a hair at a time, afraid he hasn’t woken up yet. He lets go of Roman and sits up slowly, resting his head in his hands and massaging his temples. They’ve both slept in far too late, and because of that, Juuse is nursing a headache.
He keeps his head against his palms and rocks himself back and forth. His back is on fire from the night before. He didn’t expect to be as out of shape as he was. Juuse begins to roll his ankles and listens as they crack, an old heel injury that never fully healed coming back to bite him, not having been worked in far too long.
It hits him all at once, that less than six weeks ago, his child was born. He’s less than two months out from giving birth. He’s thankful that he spent the majority of his life as an athlete, because if not, then he’d be feeling even worse. Juuse has run off of adrenaline for the past month, not taking a moment to breathe. When the house was quiet, Juuse would focus on his love. He’d think about Carina, not himself.
His body still feels just as heavy as it did when he was pregnant, and his hips still ache all the same. His reflection in the mirror is quite different in comparison to what it was before.
He laughs to himself when he thinks about going to the parade, four days out, and being able to walk. He was able to drink beer from a spout.
It hits him all at once that he’s been blissfully unaware of all of life’s problems. Juuse can’t stand that Roman’s laying there beside him. He feels an anger that seems irrational, though it isn’t. How ignorant that he was to accept Roman into his house, into his bed, when Roman barely gives him the time of day anymore.
Juuse thinks it’s because he was on the ice that night before. He thinks that getting back in the crease opened him up. It put everything into perspective. He’d been living alone for the past month, taking care of a child completely on his own, while his child’s father was out doing god-knows-what. It was an easy month, until it wasn’t. Until Carina started opening her eyes for longer than a few seconds and discovered her hands. It was an easy month until Carina was old enough to do more than just lie there.
She’s been keeping Juuse awake for the past few days and she can’t stop crying. Juuse is surprised that he got to sleep in this late. He loves her more than he can say, but, sometimes, Juuse wishes that there was another person there to hear her crying, to see him crying in frustration in return. He doesn’t wish that person was Roman, though, as much as it hurts to acknowledge.
There’s also the lingering sense of insecurity in the back of Juuse’s mind, that anxiousness that had followed him for his entire life. He hadn’t felt it since Carina was born, putting all of his time and care into her, but now that things have gotten harder, he wonders if he’s doing his best for her. Juuse’s insecurity also projects back to himself, back to the burn in his back and the ache of his hips. He stood in the shower room that night before, washing his hair with body gel, having forgotten his shampoo, when Yakov laughs, a bit. He says to Juuse, You’ve gotta tighten that up and it’s a reference to the way that his thighs touch and the loose skin at his waist.
Juuse takes his head from his hands and stares at Roman’s back. Then, he looks beyond Roman, to the squirming body in the bassinet. He peers over Roman and notices that his eyes are open, that he’s twiddling his fingertips. He isn’t reaching for Carina, who, at any second now, is going to start crying again in upset.
He hates the fact he still loves Roman. That was another thing that he had forgotten to think about, tied up in keeping Carina alive. He hates the fact that he wants to give Roman a second chance, and then a third, and then a fourth, and then an nth. He hates that he texted Roman in the middle of the night, then stayed awake to see the lights of his car in his driveway. He hates that he instructed Roman to lay down, that he knows Roman’s been having a hard time, and that Juuse cuddled up with him from behind.
Juuse would do it all again, though. He’d do everything, one more time, just to feel Roman loving him back, the few times that Juuse could feel that he did. Juuse decides that he wouldn’t go back in time to tell himself to stop their affair. Juuse would gladly relive that entire summer. He’d relive when he was pregnant. He’d do it all again, just for those few and far-between moments when he knew that Roman loved him in return.
Today is one of those moments. He believes that Roman loves him. And why should Juuse believe it? He can’t find an answer.
He reaches over Roman to take Carina into his arms. His pajama pants trail on the floor (a pair of Roman’s that he borrowed months ago) as he carries her out of the bedroom, holding her carefully as she fights against him.
Juuse notices how Roman turns the corner in the kitchen, how he watches Juuse make her bottle with one hand. Juuse never turns around to look back at Roman. He wants to wink to him, or blow him a kiss. Something domestic, something like his parents did.
But, this is different. There’s nothing ordinary about their relationship. Juuse can’t use any bookmarks from his life to compare he and Roman to them.
He and Roman get back into bed, and Juuse remembers how Roman didn’t help him.
They stare at each other before they both roll over, their backs against each other, like they’ve never held each other in their sleep. Like Juuse wasn’t holding Roman that morning.
Juuse pretends to fall asleep. He even pretends to snore. And he thinks that he catches Roman crying.
He doesn’t have enough sympathy to turn to him.
He continues to keep his eyes closed, swallowing back tears of his own. He thinks that Roman has depression, he doesn’t think that’s an excuse for Roman not hearing him.
He listens as Roman gets up from the bed as quietly as he can. He can hear the laces of Roman’s shoes knotting together. He knows that Roman doesn’t mean to slam the door as he leaves.
He wonders why it is so painful to love him.
Juuse thinks back to when Carina was born. Not the day that she was born, rather, but the moment.
Because Roman was there and Juuse held his hand, and then he let go. He doesn’t remember why, but he remembers letting go of him. He remembers balling his fists instead, and feeling so much better.
He remembers his fists being balled into the sheets of the hospital bed when Carina was placed on his chest. He remembers feeling relieved that it wasn’t Roman to hold her first.
There’s a team party being thrown in a barn.
There’s nothing more Tennessee than that.
Juuse finds out about the party while he’s in the locker room, coming off the ice from another scrimmage. His half of the team lost, but that’s alright. There are no hard feelings there, they all know that he’s never going to reach the level of athleticism as he did before.
Vange is scrolling through his phone while everyone else is chatting. He has on glasses, a secret of his being that he wears contacts, and he starts to laugh. “’You guys wanna come out tonight?”
Juuse wants nothing more than to watch Netflix in bed. He’s three seasons into Gilmore Girls .
The rest of the room resounds in a chorus of agreement, however. Juuse begins to nod his head.
Carina’s with a sitter, and so far, he’s received multiple texts that she’s doing just fine. He won’t have to worry about her that night, he’ll pay the sitter extra to stay until the morning. And Juuse could use a little fun. The scrimmages once a week have lifted his spirits tremendously, but he wants to go out. He’s not been out on Broadway in years – he’s far too recognizable to the devoted Preds fans in Nashville – and he couldn’t fully enjoy the Stanley Cup Parade, excited for his teammates, but feeling out of place, as he hadn’t played that season and had retired back in February.
Come to think of it, Juuse doesn’t know if he’s officially retired or not. Bye-week was a whirlwind, with the trip to the Super Bowl and the general public finding out that he was pregnant. He never read any news articles that week about his retirement, though there should have been a few. And he’s been playing with the team in scrimmage all summer. He doesn’t want to think about the logistics of next season yet. There’s no way that he could play, anyway.
Juuse rides with Luke to the party, sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Vange has splurged on a top-of-the-line Tesla with his Stanley Cup money. Juuse is more than comfortable with his SUV.
He plays with the giant touch screen and accidentally changes the music. “Oh, I love this one,” Luke says, surprising Juuse as he’s playing Taylor Swift.
There’s only one lyric that Juuse resonates with. The short, the simple, I regret you all the time . He doesn’t know why it brings him to his knees each time he hears it. He doesn’t regret Roman. Then again, there’s something to say that when Juuse listens to the song, that Roman is the one person that comes to mind.
He should regret Roman. In recent days, Juuse has grown incredibly angry with him. But, he still doesn’t regret anything that has happened. Perhaps if they didn’t have a daughter, if the greatest thing in Juuse’s life had never come to be, that Juuse could regret Roman, wholeheartedly.
Roman sits on a couch with a handle of Tito’s. He’s not drinking it, but it seems to fit the mood.
The barn is sweltering hot, even at midnight, when the party has begun. He can’t remember who invited him, but they told him that it was a team party, not that it was a random party that anyone could go to. There were women dancing on tables and alcohol spilt on the floor, Roman’s shoes already sticky after being there for fifteen minutes.
The barn has a loft and that’s where Roman is sat. He watches as a trio of DJs spin the music and strobe lights flicker. The lights are a mix of orange, green, and purple, and it’s making him quite dizzy. He feels sweat run down his forehead and takes a shot to cool himself off. Then, he kicks the bottle beneath the couch, hearing it shatter against the wall. He’s never been a drinker, anyway. It’s a new habit that he needs to kick.
Tommer talks to Novy near the stairs, leaning over the railing that overlooks what should be a dancefloor. They’re laughing and catching up; there’s tears falling down Novy’s cheeks, he’s laughing so hard. They both hold solo cups in their hands and slosh beer onto the crowd below them on accident. Roman tries to remember what it was like to be so young.
He stands up and walks past them, putting a hand on Tommer’s shoulder to say hello, but he doesn’t turn his head to Roman.
Roman goes downstairs, into the crowd, and attempts to dance. He doesn’t know the song that booms through the speakers. The bass is too loud to make the words out. He searches through the crowd for a familiar face, another teammate that he can pester. He’s going to ask someone how Juuse has been doing.
Juuse is in a dark corner with a glow stick necklace hanging from his neck. He’s dancing with another man, someone that isn’t their teammate, someone that Juuse made sure he didn’t recognize. Juuse hardly saw his face before the mystery man held his hips and they began to sway. It feels good to try moving forward. It feels good when Juuse kisses the man that he doesn’t know and tastes vodka and lemonade on his lips. It feels good when he presses his body against him and can feel an erection beneath his shorts.
Juuse has his own drink in his hand, but he’s been sharing his dance partners’. He lets loose and wraps his arms around the man’s neck, knocking into the cowboy hat that he wears. The man is so drunk that Juuse doubts he will even remember him. Juuse is doing this for himself, though. He’s trying to move on.
The barn is dark enough, especially where he stands, that Juuse can feel his hands shifting down the man’s front, ready to play with his zipper. He’s never done this before. He’s never been the one to initiate sex with a stranger, to whisper to a man he doesn’t know that he’d like to crawl into his bed. But, it’s the alcohol speaking instead of Juuse, and it’s a mix of his deep emotions coming out to play.
He jumps out of his skin when he feels Roman’s palm against his back, grabbing onto his collar and pulling him apart from the other man.
“What are you doing here?” Juuse recognizes that he’s already slurring. “You’re not even on the team.”
“None of these people are, either,” Roman speaks above the music, barely loud enough for Juuse to hear him. He keeps his hand on the neck of Juuse’s shirt and walks with him, exiting the barn. “Juice, what are you doing here? You’ve got a child at home.”
“Who the fuck do you think I am?” He’s never been one to swear, but whatever was in his cup is getting to him, alongside the anger toward Roman that he’s had yet to express.
“What?” The music inside the barn grows louder, and even outside of it, Roman has to yell over it. “What?!"
“I said, who the fuck do you think that I am? Someone you can just walk all over?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Juuse rolls his eyes and pours the rest of his drink onto the ground. He stomps on the solo cup and its plastic disintegrates. Roman’s never seen Juuse like this before. While Juuse rolls his eyes, Roman’s own eyes widen. And there comes the gravity of how badly that Roman fucked up.
“You’ve not spoken to me in weeks, why are you here?” Juuse’s slight lisp is exasperated now and Roman can hardly make out what he says.
“You can ignore me all you want and you can try to change who you are, but that doesn’t stop the fact that I have a child with you,” Juuse spits out the words. His anger comes from what he realized in the car, but also from Roman’s request, that he shouldn’t be out partying, he has a child. Roman forgets that Juuse’s child is his child as well.
“I had your baby and I quit my career and I’m miserable every time that I have to come near you. You don’t think about it now, but in the future, you’re going to regret everything you ever did to me. You’re going to look back on your life and know that you should have done it all differently. Who the fuck do you think I am? I’ve sacrificed everything for you. You don’t care at all.”
Juuse is talking with his hands and his eyes water as he speaks. It’s the first time that Roman has ever seen him mad. It’s a foreign sight. It scares Roman to the point that his hair stands on end. He could have never imagined that Juuse would ever speak to him like this.
“You don’t want me to be here because I have a child at home. You don’t want me to be on another man because of your sick feeling that you have some claim to lay on me.” Juuse is quite eloquent when he’s been drinking. “When was the last time that you saw her?”
Kiefer and Cody are outside as well, drinking light beers with tobacco pouches in their lips. One turns their head to listen in on Juuse and Roman’s conversation. Even in his drunkenness, Juuse begins to blush in embarrassment. This will be the talk of the team for weeks.
He and Roman continue arguing and Juuse shushes Roman in shame. Cody and Kiefer walk closer to them, but Roman just keeps talking. He fires back rebuttals that mean nothing, trying to calm Juuse down. Juuse shakes his head and stops listening. He’s too drunk for this. He never wants to see Roman again. How does Roman have time to go to a party, but he doesn’t make time to see his daughter? To even text Juuse once a week and to ask him how he is? Roman could likely say the same for Juuse, that Juuse never texts him, that Juuse never calls, that Juuse never goes out of his way to see him. But Juuse’s days are filled with taking care of their child. He stays away from Roman for his own sanity, and Roman stays away from Juuse because of his neglect.
Juuse has stopped saying anything back to Roman; his head is spinning from the alcohol, his embarrassment, and his fear. Roman’s still talking, his voice keeps getting higher and it keeps getting louder. Kiefer comes between them, a hand on each of their chests, pulling them apart. “What are you doing?”
Neither of them has an answer.
Juuse wishes that he could say a few things twice. That he could have gotten to know Roman better over the years. They had six years to form a connection, any connection. They sat beside each other in the locker room, but they never had a conversation, until Juuse was underneath him and his words were incoherent.
He wishes that he could have made the effort to be Roman’s friend. To laugh at his jokes and make his own, to sit down with him and explain who he was, why he was the person he was, what his life was like before moving to America, and who he was outside of the team.
It was too late for that now. They’d skipped past the chance to get to know each other like that. Now, there’d be slipped-out sentences that would reveal too much about one another, leading to confusion rather than compassion.
Juuse wakes up in his own bed. Roman is beside him.
He doesn’t remember much from the night before, other than sobering up in his bathroom, clinging to the tiled floor. The night before comes to him in flashbacks; riding in Luke’s Tesla, shrugging his shoulders at whatever jungle juice was ladled into his cup, dancing and chatting up a stranger, Roman’s hand at his collar, dry heaving over the toilet bowl.
The first thing that he does is stand up. He wants to get his blood coursing through his body, maybe that will alleviate the hangover that he knows he will be fighting. He walks to the kitchen, ready to prepare the greasiest meal that he can come up with, a mix of noodles and stale vegetables and bacon fat to dry up his stomach.
Juuse pores over the stove, shaking in his nausea. He stirs the skillet a few times with a rubber spatula, but his eyes are starting to close. He can hear Carina upstairs wailing and he shakes his head a few times to stay awake. Juuse turns off the eye, leaving his food to grow cold, trudging up the stairs, his vision blurry.
He sees Roman standing to the side of the bed, Carina cradled in both arms, drawn closely to his chest. Juuse assumes that she has just started crying, with the way that Roman shushes her instead of taking action. He holds her tightly and whispers in her ear, saying kind words that Juuse can’t hear.
Roman is wearing blue checkered boxers that hang off of his hips. Juuse’s stomach turns and he hopes that they didn’t have sex.
(There’s no way that they could have. Juuse was too inebriated to walk up the stairs – Roman carried him up. And even if Juuse was a little more sober, Roman wouldn’t have tried anything. Sex should have been the least of either of their worries. They had to work on their romantic intimacy first.)
“There’s formula in the kitchen?” Roman asks politely. Juuse swallows as he says yes.
He waits for Roman to leave the room, to head down the stairs and to calm Carina down. Juuse can sit on the bed, but instead, he plops down onto the floor exactly where he’s standing. His daughter turned two months old the day before the party, and for those two months, he’d made every bottle. Even with the sitter there, for the weekly scrimmages, he would make them in advance, leaving out handwritten directions on how exactly that she needed to heat them.
Juuse doubts that Roman will do this perfectly. He wants to chase after him and watch his every move. He wants to tell Roman that there’s a grain too much in his scoop. He doesn’t. He stays sitting down. He’s past the point that he can trust Roman anymore, but he wants to, so bad. He forces himself to be comfortable with Roman taking care of Carina.
Carina is Roman’s child, too. Juuse shouldn’t be afraid.
He can count on one hand how many times that Roman’s been there for him. When he hears Carina stop crying, and when he hears the eye of the stove flicker, he lifts his thumb on his second hand.
Roman and Juuse sit down at a café a few days later. Juuse remembers it clearly, how he ordered a honey latte and Roman ordered nothing at all. They sit outside at a metal table, with three chairs, one for each of them and one for the baby carrier.
“I didn’t quit because of you,” Roman says it and immediately recognizes how bad that it sounds. “I’ve always known that I made a mistake becoming Captain.”
Juuse is playing with the sleeve of his cup, peeling it off slowly. He licks his lips, then takes a deep breath and exhales it. “I know.”
“And I never meant to hurt you,” Roman chews on his cheeks as he’s talking. “I always knew that I would never be good enough.”
Roman looks down at the table and cracks his knuckles. He breathes slowly. He doesn’t look at Juuse’s face.
“I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I’ve been a good person,” Roman has a beanie on and starts to adjust it obsessively. “And I won’t say sorry, because I can’t apologize for all of this at once.
“You don’t need someone like me in your life. I can barely take care of myself. You don’t need me as your teammate. You surely don’t need me as a father. I should have never come back to you and tried to take care of you. I wanted to be with you when you were pregnant with Carina and I tried my best during the season. I know that’s not enough. I was away for weeks at a time, and when I was home, I was only home to sleep and go back to bed. You deserve someone who has always put their best effort into you. What do I know about loving you? I know that I do, but I don’t know how to show you. I should have listened to myself when I told you that I couldn’t get involved. I knew back then that I couldn’t help you, that I couldn’t help raise her the way that I should, that I could never devote all of my attention to the two of you. I want to tell you that it was a mistake for me to try to fix things. You would have been so much happier without me dragging you down.
“I broke my contract because I’ve been struggling for years. My involvement in your life has only made it worse. I can’t keep in touch with my family from my schedule. My marriage crashed and burned. I can’t take care of my first two children because I spent too much time away from them, on the ice or traveling on a road trip. I need to change my life. I need to take a step back. I need to repair what I’ve broken with my family. I need to apologize to so many people. Most importantly, I need you to believe me when I say that I’ve only been avoiding you because I love you. I love you enough to know that you are better off without me.”
Juuse took a sip of his coffee and burned his tongue. “I know.”
What he means to say is that he’s known Roman is stuck between a rock and a hard place. That he knows Roman is depressed. That he knows Roman could never be enough. Juuse knew that before they started hooking up. He thinks that everyone on the team did. Roman’s never been good at hiding his emotions.
Juuse tries to see the best in everyone. He’s become nearsighted when it comes to Roman.
That doesn’t mean that he can forgive Roman. Juuse thinks that he never will. He takes another sip of his latte.
“I would have never accepted your advances if I didn’t want to.” He thinks back to the night that Roman broke his ribs.
How Juuse was changing into pajamas and Roman snuck up behind him, how Roman lowered his stature to meet Juuse’s height. When Roman put his hands onto him for that first time, warm hands on taut, stretched skin. Warm hands holding their child. How Juuse protested against Roman’s touch, not because he didn’t want him, but because Juuse wanted him too much. And they shared a kiss, that turned from a simple peck into something passionate. It turned into the two of them facing each other, holding each other’s sides, caressing each other’s skin, bright eyes adorning each of their smiles.
Juuse never wanted to leave that memory. He had been drawn back to it time and time again, every night before he slept, every night since that December. That memory had started the greatest time of Juuse’s life. It was the first time that he fully accepted that his life was going to change, that he was going to have a child, that he was going to have a child with Roman. He would always miss Roman’s hands against him. And that had been enough. Roman had been enough, then.
He cannot thank Roman for everything he’s done. Roman’s not done much at all, except for the fact that if it weren’t for him, if it weren’t for last summer, then he would have never met Carina. Juuse would have never had a daughter and he would have never known how deeply he could love.
Juuse stares at Roman, though Roman is still looking down. It forces Roman to change his posture and look forward to Juuse, and Juuse can see that Roman is crying.
He takes his napkin into his hand and folds down one of his edges, then reaches across the table with tender hands. Roman’s eyes have never welled in front of him. He thinks that he remembers the shine of tears in his eyes when Carina was born, but has always written it off as sleepiness. He’s never seen Roman like this before. His eyes well, then tears flow, big, manly tears stream down his cheeks. They soak the paper napkin that Juuse holds beneath his nose and he coughs too hard to speak.
Juuse leans over the table and their foreheads touch. “Thank you,” Juuse says. The words come out meekly. He doesn’t know what to say, if anything at all.
And he thinks about when Roman would meet him after a shower with a warm towel. He thinks about when Roman tied his shoes. He remembers those tiny hockey jerseys folded in Roman’s backpack. He thinks about when they drove down to Ruby Falls.
“I want you,” Juuse pulls away and takes hold of another napkin. “But, I think that you only want the idea of me.
“Well, no, I think that you want every part of me, but you can’t handle it. You have too much to worry about. I want you to come back to me when you can put me first.”
Roman nods and fails to dry his eyes.
They return to Juuse’s house and they put Carina down to nap. They lay beside each other and they take off all of their clothes. They touch each other and put their hands between each other’s thighs. They run fingertips down each other’s back and down each other’s sides. They’re silent as they hold each other, both trying not to cry. They’re not having sex, but they’re close to it. They’re intimate as they massage each other’s skin. They kiss each other gently, until the warmth of their lips meet each other. And they both know that they can’t do this. Juuse knows that Roman can’t sustain this passion for long, that he has too much to focus on, too much to fix. Roman knows that someone else can hold Juuse, not in the same way that he can, but never in the same way that he can.
Roman knows that this will be their last day together for a while. Until he can change his life around, until he can become a better man, until he can give Juuse everything that he needs. He kisses Juuse until neither of them can breathe through their tears. He takes both hands and puts them on Juuse’s shoulders, then moves them down, holding onto his thick muscles, in the concave of his chest, against stretchmarks on his abdomen, against dimples on his thighs, scars above his knees.
Roman wants to memorize Juuse. He’s going to remember him as long as he lives. He’s already planning for when he will return to him.