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Between playing on the floor with Blake and the toy guns Steve had bought for him, Tyler glances up at me. He studies my face for far too long before he mouths, thank you, which I assume has to do with accompanying him here. I am crushing on Tyler so hard I may be falling for him. And, if I want to fit into his world, become a permanent fixture in his life, I need to get used to spending the last Sunday of the month with Blake and the rest of Tyler’s family. I take a seat on the carpet next to him, touching his knee to let him know I am with him and that I am not going anywhere.
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sp; He smiles and leans over to kiss my cheek.
Ending our intense staring contest, Blake jumps in front of Tyler and me with his gun raised and pointed at Tyler, firecracker sounds coming from the toy as he holds down the trigger. “You’re dead, Uncle Tyler.”
“You shot me,” Tyler whines. He holds his arm over his heart and moans as he falls to the side and onto the carpet.
Blake laughs, jumping up and down, and turns to shoot at Noah who has just stumbled down the stairs with Tyler’s father. Noah must know the game and acts as though he has died, pretending to fall into the wall.
“Pop Pop, you’re dead, too.” Blake walks over to Carl and shoots him in the chest, an evil cackle escaping his lips.
I see so much of Tyler in his son, and it kills me that this little boy will never know that he is his father. Between Payton and Blake, Tyler has an open wound so deep I wasn’t sure if I could reach him, the loss of them both leaving a hole in Tyler’s heart. Through sex, we managed to find a mutual connection, and over time, the walls Tyler had built to keep himself safe started to crumble for me.
As Tyler rolls onto his other side, his eyes trained on Blake, I watch as the pain scrolls across his face. My insides twist into a knot. For as guarded as Tyler is about his personal life, I can read everything about him, see the shift in his demeanor as he watches Blake run around the room with Noah.
Tyler holds out his hand and helps me to my feet. We stand next to Carl, our arms interlocked, Tyler holding me close as we watch the boys play with each other in complete and uncomfortable silence.
Carl finally speaks, which takes the awkwardness down a notch but not for long. “So, Kennedy, are you covering the Stanley Cup Finals for your paper?”
“Dad!” Tyler’s words have so much anger behind them. “Kennedy is not here to write an article about us. I know that’s what you are thinking, but get that idea out of your head. Do we have to talk about hockey every time we are together?”
Looking away from his son, Carl clears his throat and zones in on the boys. “We can talk about something other than hockey, Tyler. I can’t help it if I am curious about Kennedy’s job and if she’s following the last game of the Finals. I know I don’t have to tell you how big game seven is when it comes to the Cup.”
Tyler sucks in a deep breath, his father testing his patience. He hates that his father makes everything about hockey. After seven years in the league, he had hoped his dad would tone it down, stop being so demanding when it comes to his career, but he has to poke and prod Tyler to be better. Carl has good intentions. My father does the same thing when it comes to Sports Buzz.
“It’s okay, Tyler,” I interject, an attempt at easing the fire brewing between them. Locking eyes with Carl, I finish, “Yes, I am covering the Stanley Cup Finals. We were planning to watch the game with a few friends tomorrow.”
His face perks up, the mood in the room shifting. Thank God. I cannot stand another second of the weird vibes Tyler has been shooting his dad since we got here. The two of them are so much alike, both stubborn and have to control the situation that they always butt heads. I doubt they even realize how much air they suck from the room when they are together.
“Who are you predicting to win? As much as I hate the Pens, my money is on them for the win.”
Carl has so much passion for hockey that it almost seems odd that Tyler lacks some of his enthusiasm. I guess when you live the sport day in and day out for most of your life, it must lose some of its appeal.
“I’m not sure how I could be from Pennsylvania and not cheer for them. But even if I weren't, I would also have to go with the Pens for the win.”
A tiny smile crosses his lips at my response. “You favor the Flyers over the Penguins…I hope.”
It wasn’t a question but more of a statement. The long-standing rivalry between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh is something any decent hockey fan is aware of though I am not so sure I want to admit that I cheer for both teams in front of two diehard Flyers fans, not when one of them plays for the team.
I return his smile. “Of course I do.”
Tyler places his big hand on my back and pulls me closer, the scent of his laundry detergent filling my nostrils as he leans in the kiss my cheek. “That’s my girl.”
A loud scream erupts from the opposite end of the room, ripping us from our adult conversation and back to the boys.
“Hey, guys,” Tyler says walking toward them, “break it up. Blake, you’re hurting Noah. Let him go.”
Blake has Noah in a headlock on the floor, laughing as Noah squirms beneath him. He looks up at Tyler with a wide grin. “He has to tap out first.”
“C’mon, buddy. If you hurt him, he won’t play with you anymore when he comes over.” Tyler sinks to his knees next to the boys and pulls them apart.
Blake releases his death grip on Noah’s neck, and Noah crawls away from him, his face bright red and still trying to catch his breath. When I see the tears in Noah’s eyes, I walk over to him and sit next to him on the floor.
“Are you okay?” I ask Noah.
He nods, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. “I want my mommy.” His voice is almost a whisper.
