The hallmark of a good coaching staff is being able to change things up when a particular tact or approach isn’t working. We in the spiffy Cougars coaching jackets were coming at the Cottonmouths with a whole new attitude. One that gave players the freedom to finish those checks with vigor. They had to be clean, of course, but we wanted to see the boards shaking. I’d not said a word in the pre-game pep talk—that was all Dewey. We’d all met an hour before the game to finalize our approach to game three, but I’d stood with the other coaches, silent, and merely listened.

When we left, we could hear Sander March shouting something at the men, but what exactly it was faded away as the dressing room door closed. I went to my office to grab my jug of sweet tea and send one last text to Townsend to ask him to wish us luck.

Radio is on while I help Ben with a speech. We’ll be cheering you on. Tons of luck and love, T.

Love? I stared at my phone, jug of tea under my arm, as if I’d become dimwitted. Love? Did he mean that in an off-the-cuff way or did he mean it…?

“Sweet baby Jesus,” I mumbled, eyes glued to my phone until a knock on my door made me refocus on the here and now. Mario stood in the open doorway, geared up and ready for the game.

“Did you need something, Mario?” I asked, shutting off my phone, then sliding it into the front pocket of my jacket.

“Yeah. I needed to apologize for giving you attitude. You were right to bench me. My head is…” He clicked his tongue as he searched for words. “Well, my head is kind of in a funny place this season. I’m all kinds of excited to retire and be with my gal more, but there’s this part of me that’s scared shitless, you know?”

“I do,” I said, then gave him what I hoped was an understanding smile. “I felt the same way when I stopped playing. It’s such a large part of your life for so long that you’re not sure what you’ll be when you hang up your skates.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it in a nutshell.” He scrubbed at his short red hair with his gloved hand. “But, anyways, my shit shouldn’t splash on you or the team. I’ll be the player you need out there, charming the cups off them sweet Southern boys right before I check them into the second level. Clean checks, of course,” he quickly added.

“Then go charm them out of their cups.” I offered McGarrity my hand. He grabbed it and shook it strongly. We made our way to the chute, Mario peeling off to slap asses with his team mates, me to hunker in the corner with the coaching staff until the home team was introduced by the arena announcer.

The home crowd was loud. When the Cougars hit the ice, the noise level rocketed. Sander, the cocky so-and-so, ramped up the fans by skating in a circle pumping his fist into the air. We generally didn’t condone showing off like that in hockey, but this was just what the team needed right now. Energy. It hummed from the men as we stood for the anthem. They were like greyhounds at the gate, just rippling with enthusiasm.

We stood back and let our men do what it was they knew they needed to do. Play hard, play clean, and shove back when they shoved us. Two minutes into the game, Mario delivered a hip check to one of the Cottonmouth defensemen that sent the opposing player up and over in a cartwheeling motion ending with him and his ass meeting the ice soundly. The fans went apeshit. Mario skated off to rejoin the play, which was now us taking a high-quality shot on goal. That was the message delivery system, in a manner of speaking. The Cottonmouths understood the letter from McGarrity, and the next one, a hit from Dan Arou that knocked his man off his skates and into the glass, where he then bounced back like a pinball into his own man.

“Mail is here!” Victor shouted in delight.

Those two hits turned into many more, the shift in our attitude sparking all kinds of squabbles and minor skirmishes. Our boys kept things clean, the chirps that we heard on the bench anyway were sharp but not inflammatory. I knew better than to think that, on the ice, the men weren’t slinging terrible things at each other. At least we were now responding with checks and not fists. And then it happened. Sander March stole the puck from a Cottonmouth winger then shuttled it to Dan Arou-Kalinski. Dan, being the kind of player he is—a hornet buzzing around the oppositions net all the time—somehow managed to corral the wobbly puck and then backhand shoot it through his legs at the Cottonmouth net. The puck slipped gracefully though the five hole and glided into the net as pretty as can be. The red light flared to life, the goal horn sounded, and the Rader erupted.

I threw my fist into the air as Dan’s line-mates gathered around him, slapping his helmet and back. The celly was short but sweet, and that was the only goal scored in that game. Our guys were battered and sore but ebullient when they filed into the home dressing room. Even I was caught up in the jovial mood, sauntering over to congratulate Dan before the press was given access to the area.

“You know the pros are going to be ringing you up soon if you keep razzle-dazzling like that,” I shouted to be heard over the boisterous group of sweaty men.

“I know that,” Dan grinned back, the flaps of the Cougar Cap dangling down over his shoulders. “Nice to hear you say that though, Coach!”

We shook hands and I moved along to chat with some of the other players, feeding them praise, joking, and sharing in the sweet victory we’d so earned.

Stepping outside the dressing room, I stopped to talk with a blogger, Sandy Tack, from Watkins Glen, nice girl who knew her hockey. When Sandy was done with me, I made my way to Victor’s office to see if he’d like a Coke or something cold from the machine, my treat. He lifted his gaze from his laptop when I knocked then nudged the cracked door open.

“You up for a celebratory drink?” I asked, jerking my thumb at the soda machine right outside his door. “I’m buying.”

“Nah, I’m good here.” He held up a sweaty red can.

“Good enough. I’ll drop by the film room and give them a goose about the game films.”

“You got a second?”

“Sure.” I stepped in and leaned on the wall while I tugged my tie out from under the collar of my shirt.

Victor spun his laptop around. On the screen was a picture of his boy, Jack, in a sandbox, his round cheeks and belly coated with sand, his smile brilliant. The kid was a handsome lad. I smiled at the image. It so reminded me of my son when he was that age, flaming ginger locks aside, of course.

“You see that game winning goal of Dan’s tonight?” He slid the laptop around so that he could gaze on it again. The AC kicked on, blowing cold air over the back of my neck.

“I did. I was about eighteen inches from you when he scored it, if you recall,” I chortled as I stuffed my tie into my trouser pocket.

Vic sat at his desk, staring at his boy, for at least thirty seconds. I was about to say something when he finally spoke.

“When you and the Missus got divorced, how did you deal with not having your kids around?” Victor asked, never lifting his eyes from the sandy lad with the bright red hair.

“I still miss them. I don’t think a parent ever stops missing their babies. Of course, mine were much older and pretty much on their own when Betty and I split up.”

I wasn’t sure where this was coming from. Vic wasn’t married to the young woman who’d given birth to his son, she was engaged to Dan’s cousin, another hockey player. So, he wasn’t getting a divorce from Heather, and I knew for a fact that him and Dan were solid.

“He keeps making plays like that they’re going to call him up for sure. The man needs to stay under the radar.”

Ah. “I figure they already know what a great player he is, Vic. Would it be so bad to go back to Boston? Hell, they might only send him to the new Baltimore feeder team and not to the pros. Bright new city with your man—that could be nice. Might not be so terrible, right?”

He lifted his sad eyes to me. “Are you asking me if it would be bad to leave my boy behind?”

“Right, sorry, I didn’t mean to sound inconsiderate, I was just coming at it from a professional viewpoint.” I felt as if I should give the man a pat on the back or something, but I knew better than to show that kind of compassion. Victor wasn’t a touchy-feely sort of man. “You could be putting your cart way in front of your horse. They might not need him after the expansion draft and things will stay the same. Don’t borrow worry, Vic.”

“Sure, yeah, that’s the ticket.” He shut the laptop, stood, and waved a hand at the door. “Thanks for dropping by. I’ll round up game tapes and send them to you by midnight.”

“Victor, if you want to talk about this more I’m happy to stay and—”

“Nope, no need. Go home to that sexy guitar player.” He nudged me to the door, gave me a reedy smile, and then closed the door in my face. I raised my hand to knock and try to talk him into opening up, but knew that would be futile. So I left him to worry over things that hadn’t happened yet and may never happen. Home to my guitarist sounded pretty damn good.

The night was cool for mid-June, and I breathed in the smells of early summer. Then I took out my phone and stared at my messages from Town. There was a newer one where he’d congratulated us on the win and said he’d see me tomorrow. I’d hit him back with a short reply filled with thanks and the obligatory See you then answer. Now that I had time and the rush of a win had abated, my mind wanted to pull the big L word text out and beat it on the rocks of anxiety like a dirty shirt.

Passing through the gates of the Rader, I walked along, eyes flicking from my phone to the sidewalk. Love. Had he meant that, or was I reading more into a common salutation?

We did tend to toss that word around freely. Was that how he’d meant it? Could he have meant it the other way, like he loved me? What if he did love me? Did I love him back? Was it too soon? How would I know? I could count the number of people I had dated on one hand, and two of those were women. Not that loving a man and loving a woman were different, because I was sure they weren’t. Were they?

My toe caught on a slab of uneven sidewalk, and I nearly went to my face. After a quick check to make sure no one had seen me, I stuffed my phone into my pocket. How dandy would it be to show up at the barn with my chin all scuffed up and have to explain I’d been walking while texting. Okay, walking while reading because I’d not actually texted the man who loved me back since—

“Good Lord above, Lancaster,” I sighed aloud, my nerves as jumpy as a frog on hot blacktop. “An indecisive man is unstable in all his ways.”

I walked right past my house, my mind set now on getting things clarified. Keeping an eye on the sidewalks, I arrived at Town’s cute little brick cottage a smidgeon before eleven. A bright red Ford truck was parked in front of the house and the porch light was still on. Ben must still be here. Dang. I was hoping he’d be gone. Maybe I should go home. Should I?

“Damn it man, stop waffling,” I told myself and marched up to Town’s door, chin held high. I rapped loudly. I could hear someone coming to answer my knock. I was still decisive. Right until Town opened the front door, his tired eyes widening in shock.

“Lan, I thought we were meeting up tomorrow to meet your family at the airport?”

Dressed in cargo shorts and an old B.B. King T-shirt instead of his usual trousers and pressed dress shirt work attire, the man was simply delicious, but obviously weary. I could see the fatigue around his pretty eyes. And here stood a big old dummy making him work later because I was interrupting. “Yes, well, yes, we are. I just…this was a mistake dropping by unannounced like this when you’re working. There was just a thing, small thing, nibbling at my brain and it kind of grew bigger, as those things do the longer they nibble.” His smile was tender as I blabbed on like a nincompoop. “Anyway, the thing that was nibbling was stupid and now I feel like a jackass for showing up on your stoop like a foolish teenager fretting over something in a text.”

“You’re welcome on my stoop anytime. Did I say something in a text that upset you?”

My eyes flared. “Upset me? No, not at all, it just set into nibbling. Like a perch on your worm. You know how they pester and tug on your line when you’re fishing for catfish, stealing bits of your worm until you got nothing left but a bare hook.”

Lancaster Hart, why the hell are you talking about fishing for flatheads? Do you know how idiotic you sound right now?

I looked at the night sky in sheer mortification.

“It’s been a long time since I had some good fried catfish,” I announced, and then lowered my gaze from the stars to Townsend. He was still smiling at me. Bless this man’s patient heart. “My mama used to make the best fried catfish. She’d sprinkle both sides with salt and crab boil seasonings then dredge it in flour and cornmeal and drop it into hot oil.”

“Did you walk all the way over here to talk about fried catfish?” he asked, his tolerant tone kind of undoing me.

“No, not really. I tend to ramble a bit at times.” I began massaging the back of my neck, simply for something to do with my hand. “I guess my mind sort of made this leap to my mama because I loved her deeply. I also love fried catfish.”

“And sweet tea,” Town dropped in on cue.

I smiled at my shoes. “Yeah, and sweet tea. I love all of them things, you see. And if you were to love me, I’d think that would be fine.” My gaze flew from my shiny dress shoes to Town’s big brown eyes. “More than fine, it would be amazing. And I hope that someday you do love me because I can tell you that I’m one good giggle away from loving you too. I’m just…I’m not quite there yet, though.”

He kissed me then. Right there on the stoop in front of Ben and God. I leaned into the kiss, eager for the heat of his lips to mine.

“I’m a giggle away too,” he whispered, when the tender brush of his mouth over mine ended.

“That’s just fine then,” I replied, feeling slightly lightheaded. “I just have never had this kind of an overwhelming feeling with another man. I dreamed of it, and I pined for it, but now that it’s here I’m finding myself questioning everything in minute detail. Did I tell you that I think I might be semi-demi?” He shook his head, his fingers coming up to caress my cheek. “It’s possible but then again it might not be which would mean I’m a straight gay man. Well, not straight because I mean I am here kissing on you so…”

“Lan, honestly babe, stop worrying so. Let me do that. I’m really good at it.”

“He is! He’s able to micromanage worry with a skill few envy,” Ben shouted from inside the house.

“Shit, I forgot he was here,” I whispered as my cheeks grew hot with shame. “He heard all my stupid ramblings. Sweet Lord, I am a walking lunatic.”

“Being a giggle away from being madly in love will do that to a man.” He kissed me again. I wanted to cling to him, kiss him back into the house, then fall into his bed and make all kinds of passionate love to him. Maybe let him slide into me.

“Yes, yes it will. Well, I’m going to walk on back home and pretend like I never took this detour.”

Town’s deep laugh filled my heart. “Pick me up at the office at four. I’ll see if I can talk my boss into letting me go an hour early. He’s a real taskmaster, you know,” he teased, winking at me as Ben laughed heartily inside the cottage.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” I assured him, then backed away before something stupider than what had already fallen out of my mouth escaped.

Town waved as I made my way down the walk, my gaze still on him, wishing I could stay the night. I did have a toothbrush in his medicine cabinet now. Thinking of that made butterflies take to wing inside my stomach. And that sensation made me giggle to myself.

“Should I have worn something dressier?” Town asked for the tenth time. I lounged back in my seat, the slow hum of the AC unit churning out cool air making me drowsy.

“I’m in old jean shorts with a hole in the ass and a tank top from a Doobie Brothers/Lynyrd Skynyrd show in Missouri back in ’96,” I replied, shifting on the seat as another couple arrived to pick up an arriving passenger. The rest of the small airport was empty. Elmira-Corning Regional Airport wasn’t a bustling mecca of activity. “Don’t see me worrying.”

Town ran his hands over his soft cotton shirt. The light blue color looked wonderful on him. Paired with black shorts and new ebony sandals he’d bought for this meeting, the man was tasty as sin.

“You’re not the one who has to impress anyone,” he said, pacing back and forth in front of me like a caged puma.

“Neither do you. Just be yourself. They’re already half in love with you because they see how happy you make me.” Resting an ankle to a knee, I let my head begin to drift backward. I was exhausted. Even after a full night’s sleep my body was perpetually trying to catch up. Hockey season was just too damn long for this old man.

“When are they arriving?”

I glanced at the big windows facing the tarmac. “When you see a jet land there then they’ve arrived.” I closed my eyes and let my chin rest on my chest. Town sat beside me.

“Think they sell Xanax in the vending machines?” he asked with a whisper. I reached out to take his hand in mine. His palms were damp. “I’m so nervous. I just want them to like me.”

“They will babe, trust me.” I squeezed his fingers then forced my eyes open. Lord sake, the man was a jittery mess. He eyed the doors and windows as if planning out his emergency exits while his left leg jumped steadily. “I can get you a Coke. Soda. Pop. Whatever is it you Yanks call it.”

That made him snicker nervously. He sagged into my side, his head coming to rest on my shoulder. I rubbed my thumb over his wrist. I could see some of the tension leave his brow at my touch.

He sighed theatrically. “I worry too much. You’re close to giggling with a worrywart.”

“We’ll balance each other out.” I pressed a kiss to his tight hair. “People have told me I’m far too mellow. Actually, my ex-mother-in-law said I had lizard blood because it took so much to get me het up.”

We sat there all cozy and calm for another twenty minutes. Then the plane arrived, and Town’s shoulders tensed.

“It’ll be fine, you’ll see.” I kissed him lightly on the mouth and then pushed to my feet and walked to the wall of glass. We stood side-by-side, his twitchy hand in mine, waiting for the passengers to disembark. As soon as I saw my twins, the exhaustion plaguing me lifted.

“There’s my kids,” I told Town, pointing with my free hand. “And Betty, my ex, and James her fiancé.”

I was hoping against hope but…

“And my ex-mother-in-law. God save us all,” I moaned. Town snorted a nervous little laugh. “Don’t let her goad you into anything. I will apologize in advance for anything less than pleasant that may run out of her mouth.”

He nodded, his fingers squeezing mine for dear life. I led him from the window back to the row of seats we’d been resting in. My daughter spied me first, coming around the corner, then squealing “Daddy!” at the top of her lungs. Chaz kind of lingered back, too cool and too manly to leap on his father and kiss him on the cheek several dozen times. Betty and James were steering Marigold in my direction. The tiny old woman was bent with age, silver-haired, and using a cane, but those dark brown eyes of hers sparkled like a demon’s.

“Come on over here, y’all,” I said, gathering the small group up for hugs, kisses, handshakes, and a curt nod to Marigold. My daughter was still glued to me. She smelled like fresh lemon zest. “Betty, James, Marigold, Charity and Charles, this is Townsend Harris.”

I tugged Town up a step. He smiled anxiously and then was engulfed by my ex-wife and daughter, hugging on him while chattering away. James and Chaz both shook Town’s hand once the women were done with him. And there stood Marigold, her eyes going up and down Town’s frame as if she were judging a sheep at a county fair.

“He’s not half bad,” the old woman announced, then tottered off to the bathroom.

“That there is high praise,” I informed my man. “The first time she saw me she said I was too damn pale and too damn tall for her liking.”

“Mama tends to speak her mind,” Betty sighed, then sent the kids of to gather the checked luggage while we waited for Marigold.

“That’s not all she does, honey,” James tossed out. “She’s feisty. Yesterday she got into a yelling match with the man who cuts her neighbor’s yard. Seems he blows his clippings into her flower beds.”

“Were the police called in?” I chuckled. Betty rolled her eyes, which meant yes. That made me laugh a little louder. “She’s fully embracing her golden years.”

“And then some,” Betty mumbled, then went into the ladies room to check on her mother. Marigold was probably stealing paper towels. She took everything that wasn’t nailed down, even though her husband’s pension was a fat one, due to his years working as an investment broker. No one knew why she took paper towels or sugar packets, she just did.

After the bags were claimed and the old woman was safely in the back of Betty’s rental car, we made our way to Cayuga. The kids were in the backseat of my Subaru, talking away about Scotland, summer jobs, finals, and some movie about a demon nurse. Town and I had gone to see that movie a week ago, so he was now deep into discussing all the gruesome parts with my kids.

I peeked over at Town and was pleased to see the furrows on his brow had smoothed out. I knew my family would love him. How could they not? He was immensely loveable.

That night, after dinner at a local eatery, we all piled into our cars and drove to Jimmy Joe’s Bar on the other side of town to see Town perform. I’d been here only once before and liked the place. It was big and open, lots of tables and a good-sized stage. Typical country bar with sand on the wooden dance floor, plank walls, and chandeliers made out of wagon wheels. The place was packed on Friday nights, which was band night, and it looked like everyone in Cayuga and the adjoining counties was here to see The Studebaker Foxes. A table near the stage had been reserved for us. We got Marigold settled first. I sat beside Betty, with my daughter on my left.

We ordered our drinks and sodas. The lights dimmed, and the chatter faded away.

“Wait until you hear him sing and play,” I whispered into Betty’s ear. She patted my knee and grinned. “He’ll open with something from Kenny Wayne Shepherd. He loves his music.”

The lights flared up bright blue and purple on the band now taking the stage. We all hooted and clapped loudly. Town gave me a quick smile as he slid his guitar over his head.

“Welcome to Jimmy Joes. We’re The Studebaker Foxes. We have Leon Draper on drums and Luis Cooper on bass. I’m Townsend Harris, and we’re going to get things moving with some Kenny Wayne Shepherd.”

The threesome then jumped smack dab into I’m a King Bee. Betty gaped for a moment when Town began singing. Then she was dancing in her seat, clapping her hands over her head, like everyone else at the table. Even the kids were bopping up and down. Hell, even Marigold was tapping her cane on the floor in time with the music. The music was so loud I wondered if there would be permanent hearing damage to those of us stupid enough to sit right in front of the amps.

“Play some Muddy!” Marigold shouted a few minutes into the set. We all turned to gape at her.

Town snickered at her outburst. “We might know a Muddy tune or twenty.” They then blew the doors off Jimmy Joe’s with an extended version of Mannish Boy that got Marigold up to her feet several times to wave her napkin over her head. By the end of the night, everyone at our table was exhausted, temporarily hearing-impaired, and fully awed by the talent my man possessed. Of course, Town had already awed me, and not only because of his musical abilities.

When the band slipped back into the crowd after the show, we pulled a chair over for Town and he wiggled in tight to my side.

“Blueberry wine please,” he shouted to the server, as the jukebox now burst to life. He then glanced around the table. “Sounded like you all enjoyed the show.”

The praise flowed over him from my family. He glowed as the kindness washed over him, gripping my thigh under the table. I dropped my arm over the back of his chair and simply basked in the love everyone seemed to have for him. Even Marigold.

“I guess if you’re going to go gay he’s a good one to go gay with,” she told me as I helped her into her sweater when we were getting ready to leave.

“Thank you, Marigold.” I was dumbstruck, to say the least. I handed her back to her daughter and moved around my son to grab Town, who was talking with James about the Knicks game.

“Hey babe,” Town smiled at me as I pressed to his back, linking my arms around his waist.

“Marigold just said you’re a good one to go gay with,” I whispered beside his ear. He threw back his head and laughed long and hard. I chuckled and dropped a kiss to his thick neck. “Think we can go gay together again once this group is back in Georgia?”

“Soon as they fly off we’ll go home and I’ll get all kinds of gay on you.”

My dick twitched. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I didn’t mean you had to get gay here in the bar,” Marigold’s voice drifted over us.

“Mother!”

Town and I had a good guffaw over that one as well.