Rooster: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Read online

  “I’m beginning to change my mind about you”, I say.

  “I have that effect on people.”

  Rory, Oscar and I, one big happy family. Here he is, after only a week in the shadows come back to claim what’s rightfully his. If that’s the case, why do I feel unsure still? Oh yeah, Rory’s not here for more than a year, and if he’s not playing for the Rangers, or he manages to get that ban lifted, he’ll want to go or won’t be able to stay, either way, it’s a separation situation. We can’t live on two sides of the world, and Oscar certainly can’t FedEx his way around either.

  “We’ll make this work Izzy. I just need to know you want too as well”, he says.

  Back alley to boyfriend. Five minutes to family members. Holiday romance to Best Daddy with lover thrown in for good measure. I want him. There is no doubt about that. I need him too, not just in the I’m fucking lonely and I need someone by my side way, in the my body misses him when he’s not here, my soul cries out for him, my pussy aches to have him inside me kind of way. And then, beyond all of that, we have Oscar. We have the one thing in this world that I love more than anything else. The one thing I can’t cope with alone.

  “I want it”, I say. “I want you and I want you in his life, I just-. I’m scared Rory. I’m scared about what this means for us all.”

  “What do you think it means for us all?” he asks.

  “I think it means, fucking hell, we’ve got a baby”, I say.

  “And.”

  “And that’s scary.”

  “You had a baby before, that hasn’t changed”, he points out.

  “No, the baby hasn’t changed. The responsibility for him has, though. I’ve never been in this situation before, I don’t know how we are supposed to handle it”, I say.

  “Look at me”, Rory says, his hand on my arm to turn me towards him.

  I look, those blue eyes smoldering into mine, and I can’t help but smile.

  “Are you trying to seduce me?” I say, already feeling myself go red.

  “I’m trying to be serious”, Rory says.

  “I think you’re trying to turn me on.”

  “Let me just say this and then we can fuck, as long as April’s not going to come back with another one of your secrets”, he says.

  “Baby behind door two, I promise you there is nothing behind door one”, I say.

  “Good, because I think I know what you need to relax.”

  “I’m just scared, that’s all”, I say. “It’s a big thing and we barely know each other.”

  “We know each other well enough”, Rory says. “I’ve seen your CD collection, that’s enough for me to know almost everything about you.”

  “I haven't seen yours, though.”

  “I didn’t have enough money growing up to buy any.”

  “Then we can share”, I say, and Rory smiles.

  “Listen”, he begins. “We don’t have to decide anything yet, we just take it slow. I didn’t come over here to propose, I came here to tell you how I feel. To offer my support if you want it and to show you I’m committed, both to you and Oscar. The rest we just take every day as it comes.”

  “Every day as it comes”, I say.

  Rory’s eyes widen. “Now you’re flirting with me.”

  “It has been a week”, I say.

  “How long will he be asleep?”

  “If we can manage to make him in five minutes, I’m sure we won’t have any problems now”, I say.

  “That was a one-off”, Rory says. “I usually last much longer than that.”

  “Well, you’ll be pleased to know I’m happy to give you an opportunity to prove yourself again.”

  Rory smiles. I can already see he’s hard and making no effort to hide it. I don’t mind. Rory looks so comfortable here he’s practically part of the furniture.

  “Door one or door two?” he asks.

  “In front of our son, or in April’s bedroom? That’s a tough one. April’s at work but she’s the kind of person who will know. How does out here sound?”

  “You see, you and I, we have a connection”, Rory says, already on his feet and eagerly pulling at his belt.

  I stand too, keen to have him inside me before our baby wakes up.

  “Not here”, I say. “April’s washed that throw twice this week already. Ever since she’s been going out with Cory she’s turned into a clean freak. I think he’s bad for her.”

  I step out of my shoes and head to the dining table.

  “Bend me over here and fuck me hard, Rory O’Connor, but leave my dress on and my panties just above my knees.”

  “That’s very specific”, Rory says.

  “I’m had enough time to imagine it”, I say.

  Rory pushes me across the table, flips my dress up over my back and pulls my panties down to just above my knees, to exactly where I’d imagined them.

  “Here?” he says.

  “Mmmhmmm”, I respond, already losing myself to it.

  “You know I only came here to talk, this is going down on the record as you seducing me”, he says.

  “Just fuck me, Rory”, I say. “We can sort the details out later on.”

  “That’s just fine by me”, he says, his cock already at my entrance.

  Eight.

  Rory

  Derby game, and Kowalski’s busy sharpening his stick.

  This is a rivalry much more intense than the one with the Bruins, even more important to win than the championship for some of the fans. Even though this is a game like any other, I know what rivalry feels like between teams, and I know what it’ll mean to every player and supporter if we win.

  I’m back on the starting roster after I was able to convince Francis I hadn’t completely lost my shit after the defeat to the Penguins, and I can’t tell whether Kowalski is pleased with that decision or not. He’s got a grimace on his face like molten lava and he hasn’t said a single word to me since I got here. I know I’m not exactly his favorite player but I’m a member of this team nonetheless, an important one at that, and I’m a fucking dad now, which automatically elevates me to a position that commands respect.

  It might even give us something to talk about too, although I’ve seen Kowalski's kids and they look like the potatoes that get left at the bottom of the bag by mistake.

  I go over just to get a reaction out of him.“You know what they say about a guy who shaves his arms and legs?” I say.

  Kowalski doesn’t even look up. I know he’s not the only one in this team who does it either. Some of these guys shave their chests as well.

  “They say he probably shaves his vagina too”, I add.

  Now I get the look. No smile, no nothing positive, just a sneer. “What do you want, Irish?”

  “Did I tell you I’m a Dad?” I say.

  He pauses for a brief moment, gives me a look of even greater disgust and then carries on polishing the curve of his wood, as though it were some fucking religious idol.

  “Congratulations”, he says. “Somebody else’s life you can fuck up.”

  I don’t know what his problem is. Ever since I got here Kowalski’s been up in my face about it. I don’t get shit from any other member of this team, except for him. I thought he was like that with everyone at first, but no, just me. I can’t say I haven’t tried either. It’s no skin off my nose whether he likes me or not, as long as we get on well enough on the ice, but I just don’t get what it is about me that bothers him so much.

  I can’t say I haven’t tried either. To be honest, it’s gone on so long now it’s actually quite comforting. I’d probably hate it if Kowalski turned around one day and suddenly said something decent to me. That’d probably be even more of a shock than finding out about Oscar.

  Just before we head out to the rink, Kowaski pulls up alongside me.

  “You see number eight”, he says.

  The Islanders are already out warming up the crowd. I pick him out across the ice, the biggest guy in their team.

  �
��You want me to take him?” I say, thinking Kowalski needs the back-up.

  “That’s the guy that’s been keeping her warm for you”, Kowalski says. “He might have even thought Oscar was his for a while.”

  My heart stops. Not many people have the ability to make my heart stop and for something that hasn’t happened all that often, twice already in two weeks seems like way too much.

  “What the fuck did you say?” I ask him, but Kowalski’s already on the ice, several feet away from me.

  I chase him down, number eight’s eyes all over me, other members of the opposition alongside him pointing and talking. I catch Kowalski up and have to skate alongside him to try and get his attention.

  “What the fuck did you say?” I ask him again, and still Kowalski’s being evasive.

  Finally, I have to hold him up against the cage to get his attention, the home crowd whooping and cheering behind us.

  “Ask Izzy”, Kowalski says and slips out from my grasp.

  I’m about to skate over to number eight to find out but he saves me a job. When I turn around he’s right alongside me.

  “So you’re the guy”, he says. “I thought Izzy had better tastes.”

  “Clearly not.”

  “I’m going to give you one chance”, he says. “Give it up Rory and I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

  I have to laugh at that. “Give it up?” I repeat back to him.

  “Izzy. This. I don’t even know what the fuck you think you’re doing here. Isn’t prison more your natural environment?”

  Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

  “She deserves better than some fucking dirtbag Irish reject who doesn’t know how to do anything but fight”, he adds.

  It takes me an inhuman amount of restraint not to go at him right then and there, pummel seven bells of shit out of him and hit his head so hard against the floor the ice cracks. If I do that before the game begins, though, it’s classified as assault. If I do it during, we are all good.

  “You?” I say.

  “I’m giving you a fair warning”, he continues. “This doesn’t have to go nasty.”

  Oh, I’m going to show him nasty when this begins, that fucking prick. And as for Kowalski, if he wasn’t on the same team I’d be banging his head against the wall right now. After this game is over and I’ve chopped number eight up into little pieces I’m going to grab Kowalski by the scruff of the neck, drag him into the street and throw him into the pack of marauding Islanders’ fans.

  Izzy has never mentioned anyone else, but I guess that’s not all that unusual. She wasn’t exactly all that forthcoming about Oscar either. I don’t care what’s happened in her past, there is no way I can change that and it’s not my place to do so anyway, but I do care about the future, and whoever this dick-weasel is in the number eight shirt, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure he’s not part of it.

  The crowd here are like drunks at an underground boxing match, and I’ve seen better behavior around a cockfighting ring, but this is the kind of thing that gets me going, and right now I’m completely fired up for it.

  “Watch him”, is Kowalski’s last bit of advice, this time delivered in a voice that almost convinces me he’s concerned for my well-being. “He’s quick and effective, a fucking animal.”

  We lost this fixture twice last year, and I’m not prepared to let that happen again. Especially not now that I know what we are really up against. I’m not a jealous man at all, I just have zero tolerance for absolute fuck-heads, and if he was serious about Izzy in any way at all, she wouldn’t have even come anywhere near me, let alone invited me to her house for the best cooked Irish stew I’ve ever had outside of my own mother’s kitchen.

  We line up, the lights flashing, klaxons blaring around us, my whole body tense. Through the grill of my helmet, I get a reduced view of the world I’ve more than grown accustomed to from years on the hurling field, the rest of which I have to make up from memory and instinct.

  This game is faster than I thought it was, and out of everyone on the ice, I’m definitely the slowest of everyone but the goaltenders, but I more than make up for it in bulk and aggression which is exactly the reason Francis brought me here in the first place. Of all games that I’ve started this year, I’ve only lost one, and that was because my head was swimming with the news about Oscar.

  I’m settled again now, more so than I even was when I got here, absolutely one hundred and ten percent sure Izzy and I are making the right decision. I’ve got a clear head and I’m completely focused, which means I’m unstoppable at anything I put my mind to.

  Number eight may think he’s got bigger balls than he does, which is fine. I’ve come up against a lot of people like that in my career before. I’m just going to make sure I cut off whatever marbles he does actually have and shove them all the way down his neck.

  I don’t even follow the puck when the noise to start the game rips through the stadium, I go straight towards him instead, my stick out like a fucking club ready to smash across the back of his neck. Kowalski may have sharpened his to dig into the ice, mine is toughened up to make sure they know it when it rains down on them.

  He’s quick but not quick enough, and too cocky to see it coming. I’m on him before the echo of the referee’s whistle dies out in the air above us, and number eight is flat on his ass a moment later, sliding across the ice.

  That first one was a warning shot, the next is all about what I’m going to do to him if he refuses on keeping his mouth shut. Before he can get up, and before any of his teammates can get to him, I pin him down, my stick in his neck and my knees so deep up into his ribs he can’t breathe.

  “That the kind of thing you mean?” I say, before Kowalski eventually pulls me off the top of him, and the referee sends me immediately to the penalty box while number eight scrambles to his feet and tries to catch his breath.

  While I’m sat there, home fans and our visiting supporters chanting things across me, Francis comes over.

  “Take it easy”, he warns. “I want you to fuck them up, but do it a little more subtle next time, alright?”

  I don’t keep my eyes off him the full time I serve out the penalty. Action takes the puck to both ends, there’s more fighting but nothing more than slapping and stabbing with the stick, and a couple of attempts on goal, but nothing that troubles either goaltender.

  When I finally get back out, if anything, I’m even keener to make an impression. If he steps to me I’ll go hard, but if he leaves me alone I’ll hold my nerve, and lay off. Once is enough to get the message across, which we can drive home twice as hard if we win. I concentrate on that instead, holding tight in the center of the rink, letting Kowalski do his thing, freeing up the rest of our team and playing in such a way the Islanders get locked out. It works too, because number eight doesn’t say another thing to me, and when the first period ends, must to the dislike of the howling home fans, we go in 1-0 up.

  Francis is upbeat at the break and even Kowalski shows a little bit of uncharacteristic emotion. By that, I mean he doesn’t actually sit on his own and zone out, he sits with the rest of the players and makes suggestions on what we need to do to win. Essentially, what that boils down to, is continuing where we left off, neutralizing their biggest threat, that jackass number eight who is apparently called Brad, closing the puck down quickly, and turning defense into attack. On paper they are better than us, but on the ice, even though they can outpace us, we are clearly the better team.

  At the start of the second period, my eyes go to Brad again. That motherfucker is a name, not a number now, which makes him even more real.

  If he steps to me like he did before the first period, I’m going to put him down again, but even Brad doesn’t seem that stupid.

  Staal goes to the center to face off, while Kowalski and I hang back, Brad and some other big fucker they’ve swapped in facing us.

  The puck falls, slaps on the ice and slips towards Staal’s stick. Quicker than h
is counterpart, he turns, and plays it back towards Kowalski. Kowalski’s a fucking demon on close control, and as soon as it under his blade, his twists away from one of them, dances through another and heads with the puck towards goal.

  I’m skating tight in behind the action, ready to neutralize a threat should the puck get snatched or pop out unexpectedly, and my eyes are on the ice in front of me, which means I can see nothing of what’s behind.

  This game moves so quickly you have to think twice as fast just to catch up, which means if there’s something going on off the puck and out of your field of vision, chances are you are going to miss it. If that thing is as cowardly and ball-less as sneaking up behind someone so you can get a dig in before they have a chance to see it, then there is no way you can avoid getting fucked.

  Seriously, doing something like that is not only cowardly, it’s totally fucking unethical, seriously fucking dangerous and some of the most fucked up shit I’ve ever seen on a sports rink, field or anywhere else where there are unwritten rules of conduct, even between sworn enemies.

  I know I got the jump on Brad at the start of the first period, but I did it face to face, and if he was quicker he would have seen me coming. What happens to me - two of them coming up from behind - is not even in the same ballpark. It’s like shooting someone in the back, taking a gun to a knife fight, holding out your hand for someone to shake, and then pulling it away at the last minute to put your thumb on your nose to wave your fingers around.

  I’m face down on the ice before I even know it’s coming. One minute facing the action, the next wondering what the fuck has hit me. My face is numb and I know I’m concussed but that isn’t even the worse thing.

  Before it happens, and before anyone else gets to me to stop it, I hear these words mixed with Brad’s hot spit straight into my ear. “I gave you a warning, now you’ve made my go nasty.”

  The break can probably be heard all the way over in long island. I don’t know how the fuck he does it because my head is turned away, but I first feel something come down hard against the back of my knee, followed by a rush of adrenaline and a pain cut through me the like of which I’ve never before experienced.