Chapter 20

This is a little short but I think the next chapter should make up for it!

“Don’t you think you should tell the poor bastard that he’s gonna have a kid?”
Leave it to her younger brother to put it that way, Tabby thought as she narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose up at him across the table. Had they been ten years younger, she would have flipped the spoonful of potatoes she was about to put on her plate directly into his face, but instead she put the spoonful of potatoes down on her plate and gave him the stink eye.

“Why should she?” Trina rose to her defense, like a good friend should and Tabby gave her a grateful smile. “The guy lied like a fucking rug about who he is…was…whatever.”

“Because, if I dropped some illegitimate bastard poop maker, I guess I’d want to know,” Darrel continued and that made everyone around the table laugh.

“No you would not,” Tabby insisted, putting up her hand defensively in front of her mouth in case she spewed corn at him while she laughed. “If some poor girl came to this door right now with a bundle of joy with brown hair and brown eyes that looked just like you you’d tell her to fuck off.” Her brother was proud of his man whoring ways and what Tabby was finding surprising was that his first reaction to her news over Thanksgiving dinner was not to want to track the guy down and put his fist in his mouth.

“Yeah well,” her brother’s face turned pink and he laughed uncomfortably, causing Tabby to stare across the table at her mother with the question clear in her eyes. Had that already happened?

“Darrel’s bark is a lot bigger than his bite,” her father answered, handing the bowl of cranberry sauce towards his errant son with a look of pride on his face. Why was it, Tabby wondered, that men thought it was okay to act like a horny alley cat as long as you had a penis attached to you?

“All I’m sayin’ is the dude has a right to know,” Darrel reiterated, earning him a dirty look from Trina which made him smile his evil little brother smile.

“And if he lied to me about something as simple as who he is, what he does…that’s who you think should be in your nephew’s life? Guiding him? Being his example?” Tabby asked, leveling her gaze at him across the table. The turkey leg he had been lifting to his mouth stayed half way there as he found himself caught in the web that Tabby had woven. It was one thing, all this bro’s before ho’s bullshit, but it was quite another thing to protect your own.

“Nice,” Trina held her hand up for a high five but Tabby didn’t reciprocate. This wasn’t about winning or losing. She’d been staring at his number all day on her new phone, the one she couldn’t really afford, and she couldn’t make a decision. Did he deserve to know, even if he hadn’t bothered to chase after her, if when he’d said he’d loved her, his words had obviously been hollow? She was struggling with the decision and in telling her family, she hoped that they would tell her what the right thing to do was.

“He should at least have to pay something towards the sprog’s care,” her father finally replied, chewing thoughtfully on his brussel-sprouts and giving her that look that said she knew she needed it and this was not the time for pride to override good sense. Of course she knew it and he had seemed to have some money behind him, considering what he was driving and the clothes he wore, and she didn’t really want to be bringing up a child in a damp, drafty, cramped apartment. And yet….

“But then he gets some rights to the kid,” Trina pointed out as she had been doing with Tabby since they had found out about the pregnancy. “Then he can take the kid who knows where and, if he does have money, he could even sue for custody and she’d lose.” Tabby nearly choked on her steamed carrots and Trina reached over to curl her hand around her friend’s. “Sorry babe, but it’s true. The biological mother doesn’t win all the time anymore.”

“If he’s the kind of jerk who lies about his name and shit, he’s not gonna want anything to do with the kid,” Darrel gave his sister one of those ‘all for one and one for all’ looks across the table and Tabby managed a weak smile in return. “Fuck him. You don’t need him. We’ll make sure the kid doesn’t go without,” he added, puffing up his chest, just like he had when he was five years old and some of the bigger kids had been picking on her about her braces. He’d stood his ground in front of her and made it known he’d take on anyone who picked on his big sister. He could be a jerk sometimes but Tabby loved him with all her heart.

“He’s right, for once,” Tabby’s mother leaned over and patted her daughter’s hand. “And I’ll make a call to Uncle Dave, see if we can’t get something done about that house,” she added to which Tabby bristled.

“I was thinking…I mean I know that it would be crazy to be away from all of you, but I own it and…maybe I should move back there.” Every set of eyes stared at her and she shrugged. “It’s just a thought.”

“We’ll get the house sold,” her mother reiterated, “and then you won’t have to worry so much over money.” The pat that she gave Tabby’s hand then made it seem like it was over, there was nothing more to talk about. That was that and suddenly she felt like things were going to be taken out of her hands and the idea of moving back to that rickety old house with its’ creaks and groans and leaking roof didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.

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“Yes, I had thought of that.” Sidney rubbed at the bridge of his nose, which, along with just about everything else in his head, was beginning to throb. He was beginning to question the references of the private detective that he was sitting across from. He was still having a hard time imagining this guy getting information on hockey players and their agents that Shero could use to entice them to the steel town. “The estate agent referred me to her Uncle, who, I’m pretty sure, was the one who talked her into selling up and leaving in the first place,” he added, grimacing at the short, very impersonal discussion he’d had with dear old Uncle Dave who had been even less helpful than the ladies at Harlequin. “And she doesn’t twitter or facebook or myspace or any of that stuff…at least as far as I can tell,” Sidney added with a sigh.

“And you’ve checked her friend’s networks?” the man asked, noting something in the little black book he carries with him.

“No…I mean…I never got to meet any of her friends and she didn’t really talk enough about them for me to know where to start,” Sidney admits, that heavy feeling in his stomach beginning to make him feel like maybe this was a really bad idea.

“It’s not a lot to go on,” the dick admits, tapping his pen on the paper in front of him before looking across the desk to where Sid feels like squirming. The guy knows who he is and he’s already handed a wad of cash over to him; five hundred a day, plus expenses. It’s kind of like a guy having you by the jockstrap, it’s uncomfortable and embarrassing and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it without making it worse. “You have thought that maybe she doesn’t want you to find her?” the man asks in that slow, straightforward tone that says a lot about what he thinks of Sid’s lack of game. Sid nods, dropping his gaze because it’s hard to have another grown man looking at you like it’s almost funny for a young guy with all the money in the world not to be able to get the woman he wants, like the guy’s enjoying that idea just a little too much. “There are stalker laws…,” the guy begins and Sidney finds his fingers itching to grab the folded bills back, stuff them in his wallet and leave.

“Look…I…I fucked up with her okay? I just want the chance to…,” to fuck her again, to have her in his bed and make her scream his name, “to apologize, if nothing else.” There, he’s said it and the guy gives a slow, deliberate nod as if to say that he can understand that. It’s the best play that he can make. Everyone thinks of him as that good, polite kid and he knows damn well that everyone will buy a story like that. That he just wants to make amends and sure that’s a part of it, but only a part.

“And you’re sure she’s in Vancouver?” the guy makes another note in his book while Sid nods and then the guy snaps his little book shut. “Okay, well, I’ll make some inquiries but I can’t promise anything. I’ll be in touch with you as soon as I know anything.” The man pushes his chair back with a loud scraping sound and Sid takes that as a signal to do the same. He stretches his hand out and Sid finds himself looking into a pair of grey eyes and he can’t help but notice the lack of sincerity in them.

This was a bad idea, he tells himself again as he shakes the man’s hand. It might be a bad idea, the devil on his other shoulder tells him, but what other plays have you got to make hot shot? The game in Vancouver is in three weeks and he knows that will be his best shot and he’ll only have a few hours to try and convince her that he’s not really the biggest asshole in the world.

“I know finding her isn’t a guarantee she’ll see me,” he says quietly, his hand on the doorknob, “but I have to find her, please.” He looks back at the detective who is already moving to go back to his computer. Somewhere in his mind Sid knows that finding her on the world wide web is probably the fastest, easiest way but he can’t help wishing that the guy would pull out a fedora and go charging out into the street to do it the old fashioned way.

“I’ll do my best,” the man with the cool grey stare nods in a dismissive way and Sid slunk back out the door he’d come in and down the dimly lit hall and he couldn’t help feeling as pathetic as Max had told him it was to do this. But then Max hadn’t held her in his arms, hadn’t heard her call out his name.

Would she be flattered, or horrified that he would go to these kinds of lengths to see her again? Either way it was done now, and couldn’t be undone. It was kind of like shaking your gloves off in front of someone you know can and probably will kick your ass. You know it’s going to hurt but sometimes you just have to do it, he told himself as he made his way back out onto the street where Max and Kris were waiting and he deliberately didn’t meet their curious gazes. They could mock him all they wanted, but when he had her back, he’d be the one laughing.

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“Stop dragging your feet momma,” Trina reached back to grab a hold of Tabby’s wrist as they trudged towards the front doors of the big box electronics store.

“I don’t want you buying things for me,” Tabby moaned, eyeing a sizeable puddle near the door and wondering again what the weather would be like back in Nova Scotia. Much the same, or so her Uncle had told her, when she’d phoned to casually inquire about the house the other night.

“So pay me back when you sell another piece,” her friend insisted, giving her a shove through the doors and past the new dvd releases. Tabby gazed longingly at the stack of movies she couldn’t afford and then obligingly followed her taller, leaner friend down the aisle towards the back of the store where they kept the more expensive, high ticket items.

Like fourty-seven inch high def LCD TV’s. Tabby sighed as Trina paused to get her bearings, and stared at all of the thin flat screens that were so much better than the twenty inch tube set she had at home that now looked positively ancient in comparison. Tabby stood in the middle of the store, surrounded by what seemed like a hundred different sizes of television sets and stared.

“Does anyone have a remote? Can someone turn up the sound?” she asked, turning and looking at one of the bigger screens, her fingers itching to reach out and run her fingers over the planes of his face, to wipe away the droplets of sweat from his upper lip, to trace the line of a new scar that bisected the bridge of his nose.

“Tabs, we’re here to get a microwave so that you can heat up baby bottles, not look at shit you so cannot afford with another mouth to feed on the way,” Trina reminded her, tugging at her arm, trying to lead her away but Tabby felt as if her feet were cemented to the spot. No, worse than that, that she was stuck in quick sand and sinking fast.

“That’s him,” she whispered, her voice almost a sigh as she stared at him in full HD. Spots and all, he was just as beautiful as she remembered.

“That’s who?” Trina asked, having given up on tearing Tabby away from the spot she was obviously unwilling to leave. “That’s Sidney Crosby,” she added, answering her own question. “Yeah, I guess he’s cute. I’m more into the dirty Frenchmen on the team and…,” Trina’s voice dropped off as she turned and stared intently at her friend. “He’s…Tabitha King, are you telling me that that,” she pointed at his likeness on the screen just as he smiled widely, making Tabby’s knees go weak, “that is your baby daddy?” Trina added, pitching her voice even lower than a whisper. Tabby nodded without tearing her gaze away from the screen. “Wait, are you actually trying to tell me that the guy you haven’t been able to stop talking about…the guy that you had sex with all summer…is Sidney fucking Crosby?”

“I guess…no…I mean he said his name was Patrick,” Tabby finally turned to her friend, her face a mask of confusion. “Who is this…who is Sidney Crosby?”

“Oh my god…have you been living in a barn or something?” Trina stared at her, disbelief written clearly all over her face. When Tabby continued to stare blankly back at her Trina finally relented and rolled her eyes. “Oh c’mon, the Olympics were even here for crying out loud. He’s like the golden boy for the entire country! What were you like the only person in the entire city not watching the Gold Medal hockey game?”

“Damon and I went to Cuba during the Olympics…you know I don’t watch sports,” Tabby complained, turning back to watch him run a towel over his dark, curly hair. “So his name is…Sidney?” she tried the name out, letting it roll over her tongue. She’d always like the name Patrick and it certainly sounded stronger, more masculine, than Sidney, and yet, she thought, maybe it suited him. “So he plays hockey…here?” she asked, thinking of the arena down at the end of the Georgia Viaduct and wondering how she could have missed seeing him at the couple of practices she’d been at.

“No…no he plays for Pittsburgh,” Trina shook her head impatiently at her friend and pointed at the logo on the front of his black and gold jersey. Tabby nodded silently, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

“I mean…I knew he lied to me…I mean, when I tried to track him down through Gatorade and they were like ‘we don’t have a Patrick that works for us in Halifax but…,” she fell silent as the Trina finally got a hold of the remote and turned up the sound. The small hairs on her arms stood on end as she heard his voice, that almost boyish, half hoarse, half adolescent hormone driven cracking voice of his.

“Well…the stuff he told you was half true,” Trina began her gaze also on the large screen in front of them. Tabby glanced at her, her eyes narrowed and Trina didn’t even have to look over to know that she was waiting for an explanation. “Well, Sidney Patrick Crosby, for one,” Trina began, counting off on her fingers, “and he is a spokesperson for Gatorade and RBK, so that’s two,” she continued, springing another finger from her fist. “And he is from Cole Harbor, born and bred, he just lives in Pittsburgh during the hockey season,” she added, sticking her thumb out to make three. “So…yeah he lied but he wasn’t far off.” Tabby blinked at her friend’s fingers and then turned back to stare at the screen. He was laughing which made that scar on his cheek look almost like a dimple and his caramel coloured eyes to narrow and it made her guts hurt. Her hands automatically spread protectively over her stomach and she suddenly felt very light headed. “They’re playing here in a couple weeks,” Trina added quietly, moving in behind Tabby, ready to catch her if she fainted.

“Here?” Tabby repeated weakly as Trina nodded. “Here,” she repeated to herself, wondering at the way her stomach lurched at the idea. Was that excitement or fear? Did it mean she had to tell him?

The interview was over and, running a towel over his dark, wavy hair, he had turned around and Tabby watched him walk down the corridor in his black and gold uniform, teetering comfortably on his skates. She felt an ache in chest. Her mouth was dry.
She reached for her phone and searched for a number before hitting the start button. She waited, holding her breath until she heard the voice on the other end of the line.

“Katie…, it’s Tabitha. I have a huge favor to ask.”