#dad bob

“Eighteen. Still likely to grow and training will get him in better shape soon. So just give him a chance, Jack.”

“He didn’t seem to know who I was.”

“The kid could barely talk above a whisper with any of us,” Hall returned, not unkindly. “He’ll probably be too scared to try and talk to you one-on-one for months.”

They were both pleased to see Jack falter a little at that.

“He had better not hold the team down. That’s all I’m saying. Someone that size is more a liability than an asset.”

“You can leave that worrying to us. No one is expecting Jack Zimmermann to nanny another player.”

The chagrined look on Jack’s face showed how much that kind of remark coming from Murray was unexpected. And how much more effective it had been.

Late August

The dorm was peaceful as only the early hour could make it. A couple of half-dressed freshman scarpered in a panic the second they saw Jack in the hall, assuming he was a professor or visiting parent.

Despite attempts at keeping his knocking quiet, Bittle clearly slept like a log. It took three rounds of knocking before Jack heard the rustle of someone getting out of bed.

The door opened and Jack nearly stepped back in confusion. The new team mate who had looked pretty young for a freshman a few weeks ago had disappeared and an actual child had apparently taken over his dorm.

“Jaaack? Whattamizzit, lord!”

Bittle peered somewhere around Jack’s chest, rubbing his eyes furiously with both fists and shuffling on his bare feet. He wore a very clearly mom-bought matching pajama set, for Christ’s sake.

“We need to work on your checking problem and this was the only time I could get Faber. Grab your bag and let’s get going.”

The plaintive look he got in reply was almost meltingly tragic.

“The sun ain’t even got his hat on yet and you’re orderin’ me to hockey practice? When we got hockey practice later on today?”

“You need extra practice and you know it,” Jack said, but the frost was gone from his voice. “C’mon, once you get your legs moving you won’t feel tired anymore.”

“Now, listen here Mr. Hockey Boss! I don’t care who your daddy is, you can’t just march on up to my front door and--”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Jack interjected, nudging Bittle out of the way and taking the two strides that comprised the tiny room. The kid kept babbling indignantly behind him while Jack rifled through his closet, grabbing a sweater at random. He plucked a pair of jeans folded over the desk chair and shoved the lot into Bittle’s chest, shouldering the hockey bag and walking back to the door.

“Finish your conversation with yourself, get dressed, and meet me downstairs in five minutes or I’m coming back up here.”

Bittle looked genuinely put out and oh no, his lower lip was trembling slightly.

Okay, maybe Jack had sounded scarily like his own father just then.

“I’m doing this for your own good, Bittle.” Might as well continue using his father’s approach. Firm but kind. “You wouldn’t want a captain who sat back and didn’t try to help, would you?”

Jack was thankful that Bittle didn’t have his own youthful stubborn streak. His round, sleepy face softened immediately into something like polite negotiation.

“Can I come back to your frat house and make pancakes after?”

It made Jack actually snort out a laugh, the question was so unexpected.

“Yes, Bittle. You can make pancakes after. Okay?”

He got a tiny nod before shutting the door behind him.

This was officially nannying.

Samwell v Yale

His father’s groan is laden with disappointment, even through the phone. The way the ice in his glass clinks under the pour of Scotch somehow echoes it.

“Please tell me you didn’t crush that child, Jack. Come on.”

“I did not crush him. He’s fine.”

“Oh, Jack.”

There it is. The weary parent voice, followed by excessive grunting as his father lowers himself to sit down as if he’s a hundred-and-fifty years old.

“Will you lighten up? I don’t need a teammate thinking I’m their personal coach. He was getting too clingy.”

“What?”

Jack winces slightly. He realizes how heartless that sounded.

“I wouldn’t put up with this for any of the other guys, that’s all I meant.”

“Oh, yes you would! Holster can’t even see his gloves unless he’s wearing contacts, and that guy would forget his own eyeballs if they weren’t in his head. So you ask him if he’s got them before you leave the house. Shitty’s been known to start lighting up even when he’s already smoking so you hide his bowl before every practice and every game. He almost got scratched for showing up high and you fought to keep him on the team. Johnson doesn’t know what planet he’s on half the time but you learned to speak his alien language and it works. This speedy little half pint joins the team and you trained him all on your own time. You complain about it all, but you absolutely do put up with this kind of thing all the time for your team. So what about this kid has gotten under your skin so fast?”

“I just told him not to take one goal so goddamn seriously!” Jack’s voice is loud and defensive even to his own ears. “This isn’t peewee hockey. I’m not his dad. He needs to at the very least be prepared to do this for the next four years. How is that going to happen when he can’t even chip one in without going all…”

“Do you think he has a crush on you? Since the checking clinics? Is that what you’re worried about?”

Bob’s tone is suddenly lighter and genuinely curious. Sometimes Jack wishes he had those parents who didn’t think gayness existed let alone talked about it.

“No! Jesus, I--god, I don’t know. I doubt it? He seems too scared to even look me in the eye half the time. He’s not technically out and most of the guys don’t seem to get it, which is…”

“...endearing, in a way. I know. Of course,” Bob’s voice rises loftily, “he won’t have been able to resist noticing that you’re a chip off the old gorgeous, chiseled block.”

Jack sighs melodramatically, slumping into his desk chair and staring at the ceiling.

“But kiddo, you’ve got to be extra careful. Even if he isn’t interested beyond a flirtation, you have to keep him out of harm’s way. Watch what you say and how you say it. If your intentions aren’t to lead him on then--”

“Christ, dad! I thought he was a little kid when I first met him.”

“But he isn’t a little kid and you’re not an old man. That boy has a doll face and great legs, and let me tell you, if I were a few thousand years younger and hadn’t met your mother--”

“I am never letting you come to another game if you don’t shut up right now.”

“Okay, okay,” Bob chuckles, setting his drink down and spreading out on the hotel sofa. “Jack, you know I love the Samwell boys. But apart from Ransom and Holster, you don’t have anyone on that team with even a hope for a professional future in this sport. Most of them are doing this because they love hockey and want to be a on a team while they’re in school. You have no competition out there, son.”

Bob pauses and only hears the sounds of Jack moving the phone slightly against his ear.

“Scouts are going to be looking at you as a player and as a captain. They’re not expecting you to single-handedly get this team to the playoffs. If they see you making the most out of an itty thing like Bittle then they’ll be nothing but impressed. Keep working with the kid. Take that special interest. Be his captain.”

Jack’s silence is as close to admitting that Bob is right as he’ll ever get.

“When should I tell the other guys to stay away from him?”

Bob frowns in confusion at the phone.

“You know. If he comes out. Do I just tell them all at the same time or bring it up if I notice them trying to make a move on him?” He pauses at the lack of response. “Come on, you said it yourself! Some of the guys will think he’s cute and inevitably go after him, and if he rejects them or they break up then that’s terrible for team morale.”

The unbridled laughter annoys the hell out of Jack.

“Dear god, what century did you grow up in before your mother brought you into this world?! You can’t put a ring of salt around this poor boy, Jack! Holy hell...” he trails off, spluttering and trying to regain composure.

“I’m not having him turn into a distraction,” Jack says firmly. “I’ve already got my eye on Holster for how he talked about that pie, but if any of the other guys start flirting with him or try to date him--”

“You’ll what? Get in there first?”

Jack knows better than to try getting any more sense out of his father.

“Thanks as always for the mature advice. I’ll be sure to write all these gems down in my Things to Never Say to Your Own Kids book. Gotta go! Forget I ever called you, bye now… ”

Bob is still chuckling.

“Great idea, Jacques, great idea. Oh and,” he can barely get the words out between giggles. “when things get tough, son…”

“I’m hanging up.”

“...just be grateful that there’s no hair loss on either side of your family. You might end up being a grouchy ass your whole life but at least you’ll stay pretty.”