#taterparse

It’s late at night (or perhaps very early morning depending on how you look at it) and a rare late-autumn thunderstorm is raging outside as Kent lazily flips through the channels without much interest, his favorite girl curled into a purring ball on his chest.  He is, perhaps to his own surprise, in a really good mood.

         The Aces had beaten the Falcs in Vegas earlier in the evening, but it had been a tight game, and fun in a way Kent had almost given up on hockey being most of the time.  It makes a difference, he thinks, playing with and against people he considers friends off the ice. 

         After the game, he and Alexei had slipped away from their respective teams to have a date, one of the few real, proper ones they got to have during the season.  Kent had taken him to his favorite Mexican place in Vegas, a tiny pace off the strip that did giant burritos fit for post-game NHL players and tamales Kent would kill a man for.

         Alexei had spilled salsa on his tie and Kent’s camera roll has several prime new additions depicting his comically distressed face.   

         Kent didn’t think it was too much of a loss.  It had truly been a hideous tie, and he knew Alexei only wore it to torture him.

         In fact, the only unfortunate part of this whole otherwise delightful evening had been when Alexi had been pulled away at the end of it, recalled to help sort out some nonsense the Falcs rookies had gotten up to.

         (“Why didn’t they call Zimms?  He’s the responsible one.”

         “Still too scared of him.  Rookies haven’t figured out Zimmboni is a big softie.”

         “Sure, and I’m restrained and respectable.”

         “You have your moments.  Hear you help Troy assemble baby furniture last weekend.  Very adult, very responsible captain.”

“Shut up.  Go help the baby Falcs.”)

         So, instead of spending the evening with his boyfriend, Kent is home alone with his cat.  He is strangely okay with it, though.  (Well, he is a bit upset.  He gets to see Alexei so rarely during the season and, tbh, he was hoping to get laid.)  He’s comfortable with the good things in his life, though, knows there’s more where that came from.  He won’t lose these anytime soon. 

Content.  He is content.

         Sometimes he thinks about the person he used to be, how far he is from that angry, twisted up young man, and he’s sad for all the years he wasted.  Then he takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he can’t change the past, and focuses on the future.

         There’s a loud knock at the door and Kent jolts, sending an annoyed Kit running for the bedroom.  Kent shakes his head, sending away the fog of sleep that had been creeping over his mind. 

         The list of people who have the code to get past his gate is short, the number on that list who would show up at his place in the middle of the night is shorter, and the number of those people who would then bother to knock is even shorter still.  So he can’t say he’s surprised to see Alexei, still in his game-day suit and sopping wet, standing on his doorstep in the pouring rain, holding a mangled bundle of what looks like a wet newspaper and grinning hopefully at him from behind his dripping bangs.

         “Kenya!  I need help.”

         Kent rolls his eyes. “Obviously.  Get inside before you catch pneumonia.”  He stands aside to let Alexei in, shivering a little as the wind blows in wild and damp before he shuts the door.  “Wait here, I’ll go get some towels,” he says before hurrying off down the hall.

         When he returns, arms full with a stack of towels so high he can hardly see over them, he stops, heart twisting painfully in his chest. 

         Alexei has set his bundle of newspapers down, the sodden sheets falling aside to reveal the shivering, huddled form of a puppy, hardly bigger than a loaf of bread.

         Kent isn’t a dog person, he doesn’t know enough to be able to identify this one as anything other than ‘small’ and ‘brown’ and ‘soaking wet’, but the last one is what the towels are for so he wordlessly hands one to Alexei, who carefully starts to pat the shivering dog dry.

         “She was in the dumpster behind the bar,” Alexei says, unprompted.  Kent carefully tugs at his sopping suit jacket, sliding it off and replacing it with a dry towel.  “Heard her whining, trying to get out.  Someone left the lid open but it was too empty, she couldn’t climb out and she couldn’t get away from the rain.  I couldn’t leave her.”

         Kent takes a second towel, rubbing it gently over Alexei’s hair.  “Of course you couldn’t,” he says.  He wouldn’t expect anything less of his boyfriend.  The softest heart for children and animals, the kindest man he has ever known.  It makes his own heart ache with tenderness.

         “Couldn’t bring her back to the hotel.  Sorry, know you don’t like dogs.”  Alexei offers him an apologetic smile.

         Kent rolls his eyes.  “What, like you couldn’t have batted your eyes at Zimms and the concierge and have everyone just roll over for you?”  He lays off drying Alexei’s hair to slug him in the shoulder.  “It’s fine.  I don’t mind dogs.”  He grabs a fresh towel to hand Alexei for the dog.  “I like being the one you come to for help.”  He might mumble the last bit a little, but he knows Alexei hears.

         “I like you too, Kenya,” Alexei says, a laugh in his voice.  Kent slugs him in the shoulder again at the teasing. 

         I love you.  Kent doesn’t say it, but he can’t help but think it as he watches Alexei, so conscientious and careful as he fusses over the shivering puppy. 

         I love you.  He thinks it as he helps Alexei get the now-dry dog settled in a large, blanket-lined box in his bedroom, the man himself stripped down to his boxers to avoid dripping all over Kent’s carpets.

         I love you.  He thinks it once more, lying in bed with Alexei’s warm, reassuring presence tucked in behind him, his breathing soft and even. 

         “I love you”, Kent whispers, quiet enough that the words barely reach his own ears, let alone Alexei’s sleeping ones.