Chapter Text
It’s not Jamie’s fault that he’s unreliable when it comes to cooking. Between hockey, school, and making it into the NHL, it’s not like he had time to sit down and figure out how long eggs need to boil, what spices go with which food, and how not to burn everything he touches.
That being said, it's his first two days off in a row in what feels like forever, so he thought he'd get creative and try to actually cook for himself. He thought wrong, and consequently burt his dinner and several select parts of his kitchen to a chrisp.
So now it’s 11 pm, the grocery store closes in a half-hour, Jamie is starving, and his hands are slightly burnt from when he had to grab a frying pan and throw it across the kitchen and into the sink in a haste to put out the flames engulfing the top.
The only saving grace of the night is the empty aisles that allow him to browse in peace. That is, until he turns a corner into the only aisle that has precooked, relatively-fresh food that just needs to be reheated, and comes face to face with the one person he definitely doesn't want to see.
The guy doesn't seem to notice him, but Jamie is too shocked to run out of the aisle, and figures that dropping his basket and fleeing would be too obvious anyway.
This isn't just any random guy. This is The Guy. The guy that Jamie has been hardcore crushing on from afar ever since he started working at the American Airline Center.
Over the past ten years of playing in the NHL Jamie's had plenty of girls and guys throw themselves at his feet, but none of them could even shine a light to this guy, fake boobs and money be damned.
Jamie doesn't get to see him often, since he doesn't have time before games to search him out, but he's seen and talked about him enough that his teammates give him shit on the regular for his infatuation.
The thing is, Jamie hasn't ever met the guy properly, face to face. Sure he's had plenty of opportunities, but every time he's let the fear of striking out keep him from playing the game.
Or as Daddy's so elevently puts it nearly every night Jamie fails to approach his crush, "Even with an Art Ross under his belt, he still can't score off the ice."
Chrips aside, Jamie thinks the guy's name might be Tyler, but even that’s a guess based off an all-access pass one of the guys stole from him to give to Jamie, in hopes that Jamie would man up and return the “dropped” pass.
In the end, Jamie never got the guts to approach him that day, and Tyler had to spend a half hour during the pre-game with a intern following him around just so he could get into the rooms he needed to get into. Jamie had watched the whole thing from afar, the pass crinkling in his tight grip and hidden in the pocket of his hoodie. Jordie had teased him endlessly, especially when he found the pass a week later, shoved in the back of Jamie’s locker in their practice rink.
So Jamie, knowing he looks rough, decides he has two options: run and pray Tyler doesn't see his fleeing form, or grow some balls and say hi.
Just as he’s leaning towards option one, Tyler drops his head to the handle of his cart and lets out noise thats ninety-five percent stress and five percent distraught anger. It’s only then, while looking for the cause of Tyler's distress, that Jamie notices the toddler clinging to Tyler’s leg and the baby in the cart. Both are sobbing, and Jamie’s sure Tyler is only a second at best from joining them.
Seeing Tyler with kids makes Jamie's stomach swoop in a way that jumps from good to bad, forcing his mind to settle on a reaction in-between the emotions. He never really thought he'd end up with Tyler and always kept the fantasy at arm's length, but still, before he completely devastates his heart with thoughts of Tyler in a happy relationship with two kids, Jamie goes down a list of other possibilities ranging from babysitting to abduction. All seem unlikely.
What's more concerning than Jamie's inner tormoli, is the way Tyler is still hunched over his chart, his arms crossed as a pillow for his head.
“Daddy,” the toddler whines, tugging hard on Tyler's sweater, and there goes Jamie’s heart. Of course Tyler has kids, probably even a wife, happy marriage, and white picket fence to match, too. Between the exploding and hailing chunks of his heart, Jamie picks out the feel of devastation that sits heavy on his gut. He wills it away, and instead focuses on the absolute adorable sight of the toddler begging for Tyler's attention. If Jamie's bound to be miserable and single for life, he's at least going to take in this moment for all it's worth.
When Tyler finally look up from the safety of his arms, he does so slowly, as if bidding his time. His eyes go comically wide when he sees Jamie, before settling into something more foreign than stress.
Jamie barely has time to be embarrassed that he was caught staring, too focused on the way Tyler is looking at him like he’s the best thing since sliced bread.
“Thank God,” Tyler sighs, pushing his cart down the aisle to Jamie like he’s on a mission. He doesn't seem to notice the weight of the toddler still attached to his leg. Jamie's mind immediately settles on the known power of Tyler's legs, and how good his butt looked in the tight dress pants he was wearing the other day. Jamie's only human, so he gives the thought a second to flounder before he pushes it away.
The image of Tyler tonight is way different from anything Jamie's ever seen him in. There's no tie, no pants that hug in all the right places, and no fancy shoes. Instead Tyler's in beat up sweats, a hoodie that looks like it's seen better days, and vans that look like they've been tied by a toddler- which, yeah, that's actually a possibly, apparently.
Tyler’s harried appearance makes Jamie feel a thousand times better about his own look.
“Jamie, right?” Tyler asks, when he finally slows his cart to a halt. Jamie can only nod dumbly, wondering if he’s actually passed out in his kitchen right now from smoke inhalation.
Up this close he can appreciate the soft look of Tyler, much different from his hard-edged work persona. This version of Tyler takes Jamie's explicit fantasies and turns them upside down and into daydreams of late nights cuddled in front of a tv with pizza and beers in front of them. Jamie's chest tightens, blindsided by a feeling of home sickness for something he's never even had.
“I’m Tyler, I work in the AAC-,” Jamie can’t believe this. He sticks out his hand, nods and hums at all the right moments, and pretends he isn't internally shitting himself.
“I just need to change her quick," Tyler says motioning to the squirming baby in the cart, "I promise Alex will behave. Won’t you Lex?” The little boy looks at Tyler like he's grown a third head, and Jamie has an armful of toddler before he even knows what’s happening. It snaps his mind into focus pretty quickly, but he’s already too late to the party, and Tyler is already headed to the back where the bathrooms are.
Jamie looks at the toddler, and the toddler looks back. They’re both pathetically wide-eyed.
Jamie doesn't know what to do with a toddler. Can it talk?
“I’m Jamie,” he says. The toddler blinks, then scrunches up his nose and smiles. It looks terribly familiar to how Tyler looks when he laughs. Jamie’s heart warms a fraction, calming down from the building panic, and he hoists the kid up a little better so that his arms don't burn so much.
The exchange doesn't answer his question.
“How old are you?” he asks. The kid sticks his hand right up in Jamie’s face, nearly a centimeter from his nose. Jamie goes cross eyed trying to count the fingers. Eventually he has to pull them back a little, and sees three instead of six.
He still doesn't know if the kid can talk. Is it even a kid yet? Is it still considered a baby?
He really needs to stop referring to him as it.
An awkward silence hangs between them, but the toddler seems oblivious, staring at Jamie like he's the most interesting thing in the world.
"Do I have something on my face?" Jamie finally asks, when the unwavering eye contact has gone on for far too long. Alex- Lex, the kid, the baby- shrugs, unblinking. It's unnerving. Jamie refuses to admit he's a little intimidated.
"Do you blink?" Jamie asks, because this kid either has a severe case of dry eye or is in the running to be Dallas' next homegrown serial killer.
Lex shrugs again. Nothing prepares Jamie for the way the kid swings his weight back, going into a painful looking back bend that has him swinging upside down in Jamie's arms. "Fuc-" he cuts off the swear, his reflexes saving the kid from certain death. Getting him back up to a normal position takes a lot more of Jamie's strength than he'd like to admit.
He nearly regrets it too, when he's met with the same stare.
Sometimes you just have to fight fire with fire. Jamie forces his eyes wide, refusing to blink even as a draft goes through the store, seemingly aimed right at his eyes. He squints, ignoring the tear he feels gathering in the corner of his eye, and meets the kid's painfully easy stare. Jamie tries to will his body not to blink, but he's a weak man.
He refuses to give up so easily, blinking quickly to get it out of his system before meeting the toddler's eyes in another wide stare.
"Lex," the kid says, pointing to his own chest after wining their third, completely silent staring contest. Jamie takes one arm away from where it's wrapped iron-tight around the kid, keeping in mind how fast the toddler almost dropped out of his arms last time, and points to his chest, "Jamie."
Lex smiles, big and gapped-toothed, and wraps his arms around Jamie's neck, hugging him as tight as his chubby arms can squeeze.
The tension in Jamie melts. The kid isn't so bad.