Chapter Text
Ping.
Eric’s head lifted from the mixing bowl, staring at the door as though he might be able to somehow develop laser vision and see through it. Unfortunately, as usual, he was left with his ordinary human vision, and was forced to take his hands out of the dough he was kneading, and push with his elbow to poke his head out.
Luckily enough, Sarah was behind the register, taking the order of their first customer in two hours.
“You wanna help me on bar?” Sarah called as she looked back to see Eric watching.
He rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, darlin’, if you wanna finish these pies in time for the lunch rush.”
She huffed, but waved him off, and he wandered back into the kitchen. The pie dough was going to have to set, and the mini-pies which would soon fill out their baking counter, had another five minutes of baking, and an hour to cool.
It was the one thing Eric could do, at the present moment, to keep himself from losing his mind entirely. The one thing he could do so his head wouldn’t wander back to the email sitting in his inbox, to the phone call he’d gotten earlier, and the face of his coach who had finally decided that yeah, it was pointless, and Eric wouldn’t be playing this year.
His fingers began to tremble a little and he took a breath, held it for four, then let it out. He dug back into the massive mixing bowl and began to knead again.
By the time the oven timer dinged, Eric’s dough was done, wrapped, and put in the massive walk-in. He set the tray of pies on the baking counter, washed his hands, then ventured into the main lobby to see if anyone else had snuck in under his watch.
Eric liked his job a great deal. Annie’s was a nice place to work—good tips, great co-workers, and never put up a fuss about schedule changes. It was the one good thing he had going on, and the one thing he was clinging to, because he felt like he was dangling on the edge of a cliff, just waiting to fall.
Walking up to the counter, his eyes scanned the room, and they landed on the man near the back window. He was tall—Eric could see that, even with him sitting down. His hair was black, grey peppered through his temples which made him look, in a strange way, even more handsome. From his profile, Eric caught a straight nose, a bump in the centre like it had been broken more than once, and slight wrinkles near his eyes.
He also looked a little sad, which tugged on Eric’s heart. The man was sighing every few minutes, running a hand over his face, and checking his phone as he thumbed the rim of his over-large cappuccino mug.
“Morose one,” Eric muttered to Sarah as she swiped down some of the baking trays.
She glanced over at him, her eyebrows high. “Uh. Dude, you like…know who that is, right?”
Eric blinked, looked back at the man, then back at her. “Should I?”
“What the fuck. Aren’t you on the hockey team?”
Eric blinked again. “Yes, but darlin’, he’s not…”
“That’s Bad Bob Zimmermann,” she all-but hissed in his face.
He figured that was supposed to mean something, but for all that Eric enjoyed hockey, he wasn’t exactly…knowledgeable. “Um…”
She shook her head. “Jesus Christ. Dude he’s like…a legend. Like short of Gretzky, he’s the greatest player who ever lived or something. Even his kid is like, hella famous. How do you not know him?”
Eric shrugged. “Just don’t. And that doesn’t have anything to do with him lookin’ so sad. He say why? And if he’s so famous, why’s he here?”
She shrugged. “There was that alumni charity benefit thing today, I guess? His wife used to go here. Alicia,” she sighed dreamily.
Eric laughed, rolling his eyes. “If you say so, hon. But I think I’m gonna get that man a slice of pie because no one should be sittin’ in Annie’s looking that down.”
Sarah attempted to protest, but Eric ignored her and went into the back, sliding one of the fresh mini-pies onto a plate. The one thing Eric was best at was deflecting, especially when it came to his own problems. Which, right now, he needed the distraction more than anything.
He added a small scoop of fresh whip to the top, put a fork on the side of the plate, grabbed his own coffee, and went round the corner of the counter. He could hear Sarah hiss, “Oh fuck me,” as he walked off, but he ignored her as he approached the table.
From this close, Bad Bob—and really, that was his name? Eric seriously needed to google this guy—looked even sadder. His mouth was drawn into a deep-set frown, and the fingers playing with the screen on his phone were trembling slightly. Eric felt a pang of sympathy in his chest, and slid the pie down onto the table.
The man’s eyes snapped up. They were intense, dark, fixed immediately on Eric’s. “Sorry, you just looked really down and I swear by my MooMaw nothing will cheer a man up like one of my pies.”
Bob stared, then the corner of his mouth twitched up as he set eyes on the mini-pie. “Thank you,” he said, his voice accented. “What flavour is it?”
“Apple,” Eric said with a shrug. He squeezed his own mug, then decided fuck-it, and sat in the chair across from the supposed hockey legend. “Trust me, it’ll help.”
Bob stared, but didn’t seem offended. Instead his eyes flicked down to the name badge, then he said, “That’s nice of you, Eric,” and he dug the fork in.
One bite, and one obscene groan later, and Eric was chuckling. “Usually gets that reaction.”
“If I wasn’t still madly in love with my wife, I would marry this pie,” he said.
Eric lifted a brow. “Is that legal in Canada?”
“Our Prime Minister is progressive, I’m sure I could convince him,” then he winked, making Eric laugh again.
“I’m glad it helped. I um. Well, I hope I wasn’t bein’ too rude. You just seemed sad and well…” He trailed off with a shrug.
Bob stared, his mouth turning down again, and he poked at a bit of the crust with the prongs of the fork. “Maybe a little. Family troubles, you know?”
“Wish I didn’t, but yeah,” Eric said. “I’m on break if you need a friendly ear.” When Bob looked a little dubious, Eric said, “Reckon maybe a non-biased party could help? Considering we’re strangers.”
Bob hesitated, then took a bite and spoke through crust and apple filling. “Do you ever have those days, Eric, where you think back on all the things you should have done—knowing what was right and wrong—knowing you made the wrong decision?” Eric was about to nod when Bob said, “Crisse, what am I even saying? You’re so young, how could you know?”
“Well I know a little,” Eric said, thinking of his emails. Of his coaches. Of his parents. He swallowed thickly and said, “I mean, probably not the same but…” He shrugged as he trailed off.
Bob nodded. “I think I’ve fucked up my son. Sorry for the swearing. But…he’s unhappy. He’s unhappy and I don’t know how to make it better.” He took a breath, then a long drink of the cappuccino which Eric was pretty sure had long-since gone cold. “I think my biggest fear is that one day he’s going to look at me and realise exactly where I failed him. And I don’t know that he’ll ever forgive me.”
There was a long pause before Eric spoke, and he kept his voice soft, leaning toward Bob. “Take this for what it’s worth, because you don’t know me from Adam, and we’ve been talkin’ all of five minutes. But from experience, I can tell you that the simple fact you worry that you don’t love him enough, probably means you do. I can’t speak for your history but I can speak for someone who knows what it’s like not to be loved enough—not to be good enough—for the people that birthed you. And maybe your kid might realise there were places you made a mistake, but he’s also gonna know that you cared enough to worry. And it’ll make the difference. I swear it will.”
Bob stared at him. “I don’t know what to say.” When Eric rose, Bob turned to him quickly. “Eric,” he said quickly, and the barista stopped in his tracks. “Eric…I don’t know what happened between you and your family, but they’re lucky to have you as a son. If they don’t realise that, it’s their loss.”
Eric’s cheeks went pink, and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Thanks. Thank you. That…um. Means a lot.”
Bob smiled, then Eric grabbed his mug and walked away.
***
Finishing his text, Bob went to put his phone away, but it started buzzing. He saw his wife’s name on the screen, and quickly picked up. “Alicia…”
“Did you get your coffee?” she asked. There was a flurry of noise in the background, meaning the luncheon was still going strong.
“I did. I…sent Jack the text.”
She let out the softest sigh. “You know we can’t…Bob, trying to force him…”
“No I’m not doing that,” he said quickly. “It’s just…with Kent’s wedding next month, I’m nervous. He can put on a good face all he wants for the press, but I know our son. He’s hiding that emotion somewhere.”
“You’re not trying to say he still has feelings for Kent,” she asked.
Bob laughed. “Non, chérie. But it doesn’t mean this wedding won’t remind him of everything he hasn’t let himself have. I don’t want it to become too much again.”
She sighed, and the noise behind her was quieter. “What did you tell him?”
“That I was sorry for putting pressure on him, and that I loved him, and if he ever wanted to talk, he knew where to find me.”
“That was…” She said, then laughed. “Surprising.”
“I got some decent advice from a new friend,” Bob said, and craned his neck, but Eric was nowhere to be found. “Are you almost finished?”
“Shortly. Why don’t I meet you at the commons. We can head out from there. I told Jack we’d be in Providence before dinner.”
“Alright. See you soon.” He rang off, slipping his phone into his pocket, and approached the counter where the young girl was wiping down the milk steamer. “Pardonne,” he said, and offered what he hoped was a disarming smile when she turned round, “that barista…Eric? Is he still here?”
She blinked, and he noticed a slight paling in her cheeks. “Uh. Yeah he had to slip out for a bit. You want me to like…tell him something?”
“Only thanks,” Bob said, disappointed he couldn’t tell Eric to his face. “The pie helped a lot.”
The girl laughed. “It literally cured me of heartbreak last year. I got cheated on and Eric made me an apple pie, and stayed with me all weekend and I swear to god by Monday morning, I had forgotten the asshole’s name.”
Bob chuckled. “Seems like something, doesn’t he? Well…have a good afternoon. And thanks again.” With that, he turned and headed out. The walk to the commons wasn’t far, and he knew Alicia would be a few more minutes, so he stepped beside the wall near the alley and pulled his phone out again.
He hoped, though didn’t expect a return text from Jack, and was not surprised to find his phone screen blank. He had half a mind to call Jack and leave the same message on his voicemail, but he had to remind himself that it would be overkill. He didn’t want his son to feel smothered. Jack would only shut down further, and Bob couldn’t risk sending Jack into that dark place again.
Sighing, he shoved his phone away and took a step from the wall when suddenly he heard it. The softest sniffle. Then a muffled sob. Unable to curb his curiosity, Bob peered round the alley, and behind one of the massive dustbins, he caught a flash of blonde hair.
Instinct took over, and he side-stepped a few manky puddles, moving until he saw Eric, curled up on several flat delivery pallets, knees to his chest, with his face buried in them. Eric’s shoulders were shaking, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were yellow-white.
“Eric?” he ventured.
Eric’s head snapped up, his eyes swollen and red, cheeks lined with tear tracks. He swiped at his face, and tried for a smile. “Oh um. Mr Zimmermann…I uh…”
Bob shook his head, and carefully walked over, leaning onto the pallet. When he was sure it could take his weight, he sat and nudged Eric with his elbow. “One of those days, eh?”
“You could say that,” Eric replied, his voice thick and raw. “You too?”
“Maybe not as bad as you,” Bob said softly. “Is there…is there anything I can do? You helped me a lot and…I’d like to help? If I can?”
Eric let out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “That’s real sweet of you, Mr Zimmermann. Honestly talkin’ to you at least let me forget for a little while. But I don’t think there’s anyone who can help me.”
“Wanna try me?” Bob said.
And maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, or the fact that he’d spent half his life as a father, and Eric so desperately needed that kind of figure, but the southern man’s mouth opened, and he just…started to talk.
“I got in here at Samwell on a scholarship. Uh, Hockey. But I’m not…I can’t play.” Eric scrubbed a hand down his face. “Every time someone comes at me, I freeze up. I’m useless. Coaches tried everything, my Captain tried everything, but I was useless. I was puttin’ in all my effort into it, but my grades started slipping and I…went under review last week because I was failin’ two classes. I just got the email that my case was reviewed and um. I’m…I don’t qualify for the scholarship anymore. My professors submitted to the review board saying that there wasn’t any way I could bring my grades up to passing, because my marks were too low. Even acing my finals won’t…” Eric’s voice broke, and he began to cry again. As he hid his face, Bob put a hand on his back, rubbing slow circles.
“Eric…I’m sorry.”
Eric shook his head against his knees. “Wouldn’t be so bad, yanno? But I ain’t got nowhere to go. My parents…someone forwarded my momma and Coach my vlog. I talked about…about bein’ gay and I…I can’t go home now.”
Bob felt his heart clench, his stomach go hot with rage. How could a parent do that? How could they prioritise some false idea of moral superiority over their own child. “Eric…” he said helplessly.
Eric lifted his head, swiping his face. “It’s…I’ll figure it out. Got real nice friends, and got this job. I could probably find a place and um. See about finishing somewhere on loans. Samwell’s too expensive for that, but there’s the state university or community college or…something.”
Bob could feel his heart thudding, and his mouth going faster than his brain because the words were just coming out. “What if I could…help you with that?”
Eric blinked at him. “Um…?”
“Eric, no one should be turned out because of that. You have so much going on and your parents…” His voice went hard and he had to bite back his anger. “I could help you. You know who I am, right?”
Eric let out an incredulous laugh. “I might have been googling you a little, right when that email came in.”
Bob’s laugh matched Eric. “Well let’s just say I have the money. And a lot of it goes to waste. You should let me help you.”
Eric’s cheeks went bright red, and he took a breath, looking anywhere but at Bob’s face. “That’s real nice but…”
“Sometimes,” Bob said, “help comes in unexpected places. Sometimes you just have to recognise you’re the sort of person who deserves a leg-up. I’m…I won’t pressure you, but the offer’s open, Eric.” He dug into his pocket, pulling a name card from his wallet, and he handed it over. “Mobile number, email, twitter. Just…think it over.”
Eric took the card, and scrubbed a hand down his face. “That’s…I. Thanks. I guess. Not sure why you think I deserve it but…”
“You gave me advice that might have actually helped my relationship with my son. And crisse, but my situation with him is a mess, and I always seem to make it worse. You deserve better than you’ve been treated, Eric. And no parent should turn their kid away.”
“Yeah well, I reckon my parents never got that memo,” Eric said bitterly.
Bob looked at him a moment, then said, “You want a hug? Jack hasn’t accepted one in years, but I always remember them helping a little.”
Eric laughed, but shrugged all the same and leant into Bob’s open arms. It didn’t last long, but Eric let out a quiet sigh at the comfort, and was smiling a little more genuinely when he pulled away. “Thanks. I mean, for all of that, but the hug too. Tell your kid when you talk to him again that you have it on good authority he should accept a few. They work wonders.”
Bob chuckled and ruffled Eric’s hair before he rose. “I have to go meet my wife but…please think it over, Eric. Your future doesn’t have to be wasted, okay?”
Eric bit his lip, then nodded. “Thanks, Mr Zimmermann.”
“At least call me Bob,” he replied with a laugh. “I think we’ve come that far.”
“Well…then you can call me Bitty. It’s my uh…hockey name.”
Bob grinned widely. “Bitty. I hope to hear from you soon.”
“Bye,” Bitty said softly.
When Bob turned back after a few steps, the alley was empty, and Bitty was long gone. Bob wondered to himself what the hell he was doing. Wondered what Alicia would say, and what Jack might think. But mostly he wondered if Eric was really going to call.
It was a strange offer, he supposed, but he felt good about it. He’d been able to do so little good over the years and if he could do this one thing, maybe he would stop feeling like such a failure. Like he was drowning in it. He at least knew one thing—if anyone deserved the help, it was someone like Eric.