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Seeing the anxiety attack for what it is, I act quickly to usher Owen back down the hall.

I feel guilty that I can’t assuage his confusion, but Justin is my main priority right now.

The guys take Owen without me needing to explain anything, the look on my face enough to tell them something has gone wrong.

I am incredibly grateful for them as they usher Owen back into the room, distracting him with their hijinks.

When I get back into our room, Justin is right where I left him, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Unlike when I left him, he is now hyperventilating with tears streaming down his face. Rushing to his side, I rub his back and encourage him to take deep breaths.

“I can’t...I can’t breathe,” he wheezes, and he clutches at his chest, “it hurts, Daddy. It hurts. I can’t breathe.”

My heart breaks at the fear in his voice, but I remind myself to stay calm. “Yes you can, baby,” I soothe. “Focus on taking slow, deep breaths for me. In…that’s it,” I murmur, my hand still moving in circles over the cotton of his tee, “and out. Good boy. Again. In…”

We repeat this over and over as he fights to regain control of his breathing. He calms momentarily and then, as soon as he sees the papers strewn across the bed beside him, the whole episode starts over again, with heaving breaths and heart-wrenching sobs .

Eventually, the panic attack releases its hold on him, and his crying tapers off into hitching, shaky inhalations as he slumps against me. Not wanting to risk setting him off again, I refrain from asking about the papers, waiting for him to speak first.

The team bus will be leaving soon, but the guys will bring Owen back before that becomes an issue, so I’m not too concerned about time. I’m more concerned about the papers Justin was served. About what that means for my Boy and, on some level, the small family we’re forging together.

“Th-they’re taking my son,” Justin says, and I feel him tense up, as if his body is braced to meltdown again. “Karen and Harold. They’re taking Owen.”

“They can’t,” I reply firmly, anger at his former in-laws boiling my blood. I have zero legal knowledge or experience, but I refuse to believe that the older couple can just demand custody and take it. “They won’t .”

“You can’t promise that,” Justin snaps back, then bursts into tears again.

This time, though, he isn’t hyperventilating.

“I can’t afford a lawyer. I can’t…It’s just me , Gabe.

How…how am I supposed to compete against a married couple who own their home and have God-only-knows how much money in savings, and—”

“It’s not just you. It’s us , and—”

“You’re a college kid on a scholarship,” he cuts me off with an edge of frustration, and I try not to feel the sting of insult in those words.

This is the first time he’s called me a kid. The first time our differences have been raised as a problem.

I know he’s not saying it out of spite or malice. I know that, on paper, being in college is not as stable as being employed full-time. I also know that being all of twenty-two to his twenty-seven seems like a much bigger deal than it feels in reality.

“Plus,” he continues when I don’t argue with him, “you’re a guy.

Look me in the eye and tell me that our legal system is progressive enough to think that’s just as healthy ” —he sneers the word derisively— “for a child as a man and a woman. And no, you know I don’t think it makes a difference, but a judge probably will.

Plus you and I have only been dating for a few months and—”

“Breathe,” I cut in, not wanting him to work himself into a state again.

“I know. I know that on paper, they’re ‘more appropriate’, or whatever, but you are his biological father and the only parent he’s known before this year.

I’m obviously not a lawyer, but I think they take stuff like that into consideration.

And, like, social workers get involved and talk to the kids and stuff. ”

“I don’t want a social worker coming in to scrutinize my whole life!”

“I know, baby, I know.” I feel powerless right now. And angry.

Owen’s grandparents are lucky that we’re so far away at the moment, because I’d be sorely tempted to drive over there and…what, exactly? Make things worse for Justin by threatening them? Maybe I’m lucky that we’re so far away.

“Where’s Owen?” Justin demands, sitting up straighter, frantically searching the room with his eyes. “God, I just had a breakdown and I didn’t even think about him. Maybe they’re right to—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” I frown. “You’re spiraling and I get it, but you are an amazing dad, Justin.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs, then gestures towards the bag containing his Little supplies. “Such a good dad that I regress to a freaking toddler instead of spending time with my kid. ”

“You indulge in kink and have date nights. Lots of parents do.”

Shaking his head despondently, Justin waves towards the door. “Can you please just go get him? I just…I need to be with him right now.”

That I can understand completely. I wouldn’t be surprised if the threat of having Owen taken away has Justin clinging to the kid more than ever. I have the urge to do the same to reassure myself that nobody is taking him away.

Retrieving Owen from down the hall, he babbles happily at me about the card game the guys were playing with him and a fierce sense of protectiveness wells up inside of me.

There’s no way Justin’s former in-laws are taking this sweet, well-adjusted, happy kid from us.

No fucking way.

***

Life becomes a whirlwind of mounting stress after that.

Once we get back to Phoenix, my parents help Justin get in touch with a lawyer friend of theirs who agrees to help us pro bono.

Because I’m not legally anything to Owen, I’m more of a hindrance than a help, and I’m kind of sidelined for any of the legal discussions and negotiations.

In fact, Harbir, the lawyer, suggests that I just focus on keeping my grades up because that will look best for my involvement or something.

So, that’s what I do. Between hockey and studying, and Justin distracted with the legal stuff and his job, we barely get to see each other outside of the times I tail him at work.

And, even then, he’s not the sweet, playful guy I have been falling in love with.

He’s stressed, drawn, and exhausted. He desperately needs Little time, and I desperately need to step back into being his Daddy, but we just don’t get the opportunity.

Away games suck even more now, because Justin outright refuses to travel, not wanting to let Owen out of his sight more than necessary, and his enthusiasm for watching our games on TV has faded away, taking a backseat to his worries over his custody battle.

We still text, and he still sends sweet supportive messages, but he’s distracted, and I can’t even blame him. I’m distracted by it all as well.

The hockey season is well and truly heating up, but my head isn’t in the game. I feel like I’m letting down my teammates, but everything happening in my life —and in Justin’s life— is putting things into a different perspective for me.

The guys who want to make it to the NHL are completely focused on that, but hockey isn’t as important to me as my Boy and his son.

However, I need hockey to keep my scholarship, and I need my scholarship to graduate, and Justin needs me to graduate so I look better on paper… so hockey should be important to me.

God, it’s all such a mess.

“Get your head out of your ass, Nagy!” Coach yells as I lose the puck to an opposing player during our game in Atlanta.

I grit my teeth and nod, speeding after the puck.

My head feels foggy, and I remind myself yet again that I need to do well in this for Justin’s sake.

Not only for my scholarship, but also for his job.

If Coach thinks my distraction is because of him —because of our relationship— then that could cause even more problems for Justin in the long run.

Problems he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with right now.

Problems that might negatively impact his fight for custody .

The more I focus on that, though, the dizzier I feel. My arms and legs feel leaden, and for the first time in my entire life, I feel shaky on my skates.

“Gabe, you good?” Mason asks as he passes me, and I try to blink away the weird feeling in my head so I can focus on the game.

He snags the puck as it slaps off our goalie’s stick, and I glide around the back of our goal, leaning forward to race after my linemates on their way back towards the opposing net. The movement makes my head feel like my brain is swimming, and black spots dance in my vision.

Dimly, I realize I skipped both breakfast and my pre-game protein snack.

And last night’s meal was kind of light, too.

With everything going on, I haven’t been hungry, and staying lean keeps me faster on my skates, so I’ve never really been one to eat a lot anyway…

but I might have pushed my limits on energy consumption versus expenditure just a bit too far today.

Trying to right myself and slow down is a mistake, making the lightness in my head even more overwhelming. Then the black spots turn to complete darkness and I don’t even feel it when I hit the boards or crumple to the ice, the sounds of the arena disappearing into nothingness as well.