The realization dawned on me as I watched the rink’s door swing shut. I took off running. He caught sight of me through the viewing windows and ran. That’s when I got a good look at his face to confirm my suspicions.
Bryce.
“Hey!” I yelled after him. “I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you!”
By the time I got to the hallway between the rink and the locker rooms, he was almost to the exit. He was stalled at the automatic doors, where they really needed to fix the one that dragged open.
“The fuck you think you’re doing here? This sure doesn’t look like fucking Nepal!”
He squeezed through the gap the second he could fit and ran into the parking lot. I was hot on his heels, but not fast enough. He was already unlocking a rental car, flinging open the driver’s door and jumping in.
“Were you actually going to speak to your son, or were you going to keep hiding like a chickenshit?”
I couldn’t even see straight, a blur of red and black. I ran at his car as he backed out and jumped on his bumper.
“I’m not done with you, you sick fuck!” I shouted, clinging onto the trunk and slamming the back window. “Have some fucking respect for your fucking family, and get back in there and talk to your son!”
His eyes hit the rearview just before he pounded the gas, sending me flying off the back. I landed on my hands and knees, and yeah, it fuckin’ hurt. I was going to have to cover it up at work the next day.
Rome and Sorrento appeared on either side of me. “I got his plate number,” Rome said, holding up his phone.
“Good. Because I think that was Aspen’s dad.”
I was shakenup after their practice. Not only was I having to pull my sleeves over my scraped-up hands, but I couldn’t decide what I should do.
That had to be Bryce. Why else would the guy have run?
What did he know? Did he know Mara and I got married? That I was acting as Aspen’s parent at that practice? Had he tried to go to their old house?
But none of it made sense. He called once a month, so he had Mara’s number.
Other things made me more pissed off. He could afford to rent a car, but he couldn’t afford to pay Mara’s child support? Money didn’t matter for her now, but it was the principle of it.
And the thing that made me the sickest was, what was I going to tell Mara? Could I tell her anything? Would it just upset her?
We said honesty. We said no secrets.
The protective asshole in me wanted to take care of it, and bring it to her as a solved problem. That was how I made myself useful. That was how I avoided being a fuck-up. I was used to relying on myself and nobody else and the urge to just manage it was strong.
It was late when we left practice, and I had another problem to solve: Mara’s upset with the Christmas card stuff.
“Are you guys falling asleep?” I looked in the rearview mirror to try to see the whites of the kids’ eyes in the dark.
“No,” came their unison chime.
“Can we make a little pit stop on the way home then?”
I couldn’t see the whites of Harper’s eyes, but I saw the gleam of her teeth. “For a Frosty.”
I nodded. “We can do Frosties. But you’ve gotta be cool when we stop. Deal?”
“Deal!”
THIRTY-EIGHT
MARA
DECEMBER
