The things I could say to him right now about Suzie Bass stack up like boulders, but I tell myself to take the high road. Or at least, go higher than the low blow I feel like he deserves after cheating on Mom.
“Before you bring up whatever you think you know aboutNina, remember that I’m not you, Dad. I’m not going to make the same mistakes you made.”
There’s a pause on the other end. When my father speaks again, his voice is colder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever happened between you and Mom before she died ... whatever you did that made her so sad those last few years ... I’m not going to repeat that pattern.” My voice is like grinding gears as I get closer to telling him that I know about his and Suzie’s affair. That’s not something he’d want spread around, especially not after he was so public about being an upstanding husband after losing his wife all those years ago.
“Your mother was sick, Lane. That’s what made her sad.”
“She was sad long before that and I think we both know why.” Now my voice is icy.
Another beat of silence passes. It’s longer this time.
He clears his throat. “Ancient history. The point is, Nina will run when things get tough and take a part of you with her, if not a substantial sum. They always do. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I end the call. Otherwise, I’m going to confront him. Part of me wants him to feel the shame and agony of his indiscretion, but that’s not the kind of man I want to be. All the same, I’m left staring at my phone, my father’s words echoing in my head like an opposing team’s goal song I can’t shake.
Maybe I am being naïve. Perhaps Nina is just playing house until something better comes along. What if …?
“Lane?” her voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. She’s standing a few feet away, concern written across her face. “Everything okay? You look upset.”
For a moment, I wonder if she overheard any of the conversation. If she knows what my father thinks of her, of us, and this whole situation.
“Just Lane Sheridan Senior being, well, himself,” I say, lighting my tone and my expression.
She plants her hand on my arm and looks up at me with those beautiful gray eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I could clam up, but instead opt for the more logical choice while choosing my words carefully. “He’s concerned about how fast everything is moving.”
Nina nods slowly. “Understandable. This has been pretty overwhelming for everyone.”
“He thinks you’re after my money,” I blurt out, then immediately wish I could take it back.
But instead of looking hurt or offended, Nina laughs. She laughs!
“Your money? Lane, have you seen your apartment? You live like a college student. If I were after money, I’d have set my sights a lot higher than a hockey player who owns exactly three pieces of furniture and eats takeout for every meal.”
Despite everything, I find myself smiling because she’s the one who changed that by welcoming me into her home. Big difference. “Hey, I have four pieces of furniture. You forgot the coffee table and I make great microwave meals.”
“Oh, right, the coffee table that’s actually a milk crate and a wooden plank with a towel thrown over it.”
“It’s functional.”
Nina shakes her head, but she’s grinning now. “Lane, I don’t care about your money. I care about you. About us. About the family we’re building.”
She steps closer, and I inhale her scent of cinnamon and comfort with relief.
“The promise I made to my father feels less important than this,” she continues, gesturing between us. “Than what we have. What we’re creating.”
“Even though I’m a hockey player?”
“A hockey player who puts family first.” She reaches up and touches my cheek. “You said it yourself. You’re not your father, Lane. Just like I’m not my mother. We get to write our own story.”
I want to believe her so badly it aches, but a little splinter of doubt wedged itself inside as soon as my father reminded me of what Xoe did.
Having moved on, she says, “Speaking of stories, I was with Leah earlier and she wants our help with the Happy Hockey Days Festival next week.”
“The what—festival?” This is news to me. Then again, I have been a bit preoccupied.
