I leaned back in my chair. “I’m not asking you to fix everything. I... needed you here. Even if you didn’t have the right words. Even if all you did was sit across from me like you are right now.”
“I know, and I hate that I didn’t.”
We sat there for a long moment in the noise of the cafeteria—the scrape of chairs, the low hum of conversations.
“You’re still my son. That’s never going to change. I may not always get it right, but I will never stop wanting what’s best for you. I love you.” She swallowed. “Ledger will come around. He’sstubborn, but he’s not heartless. He... needs time. You two were so close, and when everything fell apart, it hurt him too. He’ll be here one day. I believe that.”
I nodded, because arguing wouldn’t change anything.
“I, uh... I had to extend my program... again,” I told her. “They think I’m going to need more time.”
“W-Why?”
“Because I’m fucked up, Mom. I learned my dad was a rapist. My grandma’s a narcissist. And my mom ignored me for a month while she played house.”
Her head snapped up. “I didn’t play house, Austin?—”
“My wife left me, and while she was burying her mother, I was doing coke off some girl’s tits. That’s who I am. Every time I think about it, I can’t decide if I want to throw up or crawl out of my own skin. I disgust myself.”
Her eyes were shining, tears threatening to spill. “That’s why you’re here. To fix that. To learn how to live with yourself without... doing that to yourself. I am so damn sorry I wasn’t here sooner to tell you that.”
The intercom crackled, calling the end of visitation. She stood slowly, hesitating like she might lean down and hug me, then just touched the edge of the table with her fingertips instead.
“I’m going to be better,” she whispered. “I want a better relationship with you, Austin. I’m not going to do what I did last time you were in rehab. I won’t disappear. I’ll show up however you need. Even if it’s hard. Even if I’m scared. Next Family Day... I’ll fly out here.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I nodded, because part of me wanted to believe her so badly it hurt.
“Take care of yourself,” she said quietly. “Please.”
1
austin hart
“Ugh,” I groaned, glaring at the screen in my apartment that displayed today’s forecast—mid-sixties. In California, that was practically winter, but in the Midwest, I knew it meant we were easing into fall.
I dragged myself out of bed, yanked open the curtains, and took in the view of the woods behind my place. After coming back from the West Coast, I’d settled in the Chicago ’burbs, closer to my mom, my stepdad, Ledger, and half sister, Evie. I’d spent a year at an intensive rehab center out in Malibu, and a few more in a sober living home, but it was finally time to return.
Leaving California hadn’t been easy, but I couldn’t keep hiding behind the excuses that kept me there. My marriage had already crumbled before I left. That life fell apart while I watched from the sidelines, pretending I didn’t see it coming, refusing to admit that the man I’d become was no longer someone worth fighting for. I’d let myself spiral, convinced that I was doing it for someone else, that if I numbed the pain long enough, it would disappear. But the truth had always been there—I needed to fix myself because I wanted to, not because someone else needed me to.
When I first landed in California, I threw myself into rehab, desperate to confront the parts of myself I’d spent years drowning out. Each day was a battle, a slow, painful process of peeling every layer of denial until I couldn’t hide anymore. There was no escaping it—the years of mistakes, and the man staring at me in the mirror who’d forgotten how to love himself. When I moved into the sober living facility, I promised myself that I wouldn’t just survive—I’d find a way to live again.
Coming back to Chicago wasn’t part of some grand plan to start over. It was simply the next step in a journey I’d been too scared to take. When Ledger offered me a job at the rink, teaching kids how to skate, it was a lifeline. When my mom asked me to help with Evie, it felt like a chance to be a part of something real again. I still had a long way to go, but for the first time in years, I felt like I was walking toward something instead of running away. The life I was building here wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. And that made all the difference.
My phone buzzed a few times on the desk, interrupting the silence. I wasn’t scheduled to start with the after-school program until next week, and Mom was taking a break from the café, giving me time to settle in. After spending the past few days doing nothing but unpacking boxes and trying to make this place feel less like a lifeless shell, I hadn’t seen or talked to anyone. I wasn’t expecting any calls.
When I glanced at the screen, a grin spread across my face, and I answered. “It’s been way too fucking long.”
“Heard you’re back in town,” my old friend said from the other line.
Dirks and I weren’t close when we played together, but we were still friends. Jeremy and I had been inseparable once, but I’d had to cut him off. He was as deep in the addiction as I was, and I couldn’t afford to keep drowning with him.
The last I’d heard, Jeremy retired from the NHL last year and disappeared, leaving no trace behind. I never tried reaching out. It wasn’t because I didn’t care, but because I’d finally learned something essential in the time I spent getting clean—I needed boundaries. Real ones. It wasn’t about being harsh or mean to others; it was about protecting myself. There was a point where I had to accept that if someone couldn’t respect those boundaries, or if they didn’t fit into this healthier version of my life, that was on them. It wasn’t my job to fix them or make them comfortable.
“How the fuck did you find out?” I laughed, surprised at how good it felt to hear a familiar voice again.
“Coach mentioned it. Think he heard from Ledger.”
Ledger always kept in touch with Coach and worked closely with the Ravens because they sponsored some of the camps he put on in the summer, and Dirks was still playing in the NHL, though the rumors were that this might be his last season before he hung up his skates.
