She remembers the way I held her when she had a bad day and needed to cry.
She remembers the hours we spent watching every romcom known to man because she loved them.
She remembers the feel of my tongue on her skin…my cock pulsing inside her.
There’s no way in hell she doesn’t remember every fucking thing.
Because I remember it all.
But yeah, okay, fine. I’ll play this game.
For Connor.
I wrap my hand around hers and try not to outwardly react at the contact of her cool skin in my warm hand. “Harrison.”
Her lips part just a little, but she doesn’t respond. There’s something trembling beneath her calm. Nerves, maybe, or guilt. I don’t know.
“You’ve got a great kid here,” I tell her, shaking my hand over Connor’s hair playfully. “He reminds me a lot of myself when I was his?—”
I pause.
It’s barely a beat, but I feel it like a goddamn punch to my gut.
Like a gunshot straight to my chest.
“His age…”
Wait…
“I’m ten,” Connor says, smiling proudly. “Were you playing hockey when you were ten?”
Ten.
Fuck.
The number hits like a sledgehammer to the ribs.
I swallow hard, my brain doing the math before I can stop it.
Ten.
That means…
He might be…
He could be…
Jesus Christ.
I don’t let my expression slip, not with a hundred cameras and kids milling around. But something in my chest caves in, all the air sucked right out of me. I force a smile, nodding like it’s casual conversation.
“Yeah, bud. That’s when I started playing. Got my first pair of skates when I was ten.”
Harper knows this. I know she knows this because I told her a long time ago. She knows everything about my past.
Connor smiles and offers me a high five. “Awesome!”
We stand together for an awkward few seconds, ten years of silence pressing down on us, too heavy for words. I don’t know what to do, where to go from here. I can’t believe this is happening. My eyes shift from Harper to Connor and then back to Harper, silently asking the question I know she knows I want to ask. She has to know I’m definitely wondering. I can see the flicker of panic in her eyes.
