Was she alone all this time?
Was someone else helping her raise my son?
Is she with another man?
Is there a man raising my son who isn’t me?
My son?
Is he…?
A thousand moments flick through my mind like flashbacks from a life I barely remember. Her laugh, the way she used to wear my hoodies, how she’d wait outside the locker room after every college game. God, I used to think we were untouchable. I was going to marry that girl.
And now? She was standing three feet away from me with my kid calling her Mom.
I slam my palm against the wall, water splashing around me.
“Fuck!”
My voice bounces off the tiles, hoarse and raw as water pelts my shoulders. I drag both hands through my hair. The roar in my ears isn’t the shower anymore. It’s my heartbeat, my breathing, the unexpected pain tearing through my chest.
I missed everything.
His first steps.
His first words.
His first time on the ice.
Christ, I didn’t even know he existed.
How could I have missed this?
How could she have let this happen?
Why would she keep him from me?
All this time…
I don’t know how long I sit here, just letting the water run over me, my throat tight and my head spinning. I only realize I’m not alone when I hear the door creak open and a familiar voice break through the steam.
“Jesus, Meers, are you trying to drown yourself in there?”
It’s Griffin, of course.
I don’t answer. Not right away. I just lean my head against the tile, eyes closed, trying to keep myself from falling apart.
“Dude.” His footsteps echo closer, his voice dropping from a joking tone to a cautious one. “Hey. You good?”
The curtain rustles, and a moment later, his face comes into view, his usual ornery grin fading fast when he takes one look at me.
“Fuck, Meers,” he mutters, stepping back. “You look like shit.”
“Feels about right,” I rasp.
He tosses me a towel like I might combust if he touches me. “Wanna tell me what the hell happened? You get benched? Fight with Coach?”
I shake my head, water dripping down my jaw. “No. Worse.”
