Griffin doesn’t crack a joke this time. He just nods slowly, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something quiet and sincere.
“Man…” He exhales hard. “That’s—shit, that’s a lot.”
I laugh, but it’s humorless. “Yeah. You could say that.”
“What’re you gonna do?”
The question hangs there, burning a hole in my chest. What am I gonna do? March up to her and demand answers? Ask a ten-year-old if I’m his father? How the hell do you even start a conversation like that?
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I can’t—” My voice cracks, and I force out the words, “I can’t even think straight right now.”
Griff crouches in front of me, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight. Just…breathe, okay? Shower. Eat something. Don’t spiral before you know the truth.”
“Hey,” August says as he, Bodhi, and Oliver find us in the shower stall. “What’s going on?” He takes one glimpse at me and his brows furrow. “Whoa, Meers, you okay?”
“Harrison’s old flame is in town and it turns out she has a kid.”
“Okay…” Oliver says as if he knows there must be more to the story.
“A ten-year-old kid. Connor Richardson.”
“Whoa. The kids from Pucks & Blades?” Bodhi asks. “That little shit’s a rockstar!”
Barrett crosses arms. “And why do you suppose a ten-year-old kid, who is exactly the same age as the timespan between when Harrison and Harper broke up, is great at hockey?”
Bodhi’s jaw drops. “Oh shit.”
“Dude, you have a kid?” August inquires. “Did you not know?”
“How the fuck would I know?” I say, my voice raised. “She hasn’t spoken to me in ten years until today.”
“Sooo maybe if she’s in town…” Oliver bobs his head. “Maybe it’s not all bad?”
I meet his eyes, and for the first time since the meet and greet, a flicker of hope, though fragile and terrifying, stirs in my chest.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Maybe.”
“Now that I think about it,” Bodhi says, scratching his head, his eyes narrowed, “I’m pretty sure Connor’s the kid I met outside the hospital a year or so ago when I was with Corrigan.”
I scowl. “What?”
“Yeah.” He nods recounting the memory. “It was that day we all were helping Layken upstairs in the pediatric wing, remember? Playing a little light hockey in the family room with a few patients?”
Hmm. I have a vague memory of that day.
“I walked Corrigan back downstairs and as she was seeing me off outside the E.R., Connor and the woman I assume was his mom were coming out in a wheelchair.” He shrugs. “He had messed up his shoulder if I recall correctly.”
A year ago?
They’ve been here for a year?
Have they been here this whole damn time?
Right under my nose?
Did she come here for me?
Does she want me to be in Connor’s life?
