And again, until we fall into a silent rhythm.
Pass. Shoot. Skate. Breathe.
I don’t bother him with words or questions or even critique of his maneuvers because this isn’t the time for any of that. When I have shit to work through the first place I want to be is right here on the ice. Alone.
So that’s what I try to give him.
Solace.
Space.
A place to work through his thoughts, in a space he loves, with someone he at least trusted at one point, knowing I’m here if and when he needs me.
He shoots for a long while before he finally asks without looking at me, “Were you mad at my mom?”
The question lands clean and sharp inside my chest, but I promised him a long time ago I wouldn’t lie to him.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I was.”
He nods.
“For a while,” I continue, skating slowly, circling, “I was mad she didn’t tell me. Mad I didn’t get a choice. Mad that I lost time with you I can never get back.”
I stop near the blue line and look at him.
“Are you still mad at her?” he asks.
“Sometimes, yeah. I’m still working through my feelings just like you are now. I was mad at her for a minute last night.”
“Me too,” he says softly before slamming another puck down the ice. This one makes it into the net. I want to give him a high-five, but I don’t. Making it into the net isn’t important right now.
“But I love your mom, Connor,” I say. “And I love you too. So, at some point, I had to decide what mattered more.”
He finally looks up at me. “Which one did you pick?”
“My family,” I say simply. “All of it. Even the messy, emotional, and hurtful parts.”
He swallows and takes another shot, this one weaker than the last. “I was really mad at her last night too,” he says. “I really don’t like that she never told me about you.”
“I don’t like it either, bud. I don’t like that she didn’t tell you about me, and I equally don’t like that she never told me about you. Your feelings are very valid, Connor. You have every right in the world to be upset.”
“I was really sad last night too,” he continues, weakly tapping another puck down the ice. He still doesn’t look at me when he explains, “I really thought…maybe you didn’t want me.”
My heart cracks all over again.
I skate over and stop a few feet away, trying my hardest not to crowd him, but crouch down so I’m more his height.
“I hope somewhere in that big brain and beautiful heart of yours, you’re telling yourself that’s not at all true.”
He bows his head. “Yeah…”
“I would’ve dropped everything for you, if I had known,” I remind him with all the sincerity and honesty I can muster. “And If you let me, Connor, I want to be everywhere you are. I want to be at your practices, your games, your birthdays. I want all the good days and the bad ones. I want all of it,” I say, voice steady even though everything in me is shaking.
Connor finally stops shooting and looks at me. “You do?”
I offer him a small smile as I come a little closer. “Hell, yeah, I do. But I need you to know something.”
“Okay.” He waits.
