“I can’t take back the first ten years,” I tell him. “And I can’t make promises I know I can’t keep.”
He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Iwantto be where you are all the time…but Ihaveto be where the team is. Not because I always want to be with them but because it’s my job. It’s what I get paid to do. Do you see what I’m trying to say?”
He nods. “Yeah. I get it. Like when Mom has to go visit a client and I stay with Antoni or sometimes my grandma.”
“Exactly. It’s the part about being an adult that can be frustrating. You don’t always get to do exactly what you want to do because you have responsibilities,” I explain. “But if you’ll let me, Connor, if you’d like me to…” I crouch down in front of him, my hand on his shoulder. “I’d really like to be your dad and be part of your life.”
He stares down at the ice for a long time, averting his eyes from me, and then he nudges a puck toward me with his stick.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think I’d like that.”
Holy fuck.
The tightness in my chest loosens a bit, and I have to fight to keep my face neutral even though everything inside me wants to smile so wide it might split my face in two. I feel like I can breathe for the first time since last night.
“Yeah?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Connor nods, still focused on the puck between us. “Yeah. And can I come to all of your games?”
“Hell yeah,” I tell him with a confident smile. “Every single game you want to come to. I’ll make sure you have the perfect seats.”
“For Mom and Antoni too?”
I nod. “Of course. I’ll put you in a suite if it’s what you want. You just say the word.”
He shrugs. “I mean…Antoni probably would like a suite. He’s fancy like that. But I like to be by the ice. That’s where the action is.”
“Spoken like my own flesh and blood.”
I tap the puck back to him, and we fall into a rhythm—pass, slide, tap—the puck moving between us like a conversation neither of us quite knows how to have with words.
“So…” he starts, then stops, his stick stalling. “Do I call you Dad now or something?”
The question hits me square in the chest. I hadn’t even thought about that.
“You can call me whatever feels right to you,” I tell him honestly. “Harrison is fine. Dad is…well, that would be amazing someday. But there’s no rush. We’re still getting to know each other.”
He nods, considering this as he sends the puck back to me with a little more force. “I think maybe Harrison for now. If that’s okay?”
“That’s more than okay,” I tell him, trying to hide the emotion threatening to spill over. Just hearing him consider calling me Dad someday feels like winning a championship.
He skates in a small circle, stick tapping against the ice as he thinks. I can tell he’s trying to work out something else in his head, so I give him the space he needs. There’s a comfort in the silence that wasn’t there before. Maybe now it’s less tension and more understanding.
“Can I ask you something?” Connor says suddenly, looking up with those eyes that mirror my own.
“Anything.”
“So, you really were boyfriend and girlfriend? You and my mom?”
I smile, old college memories flooding back. “Yeah, we were together for almost four years. We met in college. I played hockey, and she was this brilliant girl who wouldn’t give me the time of day at first.”
Connor’s mouth quirks up at that. “Really? Mom ignored you?”
“Oh yeah. Completely. I had to work for it,” I laugh, remembering how stubborn she was. “I asked her out three times before she finally said yes.”
“Why didn’t she want to go out with you?” he asks, curious.
