Fuck me.
Spoken like a thirty-two-year-old professional hockey player.
“There’s nothing like it, Connor. It’s my favorite time of the day.”
“Oh, really?” His brows raise and his baby blues bulge. “Am I interrupting your practice time?” He hitches his thumb behind him. “Because I can go sit down and wait and?—”
“No, no, no,” I assure him with a shake of my head and a light chuckle. “There’s no practice for me today. Just preparing for all you guys.” My heart kicks against my ribs as I walk closer, trying to breathe.
“Need help with that?” I ask, nodding at his skate.
“I got it,” he says proudly. “Mom says I’m stubborn like my dad.”
Every nerve in my body goes still.
“Yeah?” My voice is barely steady.
“Yeah. She says he was good at hockey too.”
My vision blurs for a split second and I swallow hard.
“That so?”
He nods happily. “She won’t tell me anything else though. It’s annoying.”
A breath shudders out of me.
“Your dad doesn’t live with you then?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just me and mom. I’ve never met my dad.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell him softly, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Must suck sometimes not having a dad around, yeah?”
He bobs his head as he thinks about his answer. “Yeah. Kinda. Mom skates with me sometimes and she helps me with hockey but…” He bows his head. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be on the ice with my dad. My friends all practice baseball or football with their dads.” He lifts his head and shrugs his shoulder. “But my mom is awesome and at least she knows how to skate.” He leans over and whispers to me, “Just don’t tell her I said this, but she’s not very good.”
I tip my head back in laughter, visions of Harper trying to skate when we were together floating through my memories. She wasn’t very good then either.
But she tried.
And that was enough to have me eating out of her hand.
And…other parts of her.
Fuck, those were the days.
“Well, points to Mom for trying, right?”
“Yep.” He smiles and then looks out at the ice.
“Have at it,” I tell him. “The whole entire rink is yours, Bud.”
He looks at me in excited disbelief. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Yep. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He pumps his fist with a hearty, “Yes!” and then he’s off, sailing across the ice on two thin skate blades and making the frozen surface his bitch at eight-o-clock in the morning.
It’s just me and Connor now…the kid who might be mine.
