“I’m sorry,” I cry. “I’m so sorry.”
He reaches out, gently wrapping his warm hand over my cold, shaking one like he used to do when I was overwhelmed.
The feeling is familiar yet devastating at the same time.
“You gave me a son,” he murmurs. “And I didn’t even know it. You didn’t give me the chance to know.” He squeezes my hand. “I would’ve gone to the ends of the earth for you and our child, Harper.” The edge to his voice is gone, replaced by heartache and sadness. “I would’ve done anything for you. Anything for our son. I loved you so goddamn much and you walked away from me, and I don’t know how to feel about that.”
I press my free hand to my mouth to keep from dissolving completely.
“He’s a good kid,” I manage, voice barely there.
“I know.” His tone softens and he lets out a long sigh. “I know he is. I see it. He’s incredible. He’s got so much talent. He’s a natural on the ice.”
“I made sure he knew the ice,” I cry. “I made sure he grew up with hockey in his life. I needed him to know and love the sport.”
“You gave him my middle name.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I wanted him to have a piece of you.”
He could’ve had all of me.
We sit in the quiet for a long, trembling moment, and the past hangs between us, full of everything we never said, everything we lost. Harrison exhales, a rough, uneven sound that breaks something inside me.
“I want to be in his life,” he says finally. “I need to be. I’m not asking. I’m telling you. I’m his father. I want to know him.
My chest tightens with anxiety over what his involvement might look like. “You are in his life. You see him at least once a week.”
His brows furrow and he stiffens beside me. “That’s not what I mean, Harper. I deserve to know who my son is on and off the ice. It’s the least you can do after?—”
I nod quickly. “Of course. I don’t want to keep you from him. Not now. I never should have?—”
He lifts a hand, not to touch me, but to stop the apology.
“I don’t think you understand.” His jaw flexes, eyes hard with a pain that twists through me like a blade. “I missed everything. His first steps. His first words. His firsteverything. I didn’t even know he existed. How the hell am I supposed to process that?”
“I know,” I whisper, even though I really don’t—not his side of it. Not the way it must feel from inside his heart. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry?—”
“You’re sorry, but that doesn’t fix it.” His voice cracks down the middle—frustration, grief, disbelief all mixed in one raw edge. “You being sorry doesn’t give me my ten years back.” He tips his head back against his seat, his eyes squeezed closed again. After a long sigh he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Harp. I’m sorry I’m not much of a comfort right now. I’m too…angry. Too confused. I don’t even know what to do with all of these…” He winds his hand in a circular motion around his chest. “These feelings. These emotions.”
His words land like a physical slap, though I deserve every one of them. He finally opens his eyes but looks away, out toward the dark stretch of ocean like he’s trying to steady himself.
“I don’t trust myself to say the wrong thing,” he mutters. “Or the right thing. Or anything.”
I swallow hard. “Harrison…I didn’t keep him from you to hurt you. I need you to know that. I swear I didn’t.”
“I know you didn’t do it out of cruelty,” he says quietly. “But you still did it.”
Silence swallows the space between us. Not warm. Not familiar. Just…hollow.
He rubs the back of his neck, shoulders tight. “I need time. To wrap my head around this. To figure out how to be a dad without blowing up his entire world all at once.”
I nod, tears burning behind my eyes. “I understand.”
“I’ll be there for him,” he says firmly. “Whatever it looks like. I want to know him.” He pauses, swallowed once more by that raw confusion, and then exhales sharply. “But if you came here thinking you and I?—”
“I didn’t,” I assure him, shaking my head adamantly.
I mean…I kind of did but this is not the time nor the place to talk about us. I know this is a lot for him to process. My heart twists, painful and unsurprised.
