“Of course. And also, have you called your mom yet?”
Another pang of guilt. “No, why?”
Ella gives me a knowing eyebrow raise. “Don’t you think she’d want to know? You’ve always talked lovingly about your mom and your stepdad, is it?”
I nod. “Yeah. Frank.”
“Well, I think for one, they would want to know that they have a grandchild to love on and secondly, moms just have a way of calming your fears and helping you see the forest through the trees.”
“I suppose you have a point.”
“Right?” She nods. “And listen, I have a shit ton of cinnamon rolls in my dressing room if you ever need one. I mean, they’re basically the official food of the Anaheim Stars now, so…” She winks at me and I smile back as she kisses her husband and then waves at us all before she walks out of the room.
Maybe she’s what I needed all along.
Maybe I just needed to hear a different perspective.
Maybe I have a lot of thinking to do.
“You’re wife’s not bad, Blackstone,” I tell him as I take a deep breath, pick up my marker, and reach for a few more pucks. “I think you should probably keep her.”
He laughs. “Trust me. She’s stuck with me forever whether she likes it or not.”
I know I may still have a past with Harper that feels like a bruise someone won’t stop pressing on but at least as I look around this table I know I’m not alone.
Even if I feel alone everywhere else.
I don’t knowhow I got here.
I certainly didn’t plan on taking a two-hour drive and I don’t remember turning onto my mom’s street. One second I’m driving with no destination, radio off, thoughts too loud, and the next I’m pulling up in front of the house my mom and stepdad moved into not long after I was drafted to the Stars.
The porch light is on.
It’s always on.
It’s almost like she knew I might show up even though she doesn’t know a thing about what’s going on. I sit in the car longer than I should, hands resting on the steering wheel, my chest tight. I haven’t planned what I’m going to say because I didn’t know I was coming here today. But I know I can’t carry this alone anymore. Mom’s always been the one I turn to and although this is going to rock her as much as it has me, I don’t want to keep it from her.
And I’m secretly praying she’ll know exactly what to say to help me feel better.
Moms know best and all that shit.
When I knock, the door opens almost immediately.
“Harrison?” my mom says, surprise flickering across her face before it softens into concern. “Honey—what’s wrong?”
That’s all it takes.
“I uh…Mom, I…” I push my hands through my hair trying to think of the next words. “Can I come in?”
She doesn’t ask questions. Just pulls me into a hug that smells like laundry detergent and home. Frank appears behind her, socked feet and flannel shirt, eyes already reading me like he always could.
“Hey, kid,” Frank says gently. “You look wrecked.”
“Understatement of the year,” I mutter.
They sit me at the kitchen table like I’m sixteen again. My mom pours coffee I won’t drink and Frank leans against the counter, arms crossed, quiet but present, like always.
I stare at the wood grain, tracing old scratches with my eyes.
