“I have a son,” I say finally.
The silence is immediate and heavy.
My mom’s hand flies to her mouth. Frank straightens.
“What?” she whispers.
I swallow all the pain I’ve been feeling these last several days and lick my lips before I speak. “His name is Connor,” I tell them. “And he’s ten.”
Ten years.
The words still feel unreal in my mouth.
Mom slowly shakes her head like she can’t comprehend anything I just said. “But…I don’t…who?—”
“Harper.” It’s the only thing I have to say. “It’s Harper, Mom.”
Her shoulders deflate, her face falls ashen, and she tilts her head, sympathy pouring out of her. “Oh, Harrison.”
I tell them everything. About Harper, about college, about why she didn’t tell me. I tell them how I found out about the little boy in the youth league program who looks just like me and I never saw it…until I saw her.
My voice breaks and I don’t bother stopping it.
“I didn’t know,” I say hoarsely. “I swear to God I didn’t know. But now it doesn’t matter because I wasn’t there. I wasn’t the father that little boy deserved. He’s grown up for ten years without his dad and that’s on me.”
Frank exhales slowly, shaking his head. “That’s not on you, son.”
My mom reaches across the table and takes my hand, gently squeezing. She’s the epitome of comfort and peace when I’m with her but even now, I see the confusion and shock in her gaze.
“Harrison,” she says softly, “look at me.”
I raise my eyes to find hers, glistening but steady. “You are not your father.”
The words land like a lifeline.
“I’m scared I am,” I admit. “I keep thinking—what if this is how Connor sees me? Some guy who just…wasn’t there. What if he thinks I chose hockey over him? I’ve already failed him.”
She squeezes my hand. Hard.
“You listen to me,” she says. “Your father left because of me. Not you. And you’re right. He could’ve been present in your life, but that was a choice he made and in a way, I thank God that he did, because you allowed Frank to fill the void you had at that age. So, Harrison, if you are anything like anyone, you are like Frank. He’s the one who helped get you started in hockey. He’s the one who was at every practice. Every game. He’s the one who has been cheering you on since you could skate. Don’t you see?”
Frank clears his throat, uncomfortable. “Now, Mar?—”
“No,” she says, turning to him briefly, then back to me. “You were there for him. At every rink. Every early morning. Every busted knuckle and missed shot. You taught him what showing up looks like.”
She looks at me again.
“And that’s what he learned. He’s not like his father. He’s better. He’s like his stepfather.”
My chest tightens and tears spill down my cheeks.
“I don’t feel like I deserve that comparison either,” I say quietly.
“Well, you get it anyway,” Frank says gruffly. “Because you already care too damn much not to or you wouldn’t be here.”
I scrub my hand over my face. “Harper kept him from me. Ten years. And I get why…I think. I mean, I fucking hate it, but I’m trying to understand.” I pound the table with my fist making my mom jump. “But it wasn’t her decision to make. She took something from me. She took something from you too, Mom.” I gesture toward her. “You have a grandson you’ve never met.”
My mom nods slowly. “You’re right. It doesn’t feel fair.”
