“Why not? Crying is a perfectly natural emotional response to whatever you’re feeling.”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I used to hear her cry a lot when she thought I couldn’t hear her. Sometimes I still hear her.”
Shit.
Fuck.
Hell.
Dammit.
I don’t know how to do kids and adult emotions.
“I think your mom is very, very brave, you know why?”
He tilts his head to peer up at me, his soft sniffle still scratching at my heart.
“Because she raised you, and you’re a great kid, and raising great kids isn’t easy when you’re doing it all alone. She’s strong, your mom. Do you know that?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“So sometimes she might need to cry because her feelings are so big she needs to let them out somehow. It doesn’t mean she’s always sad or mad or scared.” I reach over and wrap my hand around the back of Connor’s head. “And it never means it’s your fault. Sometimes adults need to cry it out just like kids do. And that’s okay. Crying is kind of like puking. Once you do it, you usually feel a little better.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Absolutely. Heck, I just cried not too long ago.” The moment I sobbed in the locker room shower pops back into my mind.
Connor’s eyes grow huge. “You did?”
“Yep.”
“Because you were sad?”
I consider his question. “Well, I think I was sad and mad and frustrated and overwhelmed and just had a lot of feelings inside me that I didn’t know how to let go of. So, I let my body and my heart do what it needed to do.”
“Hmm,” he says, picking at the ice between his knees. “And did you feel better?”
“A little, yeah.” I nod. “We cry because we care. That’s all. We have big feelings sometimes because we care.” I lean over and whisper, “And yeah, even hockey players care.”
He seems to take that in, then he nods firmly, as if filing it away for future reference. After a few seconds, he leans slightly—just slightly—against my arm. It’s not enough that it would look like anything from afar. But enough that I feel it.
Enough that it matters.
“Thanks, Coach Harrison,” he murmurs.
I stare straight ahead, pretending my heart isn’t about to detonate. “Anytime, bud.”
Behind us, Harper shifts. I can feel her eyes on me, so I have Connor pick up the pucks for me and put them in the bucket. When he takes off Harper steps closer to the boards, just a few feet from me. I skate toward her before I can talk myself out of it. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and clears her throat.
“Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah,” I tell her, playing off the conversation I just had with my son. “He’s a natural. Just wanted him to know I believe in him.”
“You’re really good with him,” she says softly.
“You surprised?”
She lets out a breathy laugh. “No. Just…seeing it…it’s…different.”
