Keep it vague.
No details. No names.
I swallow.
He’ll find out the truth as soon as I leave if I’m not up front. He works here, he has access to the name of whoever is in thisroom. And he’s known me my whole life, he knows me enough to know when I’m lying.
It’s better to be honest. It’s going to hurt him to know who I’m here to see, but I need to be up front so I’m not caught in a lie which will hurt both of us even more. He’s never been one for lies, even if they’re tiny.
Stand in your truth, even if it’s messy.
That’s his motto.
“I’m here visiting Tate Myers. He took a puck to the face during a game the other night, and I was bringing him some things from his dorm room. We’re neighbors.” I’ve given him more information than he needs to know. Because I’m nervous. I’m twisting the hem of my shirt.
“Myers.” His gaze flicks to the file in the rack behind me once again. “Zachary’s son?”
I nod. Afraid to open my mouth again in case I tell him I have a crush on his nemesis’s son. Mostly because that would be a lie too, it’s more than a crush, but I’m not giving it a name because that would be admitting I’m not strong enough to deny Tate’s pheromones or whatever the hell kind of voodoo he’s been working on me through our dividing wall.
“And you were just in there... with Tate... and Zachary?”
I can almost see his brain working to piece things together. “Yeah, Dad. Tate’s Dad just arrived right before I left.” Justifying myself to my Dad because I don’t want him to be disappointed in me feels icky, but it’s also the truth. Mr. Myers arrived, and after a few brutally long and uncomfortable minutes, I left.
Dad’s face is sad, his lips downturned at the corners as he heaves out a sigh. “Okay.”
That’s it? No yelling and screaming? No disappointing tuts or guilt trips? No ultimatums? No ‘you’ll never see that boy again, Penelope Lindstrom’? What the hell?
Instead, he pulls me into a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Something about how he’s reacting makes things even worse. The lump at the back of my throat is growing at an exponential rate, threatening to engulf me. My chin trembles, my eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay, Sweetheart.” He sighs again. “I’ve done a lot of work on myself in the last while, and I need to take responsibility for my own actions. While Zachary’s check on me was careless, maybe even straight up dirty, I don’t think it was malicious. And everything that happened after I woke up in the hospital, well, that was all me.”
What... the hell? Throughout my teenage years all I’ve heard is that bastard Zachary Myers destroyed his life, his health, his career, his family.
Who is this man, and what has he done to my father?
Dad’s eyes glisten under the harsh lights of the hospital corridor. “I know. It’s kind of new for me too.” His cheeks go a shade of pink I’m not accustomed to seeing in my dad’s face. “But my therapist has been pretty clear with me on this one.” He gives me a sad smile. “They both have. I fired the first one when she tried to tell me I needed to accept responsibility for what came after the hit. I thought she was talking shit.”
He winces, checking over his shoulder as though making sure no one heard him cussing at work. “But she was right. I chose to start abusing painkillers. I chose to drink. From what I can tell, Zachary never gave a second thought to that check on the ice that ended my career. Why would he? As hockey players we check people all the time. It’s not something we dwell on. He had no reason to keep up with my recovery, my career, or the dissolution of my life because he wasn’t to blame for it.”
I’m not sure if something inside me breaks or clicks into place. Since his accident, I’ve kept him at arm’s length, even lately. I’ve let things stay awkward and uncomfortable. He hurtme, hurtusall so much that I refused to let him get closer again, because I’ve been so afraid he’d hurt us all over again.
But here... something’s different.
I’m seeing my father through new eyes as he speaks. The growth and healing in the man in front of me is impressive to say the least. I want to know him better. I’m not sure I trust it completely yet, but this is progress. He’s changing, and I want to know more.
“I know addiction isn’t a choice. I know that.” He takes my hand like he needs an emotional anchor in the moment. “But choosing to get better was the hardest decision of my life, and walking that path was harder still.”
Tears stream down my face as my chest swells with a cacophony of emotions, so many words fighting on my tongue to be spoken.
“But what happened wasn’t Zachary’s fault.” He sniffs. “And if you’re friends with his son, then I guess that’s the universe’s way of somehow bringing something good out of what happened to me. I don’t know. But these things don’t just happen.”
He cuffs my chin. “You’re a good kid, Penelope. You always have been. Caring, kind, empathetic. You’d give the shirt off your back to anyone who needed it, without as much as a moment of hesitation. If you think Zachary’s son is a good kid, too, I trust your judgment.”
I’m dumbfounded, the words battling in my mouth still can’t make their way out into the space between us.
“He’s a great player on the ice.” He stares at my face like he’s reading something super interesting. “If he’s been hurt as badly as you say, he’s going to need to have a good support network around him through his recovery. Just like I did.”
