Hometown Heart (Whistleport Hockey #3)

18. Jack

Chapter eighteen

Jack

C ody hunched over his homework at one of the corner tables in Tidal Grounds, tongue sticking out in concentration as he wrestled with fractions. His hockey stick leaned against the wall nearby—never more than arm's reach away these days, like an extension of himself.

"Stuck?" I asked, sliding into the seat across from him.

"No," he muttered automatically, then sighed. "Maybe. Why does everything have to have a common denominator? That's so boring. It's like making all players use the same hockey stick."

I smiled despite myself. "Not quite the same thing, bud."

Silas appeared beside our table, balancing a plate of fresh scones and a steaming mug that he placed in front of Cody without being asked. Hot chocolate with three hockey stick marshmallows—one for each goal he'd scored in yesterday's practice.

"Brain fuel. Fractions are serious business."

"Thanks!" Cody grabbed a marshmallow off the top and shoved it whole into his mouth, leaving a smear of sugar across his upper lip.

I caught Silas's gaze, and something warm passed between us. It had been like this for the past few weeks as winter melted into spring. It was a quiet understanding that we were gradually evolving into something real and important.

Cody's phone vibrated against the table.

The screen lit up, displaying a name I hadn't expected to see: EDWARD.mMy spine stiffened, muscles locking into place while all the oxygen seemed to vanish from the room.

Cody stared at the phone, his pencil frozen mid-problem. I couldn't read the expression. Was it surprise? Hope?

"It's Papa," he whispered.

I wanted to reach out and silence the phone and make the moment vanish. Anything to preserve the peace we'd built in Whistleport, away from the complications of New York and the shadow of my failed marriage. Still,I couldn't do that to Cody.

"You should answer it."

"Hi, Papa." A pause. "I'm at Tidal Grounds. With Dad and Silas." Another pause. "Yeah, he's right here."

Cody extended the phone toward me, his eyes wide and expectant. I couldn't take it. Not here and not now, with Silas watching.

"Tell him I'll call him back."

Silas moved closer, brushing his fingers against mine under the table. "You don't have to do this alone," he whispered in my ear.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Edward's presence even through the phone. Cody continued to hold the phone out toward me. "Papa wants to talk to you, He says it's important."

Silas squeezed my hand once more, then withdrew, moving back behind the counter. Giving me space. I forced myself to breathe.

What could possibly be so important that Edward would call now, after months of such minimal contact?

"Dad?" Cody's voice pulled me back. "Are you okay?"

No, I wasn't okay. But I couldn't tell him that. I reached for the phone, feeling like I was extending my hand toward a live wire.

Holding my son's phone was like gripping a grenade with the pin already pulled. Edward's voice crackled through the speaker, too casual and familiar.

"Jack? Can you hear me? The connection's awful."

"I hear you," I answered, rising from the table and motioning to Cody that I'd be back. "What's going on?" I stepped toward the back of Tidal Grounds, finding an empty corner near the storage room.

"I'm coming to Whistleport." Edward made the announcement with no warning. "This weekend. My sister moved to Boston, like I mentioned to Cody, and I thought it was time I saw this place he's been raving about."

My throat constricted. "You're what? When did you decide this?"

"Last week. I've already booked a room at some place called Harbor View Inn. Got a recommendation from someone in the Whistleport Parents Facebook group."

Of course, he had. Edward always did his research—meticulous, thorough, leaving nothing to chance. It was what made him an excellent architect and a maddeningly prepared ex-husband. "Edward, we have an agreement. Visits are supposed to be planned in advance, not sprung on us days before."

"I know, but this came up suddenly. Peggy's baby shower is Saturday, and I figured since I'd be in the region anyway... I want to see him play hockey, Jack."

"This isn't a good time," I argued, knowing how weak it sounded.

"Is there ever a good time?" Edward countered. "Look, I'm not trying to disrupt anything. I just want to be part of his life. More than phone calls and the holiday visits."

I glanced back toward our table. Cody had abandoned his fractions and was talking animatedly with Silas, who nodded along while refilling the sugar containers. Watching them together—the easy rapport and genuine affection—sent a complicated mixture of emotions whirling through me.

"Fine," I conceded, recognizing defeat. "But this is Cody's weekend. Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I won't," Edward finally said, his voice softer. "I'm trying, Jack. I know that doesn't erase the past, but I'm trying."

I ended the call without responding to that. When I returned to the table, Cody's eyes were bright with excitement, but there was something guarded in his expression too—like he was afraid to let himself believe whatever Edward had promised.

"Papa's coming to see me play!" he announced, though the question in his voice betrayed his uncertainty. "This weekend, right?"

I forced a smile. "That's what he says, bud."

"Will he stay with us?"

"No, he's got a room at the Harbor View."

"Can we have dinner together? All of us?" Cody pressed, his enthusiasm growing with each question. "He wants to meet Silas. I told him all about the hockey stick marshmallows. And maybe Brooks and Coach Rory too. And Tyler! He has to meet Tyler."

Silas approached, coffee pot in hand. His expression was neutral, but I recognized the concern in his eyes.

"Everything alright?" he asked, topping up my mug even though I'd barely touched it.

"Edward's coming to visit," I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "This weekend."

Silas nodded, his expression warming as he turned to Cody. "Well, we'd better make sure you're properly fueled for practice this week, then. Can't have your papa missing your best moves."

Cody beamed, completely oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him.

I watched Silas navigate the moment with such grace—acknowledging Cody's excitement while silently communicating his support to me. The knot in my stomach loosened a fraction.

As we gathered our things, Silas pressed a paper bag into my hands. "Scones for later," he said quietly. "And Jack? Call me if you need anything."

The simple offer warmed my heart. I herded Cody toward the door.

I deposited Cody at the school gates, receiving his usual half-hearted hug before he raced off to join Tyler. The two of them immediately launched into what appeared to be a spirited debate about hockey stats, complete with wild hand gestures that nearly took out a passing sixth grader.

Standing there, watching his animated face—so carefree, so full of anticipation about Edward's arrival—sparked an uncomfortable realization. I hadn't seen Cody this excited in weeks. Not about hockey, not about school, not even about the upcoming team pizza party that he'd been plotting participation in for days.

All it took was one phone call from Edward to light him up like the Whistleport lighthouse on a foggy night.

The drive home stretched longer than usual, the waterfront route that normally calmed me now serving as a winding path for my churning thoughts. Lobster boats dotted the harbor, their weathered hulls rising and falling with the tide's gentle rhythm—steady, predictable, unlike the emotional waves crashing through me.

Once home, I started to clean, but then I sank onto Cody's bed, exhaustion washing over me. Last night had been another late one, filled with easy conversation and stolen kisses at Silas's apartment above Tidal Grounds. We'd reached a comfortable rhythm, spending evenings together when Cody had sleepovers, building something that felt increasingly substantial. Something real.

And now Edward was coming, peering into our carefully constructed life with his architect's eye for structural weaknesses.

My phone buzzed with a text notification. Silas.

Silas: You okay?

I was terrified, but I didn't know how to say it. I set the phone down without responding, knowing that silence was its own kind of answer.

Saturday morning arrived with merciless swiftness, dawning bright and clear—the kind of perfect Maine day that typically filled me with appreciation for our new home. Today, it filled me with trepidation.

Cody had barely slept, bouncing around the house since 5 AM, alternating between practicing hockey moves in the hallway and checking his phone for messages from Edward. "Do you think Papa remembered to bring his Canadiens jersey?" he asked for the third time, spooning cereal into his mouth at warp speed. "I told him it's important for team solidarity."

"I'm sure he did," I answered mechanically, pouring more coffee in a futile attempt to combat my sleepless night. "He's nothing if not prepared."

The game was scheduled for eleven. Edward had texted—to me, not Cody—that he'd meet us at the rink. "Don't want to intrude on your morning routine," he'd written, which was simultaneously considerate and irritating. Edward at his most Edward.

We arrived at the arena forty-five minutes early at Cody's insistence. The parking lot was already filling up—weekend games drew the entire community, not only parents. I spotted Shannon helping Tyler with his gear, Brooks supervising the pre-game ice preparation, and Dottie distributing her homemade cookies to anyone within arm's reach.

And then I saw him.

Edward stood near the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his cashmere coat—a splash of metropolitan sophistication against Whistleport's weathered landscape. His dark hair was shorter than when I'd last seen him. He'd always aged well, the bastard.

"Papa!" Cody shouted, suddenly launching himself toward Edward's waiting arms.

I remained frozen beside our car. Edward lifted Cody clear off the ground, spinning him once before setting him down, his laughter carrying across the parking lot. They immediately fell into animated conversation, Cody's hands gesturing wildly as he pointed toward the arena.

I approached slowly, sensing curious glances from other parents. Edward was Whistleport's newest gossip fodder—the mysterious ex-husband from New York, finally making an appearance. I could practically hear Dottie's speculation.

"Jack," Edward extended his hand. Always formal in public, even after twelve years of marriage and one of divorce. "Good to see you."

I accepted the handshake, keeping my expression neutral. "You made it. How was the drive from Boston?"

"Beautiful. Maine as spring unfolds is something else. This place is exactly as Cody described it. Quaint but not precious."

Before we reached the locker rooms, I pulled Cody aside, one hand on his sleeve. "Go on in and start getting ready. We'll be there in a minute."

Once he disappeared through the double doors, I turned to Edward, keeping my voice low. "I need to be clear about something. You don't get to drop in when it's convenient and upend everything."

Edward's expression shifted from affable to guarded. "That's not what I'm doing."

"Isn't it? Six months of minimal contact, and suddenly you're here, wanting the full hockey dad experience?"

"Jack—"

"He was just starting to settle in, to build a life that doesn't revolve around wondering when you'll call."

Edward's face registered something unexpected—not defensiveness, but what appeared to be genuine remorse. "I know," he said quietly. "I know, Jack."

His admission caught me off-guard. I'd prepared for excuses and rationalization. "What am I supposed to do with that?" I asked, the fight draining from me.

Before he could answer, the locker room door banged open, and Cody's head appeared. "Are you guys coming? Coach Rory is doing his pre-game talk!"

Edward glanced at me, a question in his eyes.

I nodded once, a temporary truce established. "We'll be right there."

"Your ex is quite something," Brooks muttered, sliding into the seat beside me. "Got half the PTA ready to adopt him already."

"That's Edward," I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the ice where Cody was warming up. "Never met a room he couldn't work."

Brooks studied me for a moment. "You doing okay with all this?"

I shrugged. The truth was too complicated and too raw to share, even with someone who had become a friend.

"Silas mentioned he might stop by," Brooks said casually, watching for my reaction. "Said something about bringing Cody's favorite post-game snacks."

My pulse quickened at the mention of Silas. Part of me desperately wanted him at my side—his steady presence and quiet understanding. Another part dreaded the inevitable collision of past and present, of Edward and Silas occupying the same space.

"That'll make Cody's day," I managed, aiming for nonchalance and missing by miles.

Edward returned, settling into the seat on my other side. "Wonderful community you've found here."

The buzzer signaled the start of the game, saving me from further conversation. We fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by cheers and the occasional groan as the play unfolded before us.

Cody was on fire, his passes more precise, and his footwork more confident than I'd ever seen. He scored within the first five minutes, triggering a standing ovation from our section and a chorus of banging sticks from his teammates on the bench.

"He's really good," Edward said, genuine surprise coloring his words. "Like, legitimately talented. When did that happen?"

"He's always been good. You just weren't at many games." The words escaped before I could reconsider them, hanging in the air between us.

Edward didn't deny it. "No, I wasn't." His simple acknowledgment landed like a blow, knocking loose some of the anger I'd been cultivating.

In the third period, I spotted Silas near the arena entrance, a brown paper bag clutched in one hand. He wore the navy blue Whistleport Hockey beanie I'd given him last month, his beard slightly more trimmed than usual. Our eyes met across the distance, and he gave a small, uncertain wave.

Edward followed my gaze. "Is that him?"

"Who?" I asked, though we both knew exactly who he meant.

"The coffee shop owner. Silas. Cody talks about him constantly."

I nodded, watching as Silas made his way toward us, navigating around clusters of standing spectators.

The buzzer sounded again, and the game was over—Whistleport victorious, the team piling onto the ice in a celebratory huddle. Cody emerged from the tangle of players, searching the stands until he found us, his grin wide enough to split his face.

"Did you see that?" he shouted, his voice carrying across the ice. "Dad! Papa! Did you see?"

"Every second," I called back, genuine pride momentarily overwhelming my emotional turmoil. "You were incredible!"

"I should congratulate him," Edward said, already rising from his seat. "Join the post-game celebration."

I followed, conscious of Silas approaching from the opposite direction. The inevitable meeting loomed, and my stomach knotted with anxiety.

"Jack." Silas's voice beside me was quiet, for my ears only. "How are you holding up?"

I turned to find him watching me with concern, the paper bag now extended in my direction. "Cinnamon scones," he explained. "Still warm."

"You didn't have to come," I said, taking the bag, our fingers brushing in the exchange.

"I wanted to." He glanced toward Edward and Cody. "He played well today."

"Yeah, he did."

An awkward silence stretched between us, filled with all the things I couldn't say in this public space, with Edward mere feet away.

"Dad!" Cody called, breaking the tension. "Look who's here!" He dragged Edward toward us, oblivious to the undercurrents. "Papa, this is Silas. He makes the best hot chocolate in the universe and the hockey stick marshmallows I told you about!"

Edward extended his hand, smoothly professional as always. "Edward Reeves. I've heard a lot about you and your coffee shop."

"Silas Brewster." They shook hands, sizing each other up with polite smiles. "Cody's quite the hockey player."

"Apparently so. I've clearly been missing out." Edward's gaze slid toward me, laden with meaning. "But I'm hoping to change that."

After lunch, Cody asked, "What should we do now? Can we show Papa the harbor? Or the lighthouse? Or the ice cream place with thirty-seven flavors?"

"All excellent options," Edward agreed. "Though perhaps not all today. I'm only here until tomorrow afternoon."

Cody's face fell. "That's not very long."

"No, it's not." Edward knelt down, meeting Cody at eye level. "But it's a start. And next time, I'll stay longer. I promise."

"Why don't you two explore the harbor?" I suggested. "I've got some paperwork to finish at home. You can pick me up for dinner later."

"Are you sure, Dad?" Cody asked, concern flashing across his features. "You love the harbor walk."

"I'm sure, bud. You show Papa all your favorite spots." I forced a smile, needing space more than I needed to police Edward's interaction with our son.

Edward frowned, reading me too well despite the year of separation. "We could all go together."

"Another time." I ruffled Cody's hair. "Have fun. Take lots of pictures."

I walked away before either could protest further, heading toward my SUV with measured steps. Only when I was safely inside, doors locked and engine running, did I allow my carefully constructed facade to crack.

The anger I'd been suppressing rushed forward like a breaking dam—anger at Edward for disrupting our life, at myself for still caring, at the unfairness of a world where I'd had to rebuild everything while he'd simply continued his successful career trajectory.

I pulled out of the parking lot, not entirely sure where I was heading until I found myself on the winding coastal road that led away from town. The ocean stretched endlessly to my right, whitecaps dancing in the afternoon sun. I drove until the buildings thinned out, until I reached the small turnout overlooking Whistleport's northern cove.

It was my favorite peaceful place around Whistleport, but today, it offered no solace. Edward's presence had unbalanced me more than I'd anticipated. Seeing him interact with Cody, watching them fall back into their familiar rhythms, had awakened an uncomfortable realization: part of me had been counting on Edward's continued distance to secure my place in Cody's life.

My phone buzzed with a text from Silas.

Silas: Checking in. Hope lunch went okay.

I stared at the message, feeling unmoored. Instead of responding, I dialed Edward's number, surprising myself.

He answered on the third ring. "Jack? Everything okay?"

"Is Cody with you right now?" I asked, skipping pleasantries.

"He's exploring tide pools about twenty feet away. Why?"

"We need to talk. Alone. Can you meet me later?"

There was a pause. "Of course. Where?"

"The ice arena. Eight o'clock. After Cody's asleep."

"Jack—"

"Just be there." I ended the call, my decision made.

It was time to confront the fears I'd been avoiding since Edward's call—and the truths I'd been hiding from myself.

I spent the afternoon at home. Edward texted periodic updates—photos of Cody examining starfish at the tide pools, posing by the lighthouse, and devouring an ice cream cone the size of his head. They looked happy together. Complete. I tried not to analyze what that meant about the life we'd built here without Edward.

When they returned for dinner, Cody burst through the door in a whirlwind of excitement, words tumbling over each other as he described their adventures.

"Papa knows the guy who designed the lighthouse renovation!" he exclaimed, dropping his jacket on the floor despite my pointed look. "And we saw seals! Real ones! And Captain Knick let us on his boat and showed Papa how the lobster traps work."

Edward entered more sedately, carrying a bag from the local bakery. "Peace offering," he said, handing it to me. "Cinnamon rolls for breakfast tomorrow. The bakery owner—June, I believe?—insisted they're your favorite."

"Thanks," I replied, accepting the bag while wondering how June Miller knew my breakfast preferences. Then I remembered —Silas had mentioned it once during a quiet morning at Tidal Grounds, when he'd surprised me with freshly baked rolls.

"Can we have pizza for dinner?" Cody pleaded, already digging through a drawer for the delivery menu. "Papa's never had Gino's stuffed crust!"

We ordered pizza and ate around the kitchen table, a pale imitation of our former family dinners in New York. Cody dominated the conversation, refining his already elaborate plans for Edward's next visit. The summer carnival. The Fourth of July parade. The lobster festival in August.

Each suggestion twisted something painful inside me. Edward had been back in Cody's life for less than a day, and already our son was rewriting our future to include him at every turn.

By seven-thirty, Cody was fading despite his determination to stay awake. Three slices of pizza, hours of walking, and the emotional high of his father's visit had finally caught up with him.

"But it's not even dark yet," he protested through a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Hockey players need their rest," Edward reminded him, using the argument that had always worked when Cody was younger. "How else will your muscles recover for your next game?"

"I guess," Cody conceded reluctantly. "But you'll still be here when I wake up, right?"

"Absolutely," Edward promised. "I don't fly out until tomorrow afternoon."

When he finally settled into bed, I sat on the edge of his mattress, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "Did you have a good day, buddy?"

"The best," he mumbled sleepily. "It was perfect having Papa here. Almost like old times."

"Almost," I agreed, my voice steady despite the turmoil beneath.

I stayed until his breathing deepened into sleep, watching his face relax into peaceful dreams. Whatever happened between Edward and me, whatever complications arose from his renewed presence in our lives, Cody's happiness had to remain the priority. It always had been.

Edward was waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with an ease that made me irrationally annoyed. He belonged in his sleek Manhattan apartment with its panoramic views and designer furniture—not in our modest Whistleport kitchen with its chipped tile and outdated cabinets.

"He's down for the count," I said, keeping my voice low. "Should sleep through till morning."

Edward nodded. "He always did crash hard after big days."

"Let's go into the study instead of driving to the arena. We can close the door there."

For a long minute, neither of us spoke. "Why are you really here, Edward?" I finally asked, turning to face him.

He sighed. "Exactly the reason I told you. I want to be more involved in Cody's life."

"After so many months of minimal contact? Why now?"

"Because I made mistakes." He said it simply, without defensive qualifications. "Because I've been doing a lot of thinking since you two moved away. About priorities. About what matters."

I laughed, a sharp sound. "You're having a midlife crisis before age 40?"

"Maybe," he admitted, surprising me with his candor. "Or maybe I'm finally seeing clearly for the first time in years."

"And what exactly are you seeing?"

"That I let work consume me. That I missed too many games and too many school events. That I..." he hesitated, "...that I let you handle everything while I built my career. And then I had the nerve to be surprised when you'd built a life that could function without me."

His words were more honest than any conversation we'd had during the divorce proceedings.

"You left first," I said, the accusation I'd been holding back all day finally breaking free. "Long before I packed us up and moved to Maine. You were gone for months at a time—Munich, Singapore, Dubai. Building your reputation while I built our family."

"I know." Edward's voice was soft, empty of excuses. "You were right to be angry. You're right to be angry still."

His acceptance of blame was disorienting, undermining the righteous indignation I'd been nurturing since his call. "You left," I repeated. "Again and again. And Cody waited. He waited for your calls, for your visits. He made calendars counting down the days until you'd be home. And now you think you can walk back in when it suits you? Take up space in his life like you never disappeared?"

Edward remained seated, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. "Jack—"

"No." I turned back, my voice sharp even as I kept it low. "Cody doesn't need this. Doesn't need you showing up with grand promises you won't keep."

"That's not fair," Edward said, a flicker of the old defensiveness returning. "I'm trying to make things right."

"Right for whom? For yourself? Because from where I'm standing, this looks an awful lot like you realizing you've been missing out and wanting to reinsert yourself without considering the damage it might do."

Edward stood slowly, approaching with the caution one might use with a cornered animal. "I understand why you're afraid—"

"I'm not afraid," I snapped.

"You're terrified," he countered, stopping a few feet from me. "And not of me."

The statement hit too close to home, igniting a defensive fury. "Don't presume to know what I'm thinking. You gave up that right when you chose your career over our family."

"I'm not presuming anything. I'm observing." Edward's tone remained measured, which only intensified my agitation. "You've built something here—a life for you and Cody. It's good. Stable. But you're holding onto it so tightly you can barely breathe."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Because when I mention staying in touch, visiting more often, your first reaction isn't concern for Cody—it's panic. And when I met your coffee shop owner today, I saw exactly why."

I stiffened. "Leave Silas out of this."

"You're not afraid I'll disrupt Cody's life. You're afraid I'll disrupt yours. You're scared I'll break the careful boundaries you've constructed and impact the relationship you're building with Silas."

"You don't know anything about my relationship with Silas," I said, though the protest sounded hollow even to my own ears.

"I know you look at him the way you used to look at me. Like he's home." Edward's voice was gentle now, all traces of defensiveness gone. "And that terrifies you because you know better than anyone how quickly a home can be dismantled."

I turned away, unwilling to let him see the truth in my expression.

"I'm not here to take Cody away from you," Edward continued after a moment. "I'm not even here to criticize the life you've built. I'm here because our son deserves to have both his fathers present. Because I made mistakes I want to correct."

"And if I don't trust that? If I can't trust that you won't drift away again when the next big project comes along?"

"Then you're protecting yourself at Cody's expense," he said quietly.

"Maybe you should let him in," Edward suggested. "Not me. Silas. The way Cody talks about him...the way you looked at him today... Maybe it's time to stop bracing for the next disappointment and start believing something good might actually last."

I shook my head, unnerved by Edward's insight. "Stay out of my business."

"Fine," Edward agreed, raising his hands in surrender. "But at least be honest with yourself about what you're really afraid of."

He stood and squared his shoulders. "I'll be back next month for the weekend. And the month after that. Not because I want to disrupt your life, but because I want to be part of Cody's. You can fight me on this, or we can find a way to make it work for everyone. Including you and Silas."

When Edward had left the room for the guest room I showed him earlier, I lowered my head into my hands.

My phone weighted heavy in my pocket. I pulled it out, staring at the unanswered message from Silas that had accumulated more unsaid words with each passing hour.

With trembling fingers, I finally typed a response.

Jack: Can I come over? Need to talk.

His reply was immediate, as if he'd been waiting by the phone.

Silas: Door's unlocked.

As I drove toward Tidal Grounds, toward Silas, I finally allowed myself to consider a radical possibility: that Edward's return to Cody's life didn't have to threaten what we'd built here. That perhaps there was room for both our past and our future to coexist.

That perhaps it was time to stop running from what mattered most.