Chapter 31
WYATT CHASE
“Daddy, Grandpa was saying bad words.” Lyla is sitting at the kitchen island in my parents’ house, and I appreciate that she waited until my dad went upstairs to narc on him.
Usually, my dad is the epitome of relaxed and calm. But there’s nothing that bothers him more than being uncomfortable, especially when it’s something that he can’t do anything about. Having a full arm sling that he needs to wear constantly for the next six-to-eight weeks definitely qualifies.
And in his defense, most of the swearing happened while he was on his laptop, trying to send an email to one of his co-workers. I don’t think he thought that Lyla could hear him, but her little ears perked up right away with all the new words that were being added to her rapidly growing vocabulary.
Still, I try to hide my smile as I reach for my beer. She’s not wrong. She and I have both heard more… colorful, for lack of a better word, language from my dad tonight than I think Lyla’s heard in her entire life.
I take a sip, buying my time as I think about how I can explain this.
Tonight, before we headed over for dinner, I told her that Grandpa was going to look a little different.
Along with the sling, he has a pretty nasty bruise on his face from the fall, but luckily, he didn’t break anything else.
Usually, she’s here with my parents on Friday nights because of my work schedule, but with the mid-season break, I’m joining for dinner. Then, Lyla and I will go home together.
We won’t see Asher, who’s going out to a party with Coop and some of the other players tonight. Which I am decidedly not thinking about.
Besides, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s not someone whose time and attention I have ownership over, even if I desperately wish that wasn’t the case.
I can’t do anything about missing him like I’m missing a piece of my heart, so I try to focus on what I can control.
I sit my beer back on the counter and slide into the seat next to her. “Well, remember how I told you that Grandpa hurt his arm a few days ago?”
“Yeah,” she answers, focused on her coloring.
“It still hurts. And it’s going to hurt for a while.” I wince for effect.
She looks at me thoughtfully, putting her crayon down on top of the coloring book page that looks like her attempt at drawing a Kandinsky. “Like when I fall down?”
I nod. “Exactly like that. Only, his boo boo is going to take longer to heal.” I lean down and smile at her, like we’re sharing a secret. “And he’s a little grumpy about it.”
“You don’t let me say bad words when I’m grumpy,” she argues, which is an unfairly good point. Every day, I’m more and more in awe of the person that she’s growing into. It’s honestly overwhelming sometimes.
When I look back, the first few years with her are a blur.
Moving back to Massachusetts. Trying to figure out if I could ever get full vision in my left eye back.
And then–finally–giving up on any future as a professional hockey player and accepting that I’d need to figure out a different plan.
I’d have never made it through my physical therapy program if my parents hadn’t let us move in and make sure that Lyla was always taken care of while I had class.
I hear the creaking staircase and my dad’s telltale footsteps, albeit slower than normal.
The guilt sluices through me again. I owe them a debt–for so many things–that I can never repay, and my stomach’s been churning non-stop since he was hurt.
When I think about how fucking careless of me it was to not put their Christmas lights up.
I’m the reason that my dad is in such a shitty position.
When we came over earlier, I spent the first hour putting up every light that I could find in the garage. On the house. On the trees in the front yard. Hell, I even wrapped them around the mailbox. It looks like a Christmas movie threw up all over their property, which thrilled Lyla to no end.
I feel like I’m letting everyone down, and I don’t know how to get my shit together.
Lyla’s looking at me with big, questioning eyes, like she can see the guilt in my own. I ruffle her soft hair, hoping it allays her concerns. “Why don’t you go into the living room and see if Grandpa needs any help? It’s a nice thing to do when someone’s having a hard time.”
She brightens, and it hits me in my chest what a great kid she is. I don’t know how she ended up like that, but I’m grateful every single day. She hops down from her stool and picks up her coloring book and a few crayons. “I’m gonna see if Grandpa wants to watch me color. Since he can’t.”
I laugh and watch her go. Looking at her now, she’s this vibrant, bright, perfect human, and I can’t believe we got here. At the time, it felt like our lives were moving so slowly. I was laying bricks one-by-one, not sure if what I was trying to build for us would ever take shape.
And now?
It feels like I blinked and she’s already in school, negotiating with me, more of her personality shining through every day.
We have maybe another decade together and then I’ll be her uncool dad, who she’ll roll her eyes at or talk shit about to her friends when I enforce a curfew or won’t let her do what she wants. I know that’s a part of growing up, but I’ve started to become aware that one day she won’t need me.
Who will I be, then? When everything that I do is for her and the life that I want her to have.
My mom clears her throat, and I look up to meet her stare. She’s giving me a knowing look that still manages to be soft and coaxing.
God, I really am such a mama’s boy.
“Yes?” I ask, hoping that she isn’t too good at reading me.
“Lyla was regaling me with updates on her life while you were out putting up decorations earlier.”
I scan through my mind, trying to think about what she could have said that’s making my mom look at me the way she is now. Like she’s just waiting for me to unburden myself.
“And I assume she asked for in-depth feedback on her winter recital,” I say, trying to dodge the implication in her words, even as the weight of them is choking me.
That gets me a smile. “She did. And I told her that she was wonderful and incredible and awe-inspiring. All of which was absolutely true.”
I nod. “She really is. I cannot believe we’re almost halfway through kindergarten.”
My mom walks around the kitchen island and takes the seat that Lyla vacated. “Feeling nostalgic?”
My lips twitch. Understatement of the decade. “Yeah, a little bit. Plus, I feel like we’re finally settling into a rhythm at the new place.”
She nods, taking in my words. A silence passes between us before she says, “Asher came up quite a bit. He seems to have become a steady fixture in your lives. Pro hockey games. He watched her on Wednesday while you were with us at the hospital. She knows all his favorite foods, which makes me believe that he’s been over to dinner pretty regularly… ”
I can’t bring myself to respond. I’m not sure if she’s asking what I think she’s asking, but I’m also a terrible liar. Anything except the truth is going to have me tied up in knots by the end of my first sentence.
“She also said that Ms. Jodi called him a ‘beefcake’ at the winter recital.”
Now, I know that I’m blushing, and there’s nothing that I can do to stop it. “Um… neither of them mentioned that to me. The ‘beefcake’ comment, I mean.”
But, Ms. Jodi definitely isn’t wrong. Even if she needs to keep her eyes–and definitely her hands–to herself.
He’s in my life. In my bed. In my heart.
And even if it’s my own fault that we can’t be together, it doesn’t change how I feel.
If anything, it makes the feelings inside of me more likely to burst out at every inopportune moment, like a valve that needs to release some of the pressure before I explode.
“Asher told her that it was a grown up word, but I think she thought that retelling the story was a loophole that meant she could say it again.”
I mirror my mom’s smile and groan. “I mean, she’s not wrong.”
“She likes him. A lot.” The weight of her words hits me–hard. Because I know that Lyla’s getting just as attached to him as I am. Another ball that I’m dropping, and this one has consequences that are way worse than hurting myself.
My mom hits me with a look that makes me feel about a foot tall. “Is there something going on between the two of you?”
I’m not prepared for such a direct question, but I should have seen it coming.
Valerie Chase taught middle schoolers for thirty years.
And she’s especially dogged when it concerns me or Lyla.
Still, it takes me an uncomfortably long time to work up a response as I shift on my stool.
“I don’t know that you really want to know the answer to that question. Plausible deniability and all that.”
She scoffs, but at the same time, puts her hand soothingly on my forearm.
“There is nothing that you could ever tell me that would change how I feel about you. You’re a good man.
A good father. A good person. And I always trust that you’re using your best judgment where Lyla is concerned. I hope that you don’t ever doubt that.”
Is someone cutting onions? That must be what’s happening–or that some got on her hands and are osmosing into my skin–because I can already feel tears prickling against the back of my eyes.
I didn’t know that I needed to hear those words from her. From anyone, really. I’ve been trying to push forward since my injury, especially once I realized that I was going to be a single dad to Lyla.
But still– “What if I’m making the wrong decision? What if everything is going to blow up in my face and leave us worse than before?”
My mom’s softer hand wraps around my own, and she squeezes.
“Taking a chance on love is never the wrong decision. I’ve watched you for years now, throwing everything into making a good life for Lyla.
Into proving that you could do this on your own.
” She meets my eyes, her own a little glassy, too.
“But you were never alone, baby. And even if it doesn’t work out, you won’t be alone then, either. ”
It’s a lot, sitting in the kitchen where I grew up, having my mom comfort me like I’m a little kid again.
And the craziest part is that I didn’t know how much I needed it.
Asher’s unlocked something in me–an ability to let myself accept love and support.
To get my head out of my ass and realize that I can’t do it all alone, even if it felt like the only option that I told myself existed to keep my head above water most days.
When Becca left me–left us– I didn’t want Lyla to ever think that me as a single parent couldn’t give her what she needed. That there was ever going to be a moment in her life where she was left wanting or feeling like less than because of the choices that her mother made.
That I was what she was left with, and it wasn’t her fault.
But now, I see that I internalized that abandonment a lot harder than she did.
If you aren’t the guy that everyone wants, then you aren’t good enough.
If you aren’t the star rookie with a bright future, then what do you have to offer?
“What if it doesn’t work out?” I whisper the words between us, the secret fear that’s been ballooning bigger inside of me every day.
The complexity of our situation–the fact that he’s a student and I’m a member of staff–isn’t actually the biggest barrier between us, when I get real with myself.
No, it’s the fact that if–or when–this implodes, I’ll be looking around at all the holes left in my life.
The indentation on his side of the bed. The way my head fits so well against his warm chest. The fact that he shows me every single day what it means to get up and try, even when he’s suffered an unimaginable loss.
He’s slotted into so many spaces that I hadn’t even known were still there. It’s changed everything. He’s changed everything.
I look black toward my mom, and it’s clear that she can see the fear written across my face when she says, “But what if it does? You know as well as I do that most of the best things in life aren’t without risks.
Wouldn’t it make sense, then, that the things worth the most to us are the ones that require us to be the bravest? ”
“I could lose my job–”
“Then you’ll get a new job.”
“I don’t even know what he wants.”
“Have you asked him?”
“I–”
“Do you want to talk yourself out of this, Wyatt? Because I can lead a horse to water, but I can’t make him drink.”
Her no-nonsense words have me smiling. I guess we’ve reached the limits of the soft and coaxing portion of tonight’s pep talk. “How am I doing, compared to a thirteen-year-old?”
She laughs and squeezes my hand again, which she’s been holding this entire time. “Well, luckily they don’t usually have quite the same issues that you’re currently facing. Thank god.”
I groan. “You just made me realize that one day Lyla will be dating.”
“It goes by fast, baby. Even if it doesn’t always feel like that. But I promise you, it’s so much better when someone’s at your side through it.”
My throat’s full again, and all I can do is nod and choke out a, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The timer on her phone goes off, which signals that the shepherd’s pie that she’s been baking in the oven is done. It was one of my favorite meals growing up, and it doesn’t escape me that we’re having it on one of the first Fridays that I’ve been able to be here in months.
Hearing the alarm brings me back to the present.
The kitchen smells delicious–a little spicy but mostly warm and welcoming, and my stomach rumbles.
Out in the living room, I can hear Lyla laughing with my dad about something.
Probably her drawing an animal with too many legs, which has become one of her fixations lately.
She’s cackling like a maniac, and I think it’s one of the sweetest sounds in the world.
I’m here with my people, surrounded by love. And I know, for as much as I try to pretend like it’s not how I’m really feeling, that the only thing that would make it better is if Asher was here, too.