CHAPTER NINETEEN
Easton
The fifteen-minute drive to Palisade's house stretched on, the silence punctuated only by the hum of the engine and my racing thoughts.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
We were going to sit Casey down together and explain things carefully, making sure she understood that none of this was her fault.
Instead, she'd found out from playground gossip.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, the hockey stick secured in the back seat a constant reminder of my impulsive decision at the sporting goods store.
I'd been so tired of secrets, so ready to claim Casey as mine that I hadn't thought about the consequences.
I hadn't considered how quickly news would spread in a town like Amber Falls.
When I pulled into Palisade's driveway, I grabbed Casey's hockey stick from the back seat and took a deep breath before approaching the front door.
Before I could knock, it swung open to reveal Palisade, her expression a complex mixture of worry and resignation.
"She's in her room," Palisade said softly, stepping aside to let me in. "I told her you were coming over. She's… taking it better than I expected."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak yet. The stick in my hands was like a peace offering and a statement of intent.
I'm here to be Casey's father, no matter what happened between Palisade and me.
"I'm sorry about the sporting goods store," I said, following Palisade into the living room. "I wasn't thinking about how quickly news would spread."
"What exactly happened?" she asked, arms crossed over her chest.
I explained ordering the custom hockey stick, the clerk's question, and my impulsive response. "I was so tired of secrets," I finished, running a hand through my hair. "After I saw Dr. Reyes, I felt… I don't know, maybe proud to claim her as mine. I wasn't thinking about the consequences."
Palisade's expression softened slightly. "You went to see your therapist?"
"Yeah. I needed to process everything before seeing Casey again." I gestured toward her bedroom door. "How did she find out?"
"Kids at school. Apparently, their parents overheard something at the store, and it spread like wildfire." Palisade sighed, sinking onto the couch. "She came home from school upset and confused. I had to tell her the truth."
I sat across from her, the hockey stick balanced across my knees. "And?"
"And she's processing it. She has questions, obviously." A small, sad smile crossed her face. "Her primary concern was whether you actually wanted to be her father."
The words slammed into my chest, leaving me breathless. "Of course I do," I said immediately, voice catching. "More than anything."
"I told her that," Palisade assured me. "She seemed… relieved. Maybe even happy."
Before I could respond, a small voice called from down the hall. "Mom? Is that Dad?"
Dad.
The word sent a surge of emotion through me so powerful I had to grip the hockey stick to steady myself. Not Uncle Easton. Dad.
"Yes, sweetheart," Palisade called back. "He's here."
Casey appeared in the doorway, her usual confidence replaced with a hesitancy that surprised me. Her blue eyes were wide and uncertain as they moved from me to Palisade and back again.
None of us spoke.
Then Casey's gaze landed on the hockey stick in my hands.
"I brought you something," I said, my voice gentler than I knew it could be. I held out the stick, watching her face as she came closer warily. "I thought you might like a stick with your real name on it."
Casey took the stick, turned it to read the custom lettering: Casey Henley. Her fingers traced the letters reverently, unhurried.
"Henley," she said. "Like you."
"Like us," I corrected gently. "That's your name too, if you want it to be."
She looked up at me, her small face so serious it nearly broke my heart. "Are you really my dad?"
The question hit me square in the chest.
"You think you're man enough to be someone's father someday?"
My father, standing in the doorway of my childhood bedroom, scotch in hand. I'd been seventeen, caught sneaking back in after curfew. Smelling of beer and some girl's perfume.
"Look at you. Can't even follow simple rules. Can't control yourself." He'd taken a slow sip, ice clinking. "You're going to be just like me, Easton. And God help any kid unlucky enough to call you Dad."
I'd believed him for years. Believed I'd inherited his anger, his inability to love right, his talent for destroying everything good in his life.
But looking at Casey now, I knew he'd been wrong.
I wasn't him. I wouldn't be him.
"Yeah, kiddo," I managed, my voice rough. "I'm really your dad."
"Why didn't you know before?" She asked, her gaze flickering briefly to Palisade before returning to me.
I glanced at Palisade, silently asking how much to explain. She gave a small nod.
"Your mom and I weren't together when you were born," I began carefully. "I didn't know about you until recently. If I had known, I would have been here from the very beginning."
Casey considered this, her brow creasing in a way that was painfully familiar. It was exactly like mine when I was thinking through a play.
"You didn't leave on purpose?" she asked, and I realized this had been her fear.
"No, Casey." I reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to. When she didn't, I gently took her hand. "I would never have left if I'd known about you. Ever."
She nodded, satisfied with this answer. Then, with the directness only children possess, she asked, "What do I call you now? Dad instead of Uncle Easton?"
"You can call me whatever makes you comfortable," I told her, though my heart ached for her to use the title I'd discovered I desperately wanted to hear. "Uncle Easton is still okay if that feels better for now."
Casey tilted her head, considering this with adorable seriousness. Then she looked down at the hockey stick again, at her name emblazoned on the shaft.
"I think I want to call you Dad," she said, looking up with a small, tentative smile. "Is that okay?"
"That's more than okay," I managed, my voice thick with emotion. "That's perfect."
I found myself unprepared for what happened next. Casey stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my neck, the hockey stick still clutched in one hand. It wasn't our first hug, but it was our first embrace as father and daughter.
I held her gently, carefully, understanding from watching her skate that she was far more resilient than she appeared. Over her shoulder, I met Palisade's gaze. Tears shone in her eyes, along with a genuine smile that held sadness and hope in equal measure.
"Can you teach me how to do a slap shot with my new stick?" Casey asked, pulling back from our hug. "Mom said I'm not big enough yet, but I think I am."
I laughed, the sound caught somewhere between joy and tears. "Your mom's probably right, but we can work on your wrist shot instead. It's more accurate, anyway."
Casey beamed, already back to her usual enthusiastic self. "Can we go practice now? Please?"
I looked to Palisade, not wanting to overstep. This was unfamiliar territory for all of us.
"It's getting late, and dinner is almost ready," Palisade said. "How about Dad stays for dinner, and then maybe you can practice a little before bedtime?"
Dad stays for dinner.
The casual way she said it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, hit me with unexpected force.
"Please stay, Dad," Casey said, testing out the title again. It sounded right coming from her lips, as if she'd been saying it all along.
"I'd love to," I replied, unable to keep the smile from my face.
Dinner was surprisingly easy and awkward all at once.
Casey insisted I sit next to her at the table, dragging her chair closer to mine while Palisade served chicken and roasted vegetables. The domesticity of it hit me hard: the three of us around a table, Casey chattering away, steam rising from the dishes between us.
Like a family.
"Dad, do you like broccoli?" Casey asked, eyeing the green florets on her plate with suspicion.
"I do," I said, trying not to react too obviously every time she said Dad. Each instance sent a fresh wave of emotion through me.
"Mom says I have to eat three pieces." She looked at me hopefully. "Do you think three pieces is fair?"
I glanced at Palisade, who was fighting a smile. We were being tag-teamed by a six-year-old, and she knew it.
"I think," I said carefully, "that your mom probably knows what's best. But if you eat your three pieces, maybe I'll teach you that wrist shot technique after dinner."
Casey's eyes lit up. She speared a piece of broccoli with her fork immediately.
Palisade caught my eye across the table, something warm in her expression. "Nicely done," she mouthed.
"Can you come to my next hockey game?" Casey asked around a mouthful of chicken. "It's on Saturday. I'm starting center."
"Casey, chew and swallow first," Palisade reminded gently.
Casey swallowed dramatically. "Can you come? Please?"
"I wouldn't miss it," I said, and meant it. "What time?"
"Nine in the morning." Casey made a face. "Mom says it's too early, but Coach says morning ice time builds character."
"Your coach is right," I agreed. "Some of my best practices were before the sun came up."
Casey's jaw dropped. "But it's still dark outside!"
"That's when the real players train," I told her with a wink.
She sat up straighter, clearly filing that information away.
"So," Palisade said, her tone careful, "how does it work with your schedule? The games, I mean. With the Shadow Wolves season…"
"We're on the home stretch for the next few weeks," I said, understanding what she was really asking: Can you actually be present, or are you going to disappoint her? "I'll have to miss some games when we're on the road, but I'll make it to as many as I can."
"And you can call me after your games," Casey added helpfully. "Mom lets me stay up late when the Shadow Wolves play. We watch on TV, and I look for you."
The casual way she said it made my throat tight.
I looked at Palisade, who had suddenly become very interested in her plate.
"Maybe you should come to one of my games," I said quietly. "Not just watch on TV."
Palisade's eyes met mine, something complicated passing between us. "Maybe," she said softly.
"Can we go together?" Casey asked, bouncing in her seat. "Like a family?"
The words hung in the air between us.
Family.
We weren't that. Not really. Not yet. Maybe never in the way Casey imagined.
But looking at Palisade across the table, at Casey between us with sauce on her chin and hope in her eyes, I wanted to be.
"We'll see, sweetheart," Palisade said gently, reaching over to wipe Casey's face with her napkin.
Casey attacked her remaining food with renewed enthusiasm, and I caught Palisade watching me with something tender in her expression. With a mix of gratitude and regret, I didn't fully understand.
"What?" I asked quietly while Casey was distracted.
"Nothing," she said, but there was something soft in her eyes. "You're… you're good with her."
"I'm trying."
"I can see that." She paused, then added even more quietly, "Thank you. For being here. For not…" She stopped, biting her lip, and glanced at Casey.
For not disappearing, I filled in silently. For not running when things got hard.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said, holding her gaze. "I meant what I said. I'm her father. I want to be her father."
"I know," Palisade said, and for the first time since this all exploded, I saw belief in her eyes. Not just hope. Belief.
Casey finished her last bite and held up her empty plate triumphantly. "Done! Can we practice now?"
I looked at Palisade, who checked the clock.
"Twenty minutes," she said. "Then bath and bed."
"Deal!" Casey was already pushing back from the table.
As I followed her toward the back door where her practice net was set up, I caught Palisade's eye one more time.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For dinner. For… all of this."
"Thank you for letting me stay," I replied.
It wasn't much. Just a shared meal, a few stolen conversations, a tentative peace.
But it felt like a start.
It wasn't until after Casey went to bed that Palisade and I were truly alone.
"I talked to Sunny today," I said quietly. "She said I need to transfer my community service hours. Conflict of interest now that everyone knows."
Palisade nodded, something that looked like relief and maybe disappointment flashing across her face. "That makes sense. When?"
"As soon as possible. She's already spoken to the league and my probation officer." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Apparently, having my… having Casey's mother supervise my court-ordered community service doesn't look good. For either of us."
"The media would have a field day," Palisade said quietly.
"Sunny said the same thing." I met her eyes. "I'm sorry. I know it leaves you short-staffed."
"Don't." She held up a hand. "You were helpful, but the clinic will manage. This is the right call." A pause. "Where will you go?"
"Shadow Wolves runs a youth hockey program for underprivileged kids. Inner-city, ages ten to fourteen." I glanced toward the hallway where Casey had disappeared. "Different age groups and a different rink. Sunny thought it was a good fit. So did the league."
"Teaching hockey," Palisade said, and something like warmth crossed her face. "That's perfect for you."
"Better than cleaning kennels," I admitted with a small smile. "Though I got pretty good at it."
"You did," she agreed. Then, more seriously: "You'll be great with those kids, Easton. They're lucky to have you."
The words meant more than she probably realized. Coming from her, after everything, they felt like forgiveness I hadn't earned yet.
"It starts next week," I said. "Sunny's finalizing the paperwork. I'll finish out this week at the clinic to make the transition easier for you."
"You don't have to."
"I want to," I said firmly. "I made a commitment. I'll see it through properly."
Before I could respond, Casey bounded back with an overstuffed binder, plopping down between us on the couch and launching into detailed explanations of her prized cards
She pointed out her favorite players and asking if I knew them personally. I understood one thing with absolute certainty.
Whatever happens next, I will be the father Casey deserves. I didn't know I wanted to be a dad until I found her.
But now that I have her, I'm never letting go.