Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
LUKAS
Istare at my hand for an embarrassingly long time after Kate leaves.
Not while she was still there. Luckily, I managed to maintain a reasonable level of dignity until she disappeared through the sports hall doors. Now I’m standing in the middle of an empty room holding a crate of hockey pucks and staring at my own fingers like an idiot.
She took my hand.
It shouldn’t feel like a victory because it’s not. But maybe it’s a beginning, a chance to start over. That feels a little scary. I want this to work, I want a future with Kate, and I don’t want to fuck it up.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead while I slowly exhale through my nose.
For weeks, I have been carrying around the certainty that I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.
Now, for the first time since everything fell apart, that certainty cracks a little.
Not because she’s forgiven me, she hasn’t, and nothing is fixed, but she listened.
When I held out my hand, she chose to take it, and I can still feel the warmth of her fingers wrapped around mine.
“Lukas?”
I blink away the thought and turn to see one of the school staff standing near the doorway holding a clipboard. Apparently, I’ve been staring into space long enough to become concerning. “Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat.
The teacher smiles politely. “No problem. Just checking we hadn’t accidentally locked you in.” That earns a small but real laugh from me.
By the time I leave the school, it’s started to rain. Manchester seems determined to make every emotional moment in my life occur beneath miserable grey skies.
Today feels less like a crisis and more like standing on a frozen lake back home and hearing the first crack beneath your feet. It’s not enough to send you plunging through, but it’s enough to remind you how careful you need to be.
The drive back to the rink passes in a blur. I tell myself not to text her, not because I don’t want to, but because I want it too much.
For months, I’ve been reacting to every feeling immediately. Every fear. Every piece of guilt. Every instinct to fix things before I’ve properly thought them through.
That hasn’t exactly worked out for me.
So I leave my phone alone for almost forty minutes until it buzzes when I’m pulling into the players’ car park.
Kate.
Seeing her name on the screen makes my heart do this embarrassingly hopeful clenching thing; it’s similar to the feeling I get right before we score.
Kate: Thank you for today.
I stare at it for a moment. Five weeks ago, that message wouldn’t have meant anything. Today, it feels like being handed oxygen.
Lukas: Thank you for not telling me to go away.
The reply arrives while I’m still walking across the car park toward the rink.
Kate: I considered it.
I laugh out loud, and a couple of fans waiting near the entrance glance over curiously.
Lukas: Fair.
Kate: Very.
That’s it. Three messages. Nothing important or emotional, but it feels more intimate than some of the conversations we had before everything exploded.
Inside the rink, the atmosphere is loud and familiar. Equipment bags are scattered everywhere.
Somebody has taken control of the locker room television and is forcing everyone to watch highlights from last weekend’s game, even though we’ve already seen them about twenty times.
Callum is halfway through telling a story that somehow involves a kebab shop, a taxi driver and an inflatable shark.
I don’t ask, experience has taught me not to.
The second I sit down, he points at me. “There he is.”
I immediately regret arriving. “Leave me alone.”
“No. Who are you texting?” I freeze, and Callum grins. The bastard. “You smiled.” I shrug off his comment and continue to reread Kate’s messages. “You never smile at your phone anymore.”
“That is not true.”
Callum announces loudly to the whole room. “Lukas is smiling at text messages again.”
Groans echo around us.
“Not this again.”
“He’s becoming human.”
“Someone stop him.”
I shake my head and start pulling on my training gear. For the first time in weeks, though, I don’t mind the teasing, because they’re right. Something is changing.
Training is brutal.
Coach seems personally offended by the concept of happiness and spends the next two hours trying to eradicate it. By the time we’re finished, my legs feel like concrete, and half the team is stretched across the ice, questioning their life choices.
Félix is waiting in the stands when we come off. The second he sees me, he launches himself against the glass.
“Papa!”
The word still hits me every single time. I don’t think there’ll ever be a time it won’t. I grin despite the exhaustion and tap my glove against the glass. His entire face lights up.
A couple of months ago, I didn’t know he existed. Now I can’t imagine a version of my life without him. But there are moments like this that make the grief of missing out easier to carry.
After practice, he falls asleep in the car on the way back to Camille’s flat. By the time I carry him inside, his head is tucked beneath my chin, and one tiny hand is fisted in my hoodie.
I settle Félix onto the sofa without waking him, and both of us just stand there watching him sleep.
The silence between Camille and me feels different now. It’s as though we’ve finally found our footing. We are his parents, nothing more, nothing less. There is no requirement for an ‘us’ anymore, not beyond caring for Félix anyway.
Camille studies me. “You’re happier today.”
The observation catches me off guard. Maybe because she’s right, I am. I’m also hopeful, and after everything that’s happened, hope feels dangerously close to happiness.
I look away, and Camille smiles knowingly. “Kate?”
My heart clenches when I hear her name; it still does that. “Maybe.” I huff a laugh. “Nothing is fixed.”
“No,” she agrees. “But you’re smiling again.”
Later that night, after Félix is asleep, I say goodnight and head home.
The flat is quiet, and I find myself staring at my phone again. I know I should leave her alone. The last thing Kate needs is me pushing too hard and undoing everything we accomplished today. So instead, I type something simple.
Lukas: I survived training.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Kate: Congratulations.
Lukas: Thank you. It was very difficult.
Kate: Did Coach make you skate until you questioned your existence again?
I grin. The conversation lasts maybe ten minutes. We don’t talk about anything important; there are no declarations or emotional confessions. It’s just easy and comfortable. The kind of conversation people have when they genuinely enjoy each other.
When the messages finally stop, I don’t immediately put the phone away. Instead, I sit there for a moment looking at her name on the screen.
For weeks, I convinced myself that loving Kate meant letting her go, and maybe, at the time, it did. Maybe I needed to learn how to be a father before I could be anything else. But now? Now I’m beginning to understand something important.
Being Félix’s father doesn’t mean there isn’t room for Kate. And loving Kate doesn’t mean I have to lose everything else. I allow myself to imagine both futures existing together.
Kate.
Hudson.
Félix.
The thought terrifies me. Which is probably how I know it matters.