Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
LUKAS
The first sign that something has changed is that I stop being the last one to leave the rink.
For years, hockey has been the centre of everything.
Training, games, recovery, travel. Even on days off, I usually found an excuse to stay longer, whether it was an extra video review or another gym session.
The rink has always felt like home because, for a long time, it was the only place I knew exactly who I was.
Lately, though, I find myself checking the clock.
Not because I care less about hockey. I don’t. If anything, becoming a father has made me appreciate it more. Every contract, every game cheque, every season suddenly carries weight beyond myself.
But now there are people waiting for me somewhere else.
That changes things.
The locker room is gradually emptying after training when Callum drops heavily onto the bench beside me and immediately steals my phone out of my hand.
“Oi.”
His eyes scan the screen. Then his eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline. “You’re looking at houses?”
“Give me that.” I reach for the phone, but he’s too quick and moves it out of reach.
“No.”
“Callum.” He scrolls anyway, completely ignoring me. For a second, I think he’s about to start taking the piss. Then his expression changes. Not dramatically, but enough that I notice.
“You’re actually serious.”
I finally manage to grab my phone back and shove it into my bag. “Maybe.”
“Lukas.”
I sigh. “Yes.”
His grin appears immediately. “Look at you.”
“Do not start.”
“I’m not starting anything.” He leans back against the lockers, folding his arms across his chest. “I just remember the guy who used to think owning more than one frying pan counted as settling down.”
“That was a perfectly reasonable position.”
“It really wasn’t.”
A laugh escapes me despite myself. Around us, the locker room continues to empty. The sound of showers running somewhere down the corridor filters through the open doorway, mixed with distant voices and the occasional burst of laughter. The familiar rhythm of post-training life.
For years, this has been enough. Now it isn’t. Or maybe that’s not true. Maybe it still is enough. It’s just not all I want anymore.
Callum studies me. “You know,” he says eventually, “I wasn’t sure you’d get here.”
I glance over. “What does that mean?”
He shrugs. “It means the last few months have been brutal.”
That’s one way of putting it. Finding out I had a son. Losing Kate. Trying to become a father overnight. Feeling like I was failing everyone at once. None of it has been easy.
“You looked destroyed for a while there,” Callum continues quietly.
I huff a laugh. “Thank you.”
“You know what I mean.”
I do. Because Callum was there for all of it. The sleepless weeks. The distraction during training. The panic. The guilt. The constant feeling that no matter what decision I made, I was letting somebody down. Most people had seen the hockey player. Callum had seen the man underneath.
“Kate helped,” I admit.
His smile softens immediately. “Yeah.”
“She shouldn’t have had to.”
“No,” he agrees. “But she did.”
The simple honesty of that lands harder than I expect. For a second, neither of us says anything. Then Callum nudges my shoulder. “You love her.”
I stare at him. “Subtle.”
“Wasn’t a question.”
I shake my head. “Apparently, everyone knows my business.”
“You’re not exactly mysterious anymore.”
“Excellent.”
“You have photos of both kids on your phone.” I freeze.
His grin widens. “See?”
“Felix is my son.”
“And Hudson?”
I don’t answer straight away. Because the truth is more complicated than that. Hudson isn’t mine. He never will be. But somewhere along the way, he became important enough that I stopped thinking about where the lines were supposed to be.
Callum seems to understand anyway. His expression softens. “You care about him.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I blink. “Good?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “The kid deserves people who stay.”
The words hit harder than he probably realises. Because Hudson’s voice still lives in the back of my mind sometimes. He left for work and never came back. A four-year-old boy was standing at a window waiting for a father who wasn’t coming home.
I swallow hard. “I’m not him.”
“No,” Callum says firmly. “You’re not.”
The certainty in his voice catches me off guard. “I screwed up.”
“You did.”
I stare at him. “Helpful.”
“You asked.”
“I didn’t.”
He ignores that. “You screwed up because you were trying to do the right thing and got overwhelmed. That’s different.” His gaze holds mine. “You came back.”
My chest tightens unexpectedly. Because for weeks I couldn’t see that. All I could see was the damage I’d done. The hurt I’d caused. The people I’d disappointed.
Callum reaches down, grabbing his bag from the floor. “For what it’s worth,” he says, standing, “I think you’re building something pretty special.”
I glance toward my bag, where my phone is tucked away.
Towards the houses I’d been looking at. The future I’ve started allowing myself to imagine.
A garden for Felix. A place where Hudson feels welcome.
A kitchen with Kate standing in it, rolling her eyes at me.
A life that somehow manages to fit hockey and family together. Now, it doesn’t feel impossible.
Callum notices the look on my face immediately. A slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh, God.”
“What?”
“You’ve already mentally moved in.” I groan. He starts laughing. “Have you picked out curtains yet?”
“Get out.”
“Paint colours?”
“Callum.”
“Matching towels?”
I launch a roll of tape at his head. He ducks easily, still laughing as he heads toward the door. “I’m happy for you, mate,” he says over his shoulder, his voice turning genuine again. “Seriously.”
The door swings shut behind him before I can respond. For a moment, I sit there alone in the quiet locker room. Then I pull my phone back out. The house listing is still open. Three bedrooms. A decent garden. Good schools nearby.
A future.
That’s what I’m planning for.