Chapter 21 Harrison #2
So, she didn’t mean to say it that way.
Fucking great.
Connor’s eyes—my eyes—stare up at me, waiting for an answer I’ve rehearsed a hundred times but suddenly can’t remember.
Fuck.
What do I do?
Should I laugh it off?
Pretend it’s a joke?
Or is this the moment I’ve been waiting for?
Connor pushes himself out of his seat, album still clutched to his chest. He looks at me again—really looks at me—and then glances back down at the picture, his mouth curving into the tiniest smile. “Wait,” he says. “So…you’re my dad? Like, my real dad?”
Part of me wants to scoop him into my arms and tell him how long I’ve waited for this truth to be set free and apologize for every single fucking second of his life I missed. But I also want to protect him from this moment of discovery that should have been gentle, planned, and perfect.
I don’t know what to do.
But I know I can’t lie to him.
Not anymore.
Fuck.
He deserves the truth.
So, I nod once.
Careful, honest, and terrified.
“Yes.”
His eyes widen and then narrow…and then widen again.
“That’s…cool,” he says, breathless. “I mean—” He laughs, a little dazed. “You’re my favorite player anyway so…”
My heart breaks open and my chest fills with a rush of warmth I did not expect. I swear to God I could cry right now. “Your favorite player?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion. It’s like a lifeline thrown in the middle of this swirling sea of uncertainty. “I’m uh…wow. I’m really honored, bud.”
“Well, I mean, yeah.” He nods, and for a moment, we just stand there, the world around us fading into the background. I see the way his fingers grip the edge of the photo album and wonder what thoughts are going through his young mind right now. “You’re really my dad? Like, for real?”
I swallow hard, fighting to keep the emotion from cracking my voice. “Yeah, bud. I’m your dad. For real.”
Harper lets out a shaky breath like she’s been holding it for years.
I step forward, every instinct screaming to kneel in front of him, to say something that will make this easier…
or better…or…I don’t know. I just want the moment to be memorable for him, but the words aren’t there.
I’m just as taken aback by what’s happening as he is.
Connor looks between us. “You guys could’ve just told me,” he says, almost casually. “It’s not that big a deal.”
My knees nearly buckle as a wave of relief washes through me, leaving me light-headed and unsteady on my feet.
Harper smiles, tears in her eyes. “Hey, buddy—”
“I’m gonna go finish looking at the pictures,” Connor says quickly. “In the other room.”
He disappears before either of us can stop him. A door clicks shut down the hall so I know he went into one of the guest rooms or my room. Either way he’s in a safe space.
Probably just needs to process all this.
Harper shifts beside me and I can’t do anything but stare at her.
“That went…way better than I expected,” she whispers, cautiously optimistic.
“Yeah.” I nod, but my chest still feels tight. “Yeah, it did.”
It was too easy.
And now…it’s too quiet.
Then there’s a sound that stops my breath.
It’s muffled at first, like a tiny, wounded animal noise followed by a broken inhale that tears through me like a skate blade to the chest…and then another.
Oh shit.
And then there’s a sob so raw, so devastated, it shatters something fundamental inside me. I feel it break, jagged pieces slicing through my insides.
Connor!
No!
Harper freezes, her face drained of color. Her hands flies to her mouth. “Oh God,” she breathes, her voice trembling, but my legs are already carrying me down the hall, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I push open the doors to the guest rooms, panic rising like bile in my throat when I find them empty.
When I burst through the last door at the end of the hall, my room, I see him sitting on the edge of the bed, destroyed.
The album lies splayed on the floor like evidence at a crime scene and Connor’s shoulders are shaking with each breath, his knuckles white as he grips the comforter as if it’s the only thing anchoring him to Earth.
His face—Christ, his face—is contorted in agony, streaked with tears, flushed crimson with betrayal that no child should ever have to feel.
“Connor,” Harper whispers, her voice breaking as she steps in behind me.
He whirls on her fast and hard, his baby blues wild with hurt. I hate that I know that look.
I feel that look.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words rip from his throat like they’re being torn from somewhere deep inside him, his voice shattering mid-sentence. “Why didn’t you let me have a dad?”
“Sweetheart—” Harper reaches for him, fingers trembling.
“NO!” The scream explodes from him as he jerks away, his small body vibrating with rage. “You LIED to me! My…my…my WHOLE LIFE!” His chest heaves with each ragged breath. “Everyone else has a dad. All my friends—” His voice collapses into a strangled sob. “You said my dad didn’t want to be a dad.”
Wait.
What?
The accusation hits me like a physical blow. My lungs empty, vision tunneling. “What?” I whisper, the word barely audible as I whip toward Harper. “You told him that?”
“Oh, God.” Harper’s face crumples as she falls to her knees before Connor, mascara tracking black rivers down her flushed cheeks. “No, bud,” she pleads, voice raw and desperate. “I said I didn’t want to pressure him into being a dad.”
Connor’s brows furrow like every word is painful for him and Christ, it probably is because it’s fucking torture for me. And then his sweet face locks on mine, swimming with betrayal that pierces straight through my chest.
“You didn’t want to be my dad?” His voice shrinks to that of a much younger child, punctuated by hiccupping sobs. “You didn’t like me?”
Something shatters inside me. I crouch before him, my hands trembling so violently I have to press them against my thighs.
“What?” I choke out, shaking my head with such force it blurs my vision. “No. No, no, no, Connor, that’s not it at all.” My chin quivers uncontrollably as I stare into the mirror of my own eyes, terrified, devastated, lost.
“Then…I don’t…” He sniffles and stutters a few breaths. “I don’t understand why you didn’t want me?” His voice drops to a whisper that fucking destroys me. “Was I bad?”
Oh God.
His question guts me completely and my throat closes up.
“Connor, I didn’t—” The words strangle me, but I try again, my voice raw.
“I didn’t know you existed, bud. Your mom never told me about you.
Not once.” Tears blur my vision as I watch his little face crumple.
“But God, Connor, if I’d known—” My voice breaks completely.
“If I’d known, I would’ve moved mountains to be with you.
Every. Single. Day.” I pound my fist against my heart with each word.
“I would’ve chosen you over everything. Hockey. Money. Fame. Everything.”
Connor’s face contorts as he turns to Harper, his voice rising to a desperate pitch.
“Why, Mom? WHY?” He pounds the bed with his small fists.
“He was RIGHT HERE!” His chest heaves as he points wildly at me, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.
“I’ve been wearing his JERSEY! You put his poster in my room!
All this time—” His voice cracks into a strangled sob.
“We’ve been watching him play hockey for a long time, ever since I was…
I don’t know. Littler. He’s my favorite player ever in the whole world. ”
“Baby, please—” Harper reaches for him, her face ravaged with tears.
“NO!” Connor jerks away, his whole body trembling. “You KNEW! You KNEW he was my dad and you didn’t let him be my dad! I hate you!”
“Connor.” My voice is sharp as I come to Harper’s defense. “You don’t talk that way to your mo—”
“It’s okay, H.” Harper stops me with a trembling hand to my arm. “I deserve this. I knew it would come. He’s processing.”
For fuck’s sake.
I can’t believe this is happening like this.
I hate that I’m sitting here dying inside for the love of my family and watching them both have to work through this pain and anguish.
Why can’t this just be easy?
“Connor, I was terrified!” Harper cries out, her voice shattering.
She clutches at her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together.
Her sobs making me want to pick her up and hold her…
cry with her. “When I found out I was pregnant with you, Harrison was about to sign with the NHL and I—” She gasps for breath.
“I was just a scared girl who thought she’d ruin his life if I told him about you.
” Her fingers tremble as she reaches for Connor’s hand.
“I was afraid Harrison wouldn’t have time to be your dad.
And I was more afraid that Harrison’s bosses wouldn’t let us be a family.
That they would tell him I couldn’t come with him and I was scared that even if I did go with him to whatever team he was going to, that he’d choose hockey over us, and you’d be left waiting by windows, watching the door, wondering why your daddy didn’t want you enough to come home, and I didn’t want that life for you, Connor. ”
Connor’s lower lip quivers violently. “But he might have wanted me.”
Harper’s tears fall onto his small hand. “You’re right. And I know now that he would’ve wanted you. He would’ve loved you every single day. And I’ll regret not giving him that chance for the rest of my life.”
He sobs, harsh and wet as he turns back to me. “You missed…” He flails his arms dramatically. “Everything! You missed everything!”
He’s right.
And there is no defense for that.
“You’re right bud,” I say, my voice trembling, desperate to break through his pain. “I wish I could’ve been there. I wish I could’ve known you. I would’ve been there for you every day if I could and I’ll be there for you now. Every minute of every day. “
All I want to do is reach out to him, to reassure him, but I feel like a complete failure. “I’m sorry. I—”
“No!” he shouts, shaking his head stubbornly as if my apology is a physical blow. “I don’t want you to say you’re sorry!” He covers his face with his hands, shoulders trembling. “You weren’t there. You didn’t even know I existed and you don’t know me now!”
The pain in his voice guts me. I don’t know what to say, what to do, or how to fix this and I’m terrified of pushing him further away.
I feel Harper’s presence beside me, her tears cascading down her cheeks, and I realize she’s hurting just as much.
We’re both trapped in this moment of raw emotion, desperation, and regret.
“Do you want me to leave you alone, Connor?” If he’s anything like me, he needs time to process his feelings and figure out what he wants. I can respect that. Really, it’s the only move I have left.
When he nods silently, wiping his tears away with his sleeve, I nod respectfully. “Okay. Just know that I’m here if you if you want to talk, alright?”
He nods again so I grab Harper’s hand, giving it a light squeeze before exiting the room.
I don’t remember walking into the guest bathroom.
I just know the door is suddenly closed behind me and my hands are braced on the counter like the room might tilt if I don’t hold it still.
The mirror reflects someone I don’t recognize.
My eyes are too bright. My jaw locked so tight it hurts. My chest rising and falling like I’ve just skated a double shift instead of sitting in a bedroom listening to an eleven-year-old tell me I missed everything and I don’t get to love him.
Okay so he didn’t say those words exactly but my mind is my worst enemy right now.
His words won’t stop replaying in my mind.
In my heart.
I squeeze my eyes shut and press my forehead to the cool glass. The bathroom smells faintly like shampoo, like normal life, like something I don’t deserve to touch right now.
Ten years.
Ten birthdays I missed.
So many first days of school.
All the nights he probably asked questions Harper didn’t answer.
Ten years where I got to be selfish.
Focused.
Singular.
Ten years that I put hockey above everything else.
I remind myself I didn’t know. I know I would’ve been there if I had, but the truth doesn’t care.
The truth is Connor needed a dad, and I wasn’t one.
A sound claws up my throat before I can stop it. I turn the faucet on, like the rush of water might drown it out, and grip the edge of the sink until my knuckles burn.
I picture myself at ten years old. Like the picture in the album. The kid with the oversized helmet and the too-big jersey. I was so proud of that moment. My first skates. My beginning.
Connor looked at it and saw himself.
Because of course he did.
Because he is me.
The realization hits harder than any check I’ve ever taken.
He’s got my eyes. My hands. My love for the game. And now—God help me—my heartache.
My pain.
I slide down the cabinet until I’m sitting on the cold tile floor, my back against the vanity, head dropped into my hands. My throat burns like I’ve swallowed broken glass.
Fuck! FUCK!
What if it’s too late?
What if I can’t fix this?
What if there’s too much emotional damage for him to overcome?
What if he doesn’t want me in his life?
What if my son—God, my son—hates me forever?
The thought alone makes me want to vomit.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to no one, then immediately clench my jaw.
I know I shouldn’t have to apologize. I’m just as much the victim here as Connor is but fuck if I don’t feel an immense amount of guilt pressing down on my chest. It’s like I’m pinned against the board and no whistle is coming.
I say it again, louder this time, like it might somehow reach back through time and heal the gaping wound of my absence.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
But sorry doesn’t give a kid his dad.
Sorry doesn’t sit in the stands screaming until he’s hoarse or lace skates with freezing fingers at 5AM practices. Sorry doesn’t teach him how to fall and get back up.
Sorry doesn’t undo ten years of absence.
A sob breaks loose, sharp and ugly, ripping straight through my chest. I cover my mouth with a trembling hand, trying to keep quiet because the last thing Connor needs is to hear me falling apart over something he has every right to be angry about.
I press my fist into my sternum like I can physically hold my shattered heart together.
He thinks I didn’t love him and that thought is unbearable.
It’s killing me.
It’s FUCKING killing me.
I would’ve loved him into the ground.
I would’ve loved him so hard it scared me.
I would’ve chosen him over everything. Over every trophy, every contract, every goddamn championship.
But none of that matters because it’s theoretical.
And Connor lives in a reality where his father wasn’t there.