Chapter 23 Harrison #2
“Oh yeah. Completely. I had to work for it,” I laugh, remembering how stubborn she was. “I asked her out three times before she finally said yes.”
“Why didn’t she want to go out with you?” he asks, curious.
I tap my stick against the ice, considering my answer. “She thought I was just some dumb jock who wouldn’t take school seriously. But I proved her wrong.”
Connor skates a bit closer, his interest piqued. “How?”
“I showed up at the library where she was studying and brought her coffee. Every day for two weeks.” I smile at the memory. “Eventually she agreed to one date just to shut me up.”
“And then she liked you?”
“Not right away,” I admit. “But I grew on her. Kind of like an invasive weed.”
That gets a small laugh out of him as he nods like he’s fitting all the pieces together in his head.
“Mom said you were her first love.”
My heart stutters at that.
Harper told him that?
Even when she’d kept the rest from him?
“She told you that?”
“Mhmm, last night.”
“Well, if we’re being honest with each other, she was mine too,” I admit, feeling vulnerable but knowing he deserves every truth I can give him. “My first and only real love.”
Connor skates a small figure eight, processing this. “So, what happened? Why’d you break up?”
I exhale slowly, weighing how much to share with an eleven-year-old.
“We were young. I was about to get drafted, and she was afraid she’d hold me back from reaching my hockey dreams, which I thought was bullshit by the way.
I wanted her there with me. I knew she was the one for me but…
” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Sometimes when you’re that age, you make decisions thinking you’re doing what’s best, but you don’t have all the information yet. ”
“Like Mom not telling you about me,” he says bluntly.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Like that.”
He takes another shot at the net, this one harder, more focused. It sails in cleanly.
“Nice one,” I say.
He doesn’t acknowledge the compliment, just collects another puck. “If you knew about me back then, would you…” His voice is soft but insistent, like he needs this answer more than anything. “Would you have come back?”
I don’t hesitate. “In a heartbeat.”
He studies my face like he’s searching for a lie, but there isn’t one to find because I mean every word I say to him.
“Even if it meant giving up hockey?”
That question hits deeper, and I take a moment to really think about it. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because I want him to understand I’m being completely honest.
“Yeah,” I finally say. “I would’ve found a way to do both.
To be your dad first, and a hockey player, but I hands down would’ve been your dad first and foremost. Hockey was my dream kind of like it’s yours right now, and I worked hard for it just like you’re working hard now too, but you, Connor…
you would’ve been more important than anything to me. ”
Connor processes this, his eyes locked on the puck as he passes it back and forth with his stick. “Mom said the same thing. That she didn’t want to make you choose.”
“I know,” I sigh. “And part of me understands why she thought that. But she should’ve let me make that choice myself.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, then looks up at me with those eyes that are so much like mine it still startles me. “Did you forgive her?”
I find myself nodding slowly, considering Connor’s question with the weight it deserves. Forgiveness isn’t something you can fake, especially not to a kid who’s already had enough lies in his life.
“Yeah,” I tell him honestly. “I did. I do.” I shrug.
“Maybe not all at once, because there are still moments when I think about what I missed and it hurts like hell and I get angry about it all over again. But I choose to forgive her because I understand why she did it, even if I don’t agree with it.
Her keeping you from me wasn’t a malicious act. Do you know what that means?”
He shakes his head.
“It means she wasn’t doing it to hurt me. She thought she was protecting me. Protecting you too. So yeah, even though I don’t agree with her decision to do that, I know she still loved me enough to want the best for me and loved you so much that she wanted to protect you.”
Connor plops down on the ice, his stick resting against his skate as he processes my words.
“I don’t know if I can yet,” he admits quietly. “Forgive her, I mean.”
I slowly take a seat next to him. “That’s okay,” I say, keeping my voice steady even as my heart aches for both of them. “You don’t have to right now. Feelings take time.”
He nods, looking relieved that I’m not pressuring him. “Yeah,” he says, then adds quietly, “I told Mom I hated her.”
I wince internally but keep my expression neutral. “How do you feel about that now?”
He shrugs, eyes downcast. “Bad. I don’t hate her. I was just really mad.”
“I know you were.” I bump his shoulder with my own. “And deep down she knows that too. Might be nice if you tell her that, you know, whenever you’re ready.”
“Yeah, I know.”
We sit in silence for a few moments, the sound of the arena’s cooling system humming around us. It’s peaceful here, just the two of us on this massive sheet of ice, working through things at our own pace. I realize this is the first time we’ve truly been alone together since everything changed.
“Can I ask you one more question?”
“You can ask me a thousand questions, bud. Shoot.”
“Do you love my mom? I mean…I know you loved her when you were her boyfriend in college but what about, like, now?”
I take a deep breath and smile. “I never stopped loving her,” I say, the truth flowing easily from my heart. “Not for a single day in the last ten years. Even when I didn’t know where she was or what she was doing, she was always with me. Always in the back of my mind.”
Connor studies my face intensely. He’s looking for any hint of a lie, any crack in my sincerity, but I’ll be damned if he finds any.
“And I’ll tell you a secret.”
His eyes grow to large bright blue orbs. “What?”
“I love her now more than ever,” I continue, holding his gaze. “Seeing her with you, seeing what an amazing mom she is, how she’s raised this incredible kid all on her own…gave you my middle name. Introduced you to hockey…it just makes me love her more.”
“Hmm.” He nods slowly, processing my confession. “Might be nice if you tell her that, you know, whenever you’re ready.”
His wit catches me off guard and the knowing little smirk on his face as he repeats my words back to me makes me laugh. I bump him just enough to tip him over and into a fit of giggles. “Get outta here.”
This kid—my kid—is sharp. Smart. Observant. And he’s got a sense of humor that cuts right to the core of things. I laugh as Connor pushes himself up, still grinning at his own cleverness.
“So,” Connor says finally, his voice small but steady, “you’re really my dad.”
It’s not a question this time, but a statement, like he’s trying the words out, seeing how they feel in his mouth.
“I really am,” I confirm, my throat tightening with emotion.
He studies my face for a long moment, and I can almost see him cataloging our similarities; the eyes, the jawline, the way we both tap our sticks against the ice when we’re thinking.
“That’s why I’m so good at hockey,” he says suddenly, a hint of his usual confidence breaking through.
I laugh again, relief washing through me at this glimpse of the kid I’ve come to know. “I told you, you could be an Anaheim Star yourself one day, didn’t I?”
“Can we practice some more? I want to try that thing you did in your game against Vancouver.”
“The between-the-legs shot? That’s pretty advanced, bud.”
“I know.” He grins. “But you’re my dad so…” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “If you can do it, I can do it, right?”
Something warm blooms in my chest. “Yeah,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “You definitely can.”
We skate for another hour, the rink gradually brightening as the sun comes up.
I show him how to position his hands for better control, how to shift his weight to get more power behind his shot.
He soaks it all up like a sponge, making adjustments, trying again when he fails.
By the time we’re ready to go, he’s managed a decent attempt at my trick shot.
He takes one more shot at the goal, this one strong and sure. It slides into the net with a satisfying swoosh. This time, I can’t help myself and raise my hand for a high-five. He doesn’t hesitate before slapping my palm with his glove.
“Nice shot,” I say. “Should we go grab your mom and find some breakfast?”
“Yeah, I’m starving. Can we get pancakes?”
Kid, I’ll give you the fucking moon if you ask for it.
“Absolutely. I know a place that makes them shaped like hockey pucks.”
His eyes widen. “For real?”
“For real. And they’re chocolate chip.”