Chapter 30
austin
My mom wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but hearing Charlie’s mother tell her she’d be better off coming home hit me harder than I expected. By the time I told them I loved Charlie, my jaw ached from clenching it so tightly.
Admitting how much I cared for her, how far I’d go to protect her, came naturally. Telling her mom I was truly in love with her wasn’t just part of the act—it felt like the only real thing in the conversation.
“Mom,” Charlie snapped. She pushed my hand off her thigh.
“This is beyond reckless. You’re throwing your life away for what? Some fleeting romance with a man who coaches kids? Take a real hard look at yourself.”
Charlie’s shoulders stiffened. Her jaw clenched. Hurt flashed in her eyes, even if she tried to hide it.
“Mama, I—”
Her mom didn’t let her finish. “You could’ve had so much more. A real career, a stable life. Look at Jacob. He’s—”
“Enough,” Jacob snapped, his tone cutting through the room like a whip. His sudden outburst caught even me off guard. “Stop comparing her to me. Charlie’s doing fine, Mom. Better than fine, actually.”
Her mom’s face twisted in frustration, her lips pressed into a tight line. “Jacob—”
“No. You don’t get to tear her down every time she does something you don’t like. She’s not a failure just because her life doesn’t look the way you want it to.”
Her mom narrowed her eyes, her lips parting slightly as if she was about to respond, but instead, she hung up without another word. Jacob followed, and the screen darkened.
I wanted to reach out, to grab Charlie, to tell her everything would be okay. I wanted to pull her into my arms and cradle her, let her know she didn’t have to carry this weight alone. But before I could, Charlie stood abruptly. She turned to me, and the sadness in her eyes made my chest ache.
“I just need a minute,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Charlie—”
She shook her head, forcing a tight, unconvincing smile.
“I’m fine,” she said, the lie obvious. “I’m just gonna grab some water.”
Instead of heading toward the kitchen, she made her way down the hall. A moment later, the soft click of her bedroom door closing echoed back to me.
I sat there for a minute, unsure if I should give her space or go after her. Eventually, I stood and quietly made my way to her room. I tapped lightly on the door. “Charlie?” I called out gently.
No response.
I tried the handle. Locked.
She’d shut me out.
I leaned my forehead against her door and exhaled. She was in there, hurting, and she didn’t want me with her. That realization twisted in my gut, leaving me standing there, unsure of what to do next.
It was Friday, and I still hadn’t seen Charlie. All week, she’d been gone before I even made it to the kitchen in the mornings and home long after I’d shut my door. If I tried to wait her out, she’d slip past me and lock herself in her room.
This weekend, we couldn’t keep dodging each other. Same house, shared kitchen—it was only a matter of time.
At least my new insurance cards had arrived that morning. I’d booked Ralph immediately.
He greeted me in the lobby in a pink-and-blue paisley shirt that shimmered when he moved, paired with matching pants.
“Hey, Austin. Ready to come back?”
“Sure am.”
We walked down the hall to his office, and I sank into the couch while he took his chair.
“So,” he said, pen poised, “how’s it going?”
I gave him a wry smile. “Buckle up. You might need a second notebook.”
I told him everything—Charlie, her mom, the charity hockey game earlier this week. By the time I finished, my chest felt lighter, like I’d unloaded something I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Ralph tapped his pen thoughtfully. “That’s a lot in one week. What’s taking up the most space in your head?”
“Trying to balance it all—staying sober, dealing with my family, figuring out what I want to do next—without completely screwing it up.”
“And which one feels the heaviest?”
I exhaled slowly. “Being back on the ice this week . . . it made me realize how much I miss it. But even if I got the chance to work in hockey again, I’m scared I’d just blow it. That I’d make the same mistakes as before.”
“Because of your past?”
“Because of my sperm donor. I found out years ago that he raped my mom. That’s how I was conceived.
He denied I even existed. For a long time, I thought I just hated him for the absence, but now .
. .” I shook my head, my throat tightening.
“Now I hate him for what he did to her too. And somewhere in my head, I’ve always been afraid I’d turn into him—not in that exact way, but in the selfishness.
The abandonment. The way he made everything about himself.
“I saw it happening with Nova. I wasn’t showing up for her. I was making promises I couldn’t keep, always too wrapped up in my own shit to notice what she really needed. I don’t want to be that guy. But sometimes I’m scared it’s in me. That maybe it’s all I’ll ever be.”
I shifted forward on the couch. “It’s the same fear with Charlie. That I’m going to fall into the same damn pattern—being there when it’s convenient for me, but not when it matters most.”
Ralph tilted his head. “And your grandmother?”
A short, humorless laugh escaped me. “She was a narcissist. Everything had to be about her. My mom was always an inconvenience, and so was I. When I was a kid, I used to beg her to come to my games, and she’d always have some excuse—hair appointment, bridge game, ‘wasn’t feeling up to it.
’ She never just said, ‘I’ll be there.’”
“Did you ever stop asking?”
“Yeah. Eventually, I stopped expecting her to show up. Stopped expecting anyone to, really.” I shook my head. “That’s the problem. When you grow up like that, you start thinking absence is normal. You start excusing it in yourself.”
Ralph scribbled something in his notes. “So marrying Charlie—was it about helping her, or proving to yourself you can show up?”
“Both. I wanted to help her. I also wanted to give myself a reason to be accountable, to prove I can be different from him . . . from her.”
Ralph leaned forward slightly. “Austin, those patterns—they’re real.
But they’re not a life sentence. You’re not your father.
You’re not your grandmother. The fact that you’re even sitting here, examining this, is proof you’re already breaking the cycle.
Sobriety isn’t just about staying clean—it’s about choosing, every day, to be present. ”
I sat back, letting that sink in.
He was right. I was making choices they never did. Sobriety. Marrying Charlie. Even showing up here today. I wasn’t perfect, but I was trying.
“That’s time,” Ralph said gently.
“Thanks, Ralph. I feel better sharing this. See you next week.”
Walking out, one thought pushed through all the rest: I needed to find Charlie. I needed her to know I wasn’t running.