Chapter 37
JADE
A week has passed—seven days of deceptive calm.
Vaughn reached out exactly once—an anonymous text with the words Assignment received on Cayden’s screen—and after that: silence.
My phone sits ready on the coffee table but remains mute.
I’ve fed Collins harmless updates, blurbs about Cayden’s training methods, and even though he keeps up the pressure, I can still stall him.
The person I can't stall any longer, however, is Parker.
We’ve lived in this villa for three weeks.
I spend the nights in Cayden’s bedroom. We don't tip-toe around each other anymore—we sleep together, talk softly into the darkness, and I wake up the next morning with his arm around my waist. The looming war against Hayes hangs over us like a thundercloud, but inside here, only our own little world exists.
Cayden is sitting on the floor next to Parker. Faded sweatpants, knees bent wide. He’s showing my son how to properly tape the blade of a hockey stick.
“Let the tape overlap,” he explains, demonstrating the motion slowly. His hands wrap the black tape around the carbon with calm precision. “If you leave gaps, the puck slides over the edge. You need the friction.”
Parker nods, the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth. He reaches for his own stick and tries to mimic the move.
The physical resemblance hits me today with a force that takes my breath away.
The same sharp crease on the forehead when concentrating.
The same slight tilt of the head. We clued the family in last weekend—but the most important person in the room still has no idea.
I can't maintain this anymore. Every further day feels like a betrayal of my own child.
Cayden senses my look. He lifts his head, our eyes meet, and he knows what’s coming. We’ve talked through it a dozen times.
I set my coffee cup down. The quiet clack makes Parker look up.
“Let’s take a short break, honey.” I slide closer and take the roll of tape from his hand.
He blinks, confused. “I almost have the blade finished.”
“It’s not going anywhere.” Cayden sets his stick aside and turns to Parker. “Your mom and I have something important to discuss with you.”
Parker pulls his knees to his chest. Kids have fine antennas for shifts in the room. He looks between us, and the excitement for practice vanishes from his features.
“Do we have to move out?” His voice trembles slightly. “Is the article finished?”
A sting goes through my chest. I lay my hand on his knee.
“We’re not going anywhere.” I swallow the lump. “Do you remember when you asked why we’re living in Cayden’s house specifically?”
“Because of the portrait. The new stadium.”
“That was the professional reason.” I stroke his knee with my thumb. My palms are damp. “But Cayden and I have known each other for a very long time. We didn't just meet for this interview—we met when I was still in college.”
Parker’s eyes widen. “Really? Did you study together?”
“I played hockey, your mom studied.” Cayden leans forward, eye-level with Parker. He’s not faking it. “We liked each other very much back then. But I made mistakes—I was too young, too stubborn, too busy with my career.”
“We lost touch,” I continue before Cayden takes all the blame. “But before we split up, something wonderful happened.”
Parker knits his brow. He’s calculating. He’s a smart boy. I see the puzzle pieces swirling in his head. He looks at his own hands, then at me.
“That was shortly before I was born,” he states factually.
My heart hammers. I’ve played this sentence through in my head for eleven years, feared it. Now I just say it.
“The man I’ve told you about all these years... your father... that wasn't the truth, Parker.” My voice breaks at the end. “I was afraid. I wanted to protect you. But I took away your chance to get to know your real father.”
Parker turns pale instantly. The freckles on his nose stand out. He snaps his head around and stares at Cayden.
Cayden holds the gaze. Not an inch back.
“I’m your father, Parker.”
The words fill the room. Heavy and tangible. No beating around the bush.
The silence becomes deafening.
Parker breathes audibly through his mouth. His eyes scan Cayden’s face—searching for the contradiction, the saving joke. He stares at Cayden’s shoulders, his hands, the sharp crease above his nose.
“You?” he breathes.
“I didn't know all those years.” Cayden moves closer. He lifts his hands but lets them hover without touching Parker—giving him space. “If I’d known you existed sooner, I’d have run all the way to Boston. I would never have left you alone.”
Parker’s lips press together. Admiration fights confusion in his eyes. He looks at me.
“You lied to me.” His child’s voice hits me harder than any blow. A tear carves its way down. “You said my dad didn't want us. That he just left.”
“I’m so incredibly sorry.” I slide to him on my knees and take his hands. He doesn't pull away—he actually clings to my fingers. “I was young, I panicked. It was wrong. You have every right to be angry with me.”
“She did it all out of love.” Cayden moves to my side. He doesn't let me pay for this mistake alone. “Worked day and night. Gave up everything. Be angry at me for being such an idiot back then. But don't blame her.”
Parker wipes his nose with his sleeve. Looks up at Cayden.
“You’re really my dad?”
“I’m your dad.” A real smile breaks through Cayden’s tense expression. “We have a lot of time to catch up on. I owe you about ten birthdays. And I still have to show you how to throw a proper backhand pass.”
The ice breaks.
The crack in Parker’s defense is almost audible. The shock gives way to a deep, childlike relief. He doesn't have to search for a phantom anymore. His hero sits right in front of him. He releases my hands—and throws himself forward.
Cayden catches him.
He wraps his arms around the boy and buries his face in Parker’s hair. Presses him to his chest as if he’ll never let go again. Parker clings to Cayden’s sweater. His narrow shoulders shake with silent sobs.
I press a hand to my mouth. Tears run unchecked. The year-long weight on my chest collapses.
Cayden opens one arm and pulls me in, without letting go of Parker. I press against his side; he drapes his arm over my shoulders. We sit as a unit on the carpet. The scent of resin and coffee is still in the air, but the room feels completely new.
Minutes pass. The clock ticks.
Eventually, Parker pulls back a bit. He wipes his eyes and looks at Cayden’s stick on the floor.
“Are we still playing on the ice this afternoon?”
Cayden laughs—the sound vibrates deep in his chest. “We’ll play until tonight if you want. Every trick I know.”
A tentative smile pulls at the corners of Parker’s mouth. He reaches for his roll of tape and picks at the end of it.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs without looking up. “You know... as my dad.”
Cayden’s eyes redden. “I think it’s pretty fantastic being your dad, Parker.”