Chapter 1
Chapter One
JENSEN
The four-hour flight feels like it takes forever, and landing in Burlington International Airport doesn’t give me the same warm fuzzies as it usually does. The last day has been like a slap in the face, and I’m trying to pull myself out of this weird fog I’ve fallen into.
The drive to Watesburg doesn’t help either. Even with the music on blast, my thoughts are so loud they drown them out.
Is he really my son?
What does he think of me?
Does he even know about me?
What the hell will it be like when I meet him?
Do I want to meet him?
By the time I get to Watesburg, I’m covered in a cold sweat and badly need a shower and, honestly, a hug from my mom. It feels so stupid that it’s on my list at all, but goddammit, this situation gets me a pass, surely?
I’ll be staying with them while I figure out what’s going on and what the next steps are, but after that … Do I sign the kid over to Amelia and go back to St. Louis like nothing has changed? Or do I stick around and maybe get to know him?
That is, if he’s mine at all.
A son.
A fucking son.
It feels like I’ve taken a puck to the head, and I’ll wake up any minute in the locker room. Or a hospital bed.
Both of which are better than this whole fucking situation.
On the way through the village, I find a parking space I can back the rental into and switch off the engine.
The sudden silence of the radio is loud, and I scrub at my gritty eyes.
I need coffee before I can face my parents—and probably my nosy sister—so I throw open the door on the warm Vermont day and head toward the cafe.
Watesburg is one of those places that looks like it belongs on a postcard, and I always forget while I’m here how great it is, then every time I come to town, it’s like I’m hit with a new appreciation.
It’s leafy and green now, but come fall, the reds and oranges are all up and down the street.
I don’t get to see it often anymore, though, since my schedule is so intense.
I’m still in this weird daze when I shoulder open the door to the cafe, glance up from glaring at the ground—and come face-to-face with my past.
It’s like my whole system shuts down.
Tai Barrett was my best friend and teammate all through peewees, high school, and college. We were the kind of ride-or-die friends who didn’t have time for anyone else and dreamed big about getting out of this town.
We were drafted together.
We won the Frozen Four together.
Then graduation rolled around, and I got on a plane to St. Louis … and he disappeared off the face of the earth.
My eyes can barely take in what they’re seeing. That swoop of dark hair, the warm brown eyes, lines where there didn’t used to be lines, and a seriousness sitting heavy in them that never used to exist.
“Hawke,” he croaks, almost like he’d forgotten my name. “Ah … hey.”
The hurt of unanswered texts, declined calls, and that weird feeling of missing a limb crashes back into me.
And the words are out before I can stop them.
“Hey. Do we know each other?”
Barrett’s eyes frost over, and he holds up his hands between us, one of them clutched around his coffee cup. “My mistake. Thought you were someone else.”
He sidesteps me, minty scent fresh and familiar, and I have half a mind to grab his arm and apologize, but for what? He made it clear ten years ago that he wanted nothing to do with me, so I’m just following through on that decision.
I’m hardly aware that I’m staring through the front door, watching him as he walks down the street, until a throat clears behind me.
“Can I help you, honey?”
I turn to the expectant face, and it takes me a second to remember what I walked in here for. Coffee. Shit. Right.
I can only hope a really, really big one clears this fogginess away.
Mom and Dad live in the first of a line of pale gray condos.
I offered to buy them something bigger when I signed my eight-year contract with St. Louis, but they refused.
Instead, they sold our childhood home and downsized to this cute street full of neighbors who know way too much about each other.
It’s new, and they love it, but compared to my house, it’s a shoebox, and I’m glad I’m only here temporarily because I’m used to having my own space.
I’m still heavy over how I handled things with Barrett, but I don’t have time to process why because my hunch was right. The second I pull up in the driveway, my sister snaps the book she’s reading closed and jumps out of her chair to jog toward the car.
Guess there will be no easing into this.
I switch off the engine and climb out, feeling colder than the weather should make me, and catch Gigi in a hug.
“You landed two hours ago! What took you so long?”
Sheer fucking dread, probably? “Stopped for coffee.”
“Mom and Dad are driving me nuts. If I have to eat one more fucking pastry—”
“Mom cooked?”
“Yes. A lot. If I’d known you were going to take so long, I would have waited to come over, but I wanted to see you first.”
“Why? So you could be the first to commiserate with me on parenthood?”
Gigi’s sulking fades. “Yeah, that’s … that whole thing is fucking wild.”
“You’re telling me.”
“You never wanted kids.”
“I—” Truthfully, when I was younger, I didn’t see the point in it.
I was going to play hockey professionally, so the time I’d have for offspring was small, and if I couldn’t be active in a kid’s life, what was the point?
“Yeah.” There’s no point in disagreeing with her because I don’t know where I sit on that topic anymore.
Especially since it might be taken out of my hands.
“We don’t even know that he’s mine,” I mutter, but Gigi isn’t listening. She’s popped the trunk and has hauled my suitcase out and onto the driveway.
“How much did you fucking pack?”
“Enough.” I press the button to close the back and then lock the rental. “When are they coming over?”
“Two. So you have time to shower.”
“I showered before I left.”
She wrinkles her nose. “And this is me telling you that you need to shower again.”
Fuck me. I don’t think it will matter if I shower every moment until they get here.
This vaguely panicked dry sweat I keep breaking into isn’t going anywhere.
The thought of telling Amelia that I want a paternity test makes me feel sick, but I know it’s the smart choice.
I have a lot of money, and I could become an easy target if I take people’s word about these things, but it’s a terrible way to meet them both.
Like, hey, I know you just lost your mom, but I need you to do a test to make sure you’re not scamming me before I’ll even think about being your dad.
Judging by what Amelia says, this kid doesn’t want or need a dad, and I don’t want or need a son, so the meeting should technically be an easy one. If I really believed that though, surely I wouldn’t feel so fucking sick.
“I think I’m going to pass out,” I grumble as I wheel my suitcase toward the house.
“No time for that,” Gigi answers helpfully. “Mom and Dad need to pounce on you, then you need to shower, and then your potential real-life son and his g-ma will be here. So you’ll need to put a pin in your freak-out for later—”
I set a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Please shut up.”
She tilts her head as she looks at me. “Oh … You’re freaking out freaking out.”
“Is there more than one type of freaking out?”
“Yes. There’s the people who dramatically freak out for attention. The ones who stress freak out to be more productive. And then …” She waves a hand down my body. “This.”
“Right.”
“Does it help if I point out that this is really not that big of a deal?”
I narrow my eyes her way. “When was the last time someone claimed you had a secret love child?”
“Now you sound like one of Mom’s soaps. Just deal with it as it comes.”
“Giana—”
“No, no. Like, I get a kid is a big deal. But Mom said that Amelia didn’t want anything from you. She’s happy to keep looking after him since she’s been there his whole life. You just have to sign over custody or something.”
Even hearing that doesn’t make things better. It should. I’ve never had responsibilities in my life beyond put puck in net, and yet it makes that pain in my gut twist harder.
“I need a shower,” I say to get out of this conversation.
“You sure do.” Gigi slaps me on the back, and I leave her to wrestle my suitcase up the short steps and go inside to where Mom and Dad are bickering over whether to keep the blinds open or closed.
“I prefer open,” I say.
Mom jumps at my voice, then lets out an excited little squeal before grabbing me in a hug. I squeeze her tight, her perfume and hold as familiar as breathing, and it’s the first time in twenty-four hours that I haven’t felt like I’m completely unraveling.
“You might want to shower before they get here,” she mumbles into my chest.
With a sigh, I pull away and turn to where Gigi’s hauled my luggage through the dark blue front door. “She’s said. I’ll go do that now.”
I give Dad a quick one-armed hug and then head upstairs. There’s a small bathroom next to the spare room, and other than the main bedroom, that’s all that’s up here. I feel too big for this place on my own, let alone living here with two other people.
My shower doesn’t help, so I coat myself in body spray and change my shirt twice. I’m trying to look nice for this kid, which is a mindfuck. When I was younger, I couldn’t have given less of a shit what clothes adults wore, and that was if I’d ever paid attention to them.
I turn defeated eyes on my reflection. The circles under my eyes are deep, and even half wet, my brown hair is a fluffy, wavy mess. “This is fucking hopeless.”
I don’t think I’ve ever spoken truer words.
And almost as soon as they’re out, they’re eaten by the sound of a car pulling up out front. My nerves go from unmanageable to life-threatening, and I splash more water on my face, then drag myself out of the bathroom before I drown myself.
Like Gigi said. This is not a big deal.
I’ll meet them. I’ll be polite. I’ll point out that a paternity test is in all of our best interests, and I’ll ask about the kid like I would if they were the child of one of my friends.
This is going to be fine.
My parents are on the front porch, and I only hesitate a second before joining them. Turns out gaslighting myself works.
A woman around Mom’s age has climbed out of the Honda, and she gives us a polite smile and a wave that I remind myself to return. But I’m too focused on the passenger door.
On the shadowy figure behind the tinted glass.
Panicked bile rushes into my throat when the door pushes open. When the chocolatey-brown hair appears. A lanky form.
And untrusting hazel eyes meet mine.
It’s like someone removed the porch I’m standing on as I meet the kid’s gaze and stare back. He’s frowning, mouth pinched, and as his gaze runs down my face to my neck and back up again, I know he’s thinking exactly what I am.
There’s no need for a paternity test.
Every photo I ever took in high school is standing right in front of me.