Chapter 2
Chapter Two
TAI
What the hell is he doing here? Jensen Hawke comes home the last week of the offseason and for any major holidays he’s not scheduled to play.
That’s it.
That’s his schedule.
I’ve had to learn and track his visits to Watesburg to successfully avoid him all these years, and I never would have thought that grabbing my usual morning coffee would bring me face-to-face with him.
Like all those years never happened.
For the last decade, I’ve watched his career soar while mine never had a chance to get started, and while that killed me at first, I’m in a better place now. I love my job, I love Watesburg in a way I never did when I was younger, and I have my routine that has made everything so much easier.
Sometimes that sneaky reminder creeps back in and tells me I only think that way because I’m stuck here, but it’s easier to ignore than ever.
Unlike Hawke. Because while I might have cut contact with him a long time ago, I’ve never missed a game or an achievement, and I stalk his social media account way more than I want to admit.
At first, it was out of the same bitter jealousy that forced me to turn my back on him, but over the years, my jealousy has settled, and I’ve reached a place where I’m happy for him.
If I couldn’t achieve all my dreams, at least one of us did.
Do I know you?
I scowl at the memory of his reply.
He knows me all right. We both know what a bullshit line that was.
We might have gone to different middle schools, but we met when we joined the same hockey team at twelve and then went all through high school and college together.
The bear and the hawk. Even with everything he’s done since, there’s no way he’s forgotten that.
So I know exactly what that brush-off was.
Hawke was making it abundantly clear that he wants nothing to do with me. And I can’t even blame him for it.
I’ve finished my coffee by the time I get home, and instead of going inside right away, I divert to the small wooden chair that’s lived in our front garden forever. I just need a moment. A second to stop and breathe and process seeing Hawke again.
Not that outside is any better than in the house.
Dad inherited this place from his parents, and it’s on a huge plot of land that takes forever to maintain, on top of the constant problems that pop up in an old building.
I’m doing well for myself now, but there was a long time where money was tight, and medical bills were racking up, so while I no longer feel the constant pressure of overdue notices now, we only barely have our head above water.
We’re one bad thing away from going back to all that.
Not for the first time in my life, I question every single decision that got me to this place.
Turning down my shot at the NHL to look after Dad had been a no-brainer at the time, but if I hadn’t done that, if I’d gone on to play and sign a multimillion-dollar contract, would that have been better for him in the long run?
Just like every time these thoughts sneak in, I shove them out again.
I’ve achieved my goal of being a high school head coach, and I’m aiming for college next.
A division one team and the hefty paycheck that goes with it.
It’s no hockey player salary, but it’s the kind of money that will help us move from here and pay down the credit cards a hell of a lot faster than I’m doing now.
I look around the yard again, trying not to let it get to me.
The grass is up to my ankles, clinging to the front slatted fence that badly needs painting.
It’s overwhelming to look around and see everything I need to do, but going inside won’t change that.
Since the stroke, Dad has taken up painting and diamond art and anything else he can find to keep his mind busy and his hands working.
The result of that is canvas after canvas tucked into all the crevices of our old home.
Dad’s not in a position where he can work, and he gets frustrated more easily, but the antidepressants he’s on help him maintain the happy personality he’s always been known for. I worry that it’s all an act that will crumble at some point, but it’s not on me to police his emotions.
I’m having enough trouble policing mine right now.
I really believe I’m at a good place with it all.
I have friends, colleagues who I grab a beer with, I love the kids I coach, and I’ve grown into myself a lot.
I’m no longer working a million jobs to keep things steady, and between working at the high school during the week and picking up shifts teaching peewee kids on the weekend, I have more free time than ever.
Now that it’s summer, I have a full schedule again, because this is where I work my ass off offering private and group coaching to fill our bank accounts.
And all it took was a couple-of-seconds encounter with Jensen Hawke to bring all that down again.
Fuck me.
He looks so different without a screen between us. I guess, being offseason, he’s in relaxed mode, but the scruffy stubble and red eyes were a surprise. In all these years, he’s never switched up his schedule, so why now?
“Tai? What are you doing out there?” I glance over at Dad’s familiar, slightly slurred words.
“Just thinking.”
“Thinking hard is what it looks like.”
I send a smile back his way. “You know how much I love the great outdoors.”
That’s a complete lie. I’m an active guy, and I go for runs every morning, but that’s time I use to switch off. When it comes to anything outdoorsy, I’ve never been the first one to volunteer. My body is made for the cold of the hockey rinks and the Vermont winters. Not sunshine and dirt.
“You okay, kid?” he asks, worry sneaking into his tone.
Even if I weren’t, it’s not like I’d tell him. But as far as okay goes, I am. Being haunted by my past was a blip. “Yeah, I think it’s past time I gave the lawn a mow. Just trying to get the motivation.”
“Why don’t I help you?”
Dad offering is a good thing, even though there’s no way he’ll be able to push the lawn mower.
The stroke has left him stiff down one side, and while movement wasn’t something they initially thought he’d regain, he’s worked hard—and gotten lucky—with how much he recovered.
“Tell you what, I’ll deal with the asshole grass, you get to work weeding those garden beds.
There’s a chance there are still flowers in there somewhere. ”
“Let me get my hat.” He shuffles back inside, and I want to kick myself for the off-the-cuff idea.
Spending my morning off dealing with the lawns is the last thing I want to be doing, but at least it means a few weeks between having to do it again. Then the cycle will continue.
I strip off my shirt and tuck it into my shorts, then fight to open the door on the metal shed around the back that we keep everything in. Thankfully, half of the backyard is taken over by trees, but that still leaves a lot of work to be done.
There’s a good chance this is going to take longer than I hoped.
The backyard takes two hours to wrangle, and when I push the mower around the front, my back is already aching. I find Dad kneeling in front of a garden bed, halfway through meticulously weeding it.
“Ah, look. Still a few pansies in there.”
He grins with the good side of his face. “Might plant some milkweed too.”
“That would look good.” Even though I know the likelihood of it happening will be low, if he’s being positive, then I’ll match his energy.
Dad reaches for a dandelion and plucks out a fluffy white one. “Make a wish?”
I give him a flat look. Dad’s always had a thing about wishing on dandelions or the first star at night. I’ve always had a thing about knowing it’s all make-believe. “No, thanks.”
He gives a raspy chuckle and blows it himself. “Gotta be hard being so cynical all the time.”
“I’m not cynical. I’m logical.”
“And lacking whimsy.”
I snort, because where am I supposed to have time for whimsy in between working my ass off and looking after him? “What did you wish for?”
“The same thing I always do. For my boy to be happy.”
“I’m happy.”
“Un-huh. So you gonna tell me why you were really sitting out here this morning?”
My original instinct is no, especially since it counteracts my point, but if I don’t get this out, it’s going to keep eating at me.
“Jensen Hawke is back in town. I ran into him at the cafe.”
Understanding fills Dad’s light blue eyes. “Huh.”
“Yeah.”
“What did he say?”
Remembering Hawke’s reaction is almost funny to me now. “Pretended he didn’t know who I was.”
“That asshole.”
“Eh … I did it to him first.”
It’s a dicey topic because I know Dad feels guilt over me walking away from my dream, and I feel guilt over how bitter I was initially.
“Shoulda told him,” Dad mutters, yanking at another weed.
“I know.” The thing is, if I’d told Hawke about Dad back then, he would have felt bad.
He’d be starting his new life and always feeling like he had to check in, and as unfair as it was to him at the time, I was dealing with enough.
I didn’t need the constant reminders of him existing and thriving in a way we were both supposed to when all my energy was going into being okay with how things turned out.
Then I’d held it against him when he stopped trying.
Emotions are the fucking worst.
“Next time you see him,” Dad says, “give him a kick for me.”
I chuckle, imagining Hawke’s reaction to that. “You know what, maybe I will.”
“Think you’d still be friends? If you went off and played hockey together?”
It’s a question I’ve considered a lot. “The likelihood of us staying close was always small.”
He hums. “I bet you would have.”
Before the conversation can get depressing, I lean down and plant a kiss on the top of his Boston hat. “No regrets from me. What-ifs aren’t helpful, remember?”
“True.”
“Now, let’s finish so we can set up for lunch.”
I get a step away when Dad speaks again. “You don’t think …”
“What?”
“Remember that kid you told me about?”
It takes me a second to follow. “The one on my team?”
“Who looks like Jensen.”
I’m curious about where he’s going with this. “Yeah …”
“You think it’s weird that his mom died and now Jensen is back in town?”
All the thoughts in my head come to a grinding halt. “Wait, what happened?”
“You didn’t hear? Happened a week or so ago. My walking group was talking about it.”
“Holy shit.” My thoughts immediately spin to Kasen Delany. The focused, snarky, lanky kid who joined the team this year. His resemblance to Hawke is absolutely uncanny, and while I refuse to speculate, I couldn’t help asking him about his parents.
“Mom’s annoying, but she’s the best. My dad is an asshole who ran out on us because he didn’t want a kid.”
His answer had made me suspicious, and the curiosity was almost too much, but I didn’t let myself pry more.
Running out on a kid isn’t something I can imagine Hawke doing, but at the expense of hockey?
That’s all he ever was, and I’d like to say I think higher of him than that, but it’s been a really long time.
Instead, I kept a closer eye on Kasen than I usually do with my players.
He’s always the first one at training and the last one to leave, so I’ve had more time with him than most.
I don’t know whether to hurt over the fact that he’s lost his mom, who he was close with, or spiral over the fact that all my suspicions might be correct.
Is he Hawke’s son?
And did Hawke really run out on them to live his dream?
No matter how many times I question whether I made the right decision with Dad, I know it was the only one.
I could never abandon someone who needed me.
I guess Hawke and I were never as similar as we thought.