Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
TAI
Iflop down on the couch next to Dad, who’s working on a paint by numbers. This one is a lion face, mane filled with hundreds of tiny sections to paint. Dad’s tongue is out on one side as he very carefully brushes the red over the canvas.
“It’s looking good.”
“Thanks.” A smile lights up his eyes. “Getting there.”
It’s about half-finished so far, and it’s one of his better ones.
Dad sets down the paint, and when he glances over at me, he does a double take. “You look happy.”
“I am.”
“Did something happen today?”
Did something happen? Just everything I’ve been hoping for since I pulled my head out of my ass and reevaluated my life.
I’m not expecting everything with me and Hawke to be perfect, or even to go back to what it was, but we’ve cleared the air, and when I dropped him off, I gave him my number, and he called my phone so that I’d have his.
It’s a different number from what he used to have, and it feels a good kind of weird to have that direct access to him again.
“Thank you for speaking to Hawke.”
“Ah.” Dad’s face gets all bashful. “Didn’t do much. Mostly talked about Kasen.”
“Well, you said something that made him come and talk to me, so thank you. We’ve been together all afternoon.”
The genuine happiness I watch fill him almost makes me cry. It’s been a day, I guess.
Dad is one of the strongest people I know, so I wasn’t expecting me reconnecting with an old friend to affect him as deeply as it’s affecting me.
Hawke’s special. He always has been. It’s rare to find someone I click with immediately and fiercely, but that was always him for me.
“What did you do?” Dad asks.
“Went down to the river like we used to. Talked a lot. Got a lot off my chest, and …” I laugh, thinking about how I was Hawke’s big, queer awakening all those years ago. “Hawke told me he’s bi. Apparently, he used to think I was hot back in the day.”
Dad’s weak laugh is a shadow of how it used to be, but considering there was a time when I thought he’d never laugh again, I’ll take it. “You are still a good-looking kid.”
“Got it from my old man.”
“And what about you?”
“Me?”
The look on Dad’s face warns me that I’m going to hate whatever comes next. “Think he’s a bit of all right?”
Something tickles my gut. Hawke is … fuck, he’s sexy. The athlete’s body, that brooding stare, the way he carries himself with so much goddamn confidence I want to strangle him for being so talented and knowing it.
“A bit more than all right, then?” Dad teases.
I huff and brush it off. “Obviously, he’s good-looking. I have eyes. At this point, I’m happy to be back on speaking terms, and if we end up friends again, even better.”
Dad grows serious. “You missed him. I’m sorry about that.”
“I missed him a lot. But that’s not your fault.”
“Course it isn’t. I didn’t ask to have a stroke. I’m sorry anyway though. I thought you’d be friends until the end.”
I wave my phone his way. “Well, I have his number now, so there’s still hope.”
“You boys were made for each other.”
That sentence hits harder than it should. There’s something about being with Hawke that feels different than being with anyone else. Even today, through the awkward waves of the past, I could breathe. Relax. Be more honest than I’m used to being anymore.
I dumped a lot of shit on Hawke, and he didn’t flinch, not even when I admitted to what a manipulative little shithead I was.
So, yeah, in hindsight, I’m glad we had the time apart, even if it will never not hurt.
This time, I can refocus on building a healthy friendship and not fixating on the heated way he checked me out as I left the water.
After cooking dinner, watching a movie, and making sure Dad gets to bed okay, I flop back onto my bed, still not able to shift my grin. I never believed he’d forgive me or give me a second chance, and the fact that it feels like it’s happening has my limbs all floaty.
I don’t know how long I lie there in the dark, but I can’t switch my brain off. I keep replaying moments from today over and over—from when Hawke stormed into the ice complex to when he was happy and relaxed, floating down the river.
It’s possibly the most happy and relaxed I’ve been as well.
When it’s clear I’m not going to sleep anytime soon, I kick out of bed and go hunting for a past yearbook.
I know I kept them, but fucked if I know where I stashed them all.
Under my bed is a whole lot of dust, an old hockey stick, boxes of trading cards, and a wad of paperwork I probably thought was important at one point but can definitely be recycled now.
I drop onto my ass, looking around at my cluttered room, remembering the rest of the house is as overwhelming and trying not to let that feeling of overwhelm hit me again.
It’s a result of having busy lives, and I can’t see that changing anytime soon.
Though … I suppose it’s not like I’m sleeping now.
I start under my bed, trying to keep the noise down so that I don’t wake up Dad. I breathe through the thick layer of dust invading my nostrils and make a pile for keeping, a pile for trash, and a pile to be donated. It’s a bit of a hit to the face how quickly the trash pile fills up.
It’s after one when I finally stumble on my yearbooks. They’re shoved all the way back in the top of my closet, and the corners of the box they’re packed inside are pulling apart.
There’s more dust, a few cobwebs, but when I open the first one, I’m immediately thrown back to high school.
Our team were really fucking good, and everyone was obsessed with Hawke. He smirks up from so many of the pages, everyone’s favorite hockey captain, and that didn’t change when we reached college.
But while he was everyone’s favorite, I was his.
For the first time, I’m able to enjoy the memories.
On a whim, I take a picture of one of the pages and open it in a photo editing app, where I crop his head and increase it to double the size.
Then I flick him the first message in years.
“You always did have a big head.”
I give him a minute, but he doesn’t reply, which isn’t surprising based on how late it is. I leave the old box next to my bed, wanting time to actually go through it properly, and I’m determined to finish my room before I crash.
Hours drip by, and by the time I’m done, I can barely keep my eyes open. The keep pile is back in place, and even with the two others sitting by the door, my room looks bare.
I still need to vacuum and clean all the places I haven’t been able to get to for an embarrassing amount of time, but it feels like a huge weight has eased incrementally from my chest.
I strip out of my clothes, needing a shower but not wanting to wake Dad, and collapse on my bed.
It’s been a really long fucking day.
And I loved every minute of it.
My message notification wakes me. I curse myself for not putting it on silent, but when I glimpse the name on the screen, I worry I’m hallucinating for a second.
Then yesterday floods back in, and I scramble upright, squeezing my eyes open and closed until my vision isn’t foggy with sleep. I’d been planning to sleep in, but with a single message, I’m wide-awake like I didn’t crash four hours ago.
Hawke:
You know what they say: big head, big …
Playing along, I type out my reply.
Me:
Ego?
Hawke:
Not the word I was thinking of.
Me:
Responsibility?
Hawke:
This isn’t a Spiderman situation.
Me:
Ah. Feet. Right. But from memory, mine are definitely bigger.
Hawke:
I dunno, I got a good look at your “feet” yesterday, and I’d say it’s too close to call.
Of course, the one thing I promised myself that I wouldn’t think of is what he brings up first. The lust that flooded his face was an expression I’ve never seen him wear before, and … I liked it.
There’s a special sort of pride that comes from turning a guy like Hawke on.
Me:
Well, you did take a pretty good look, so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.
I’m hoping for more flirting, but he changes the subject.
Hawke:
Got any plans today?
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, refusing to get excited.
Me:
Nothing. It’s my day off.
Then I hurriedly add,
What about you?
Hawke:
Every day is my day off at the moment. I’ve actually asked Amelia if we can catch up.
There goes my hopes of hanging out with him.
Me:
That’s good. What are you going to talk about?
Hawke:
Well … I don’t think I want to sign Kasen over.
Me:
That’s a big call.
Hawke:
From what I can figure out, she’d probably be more likely to get custody than I am—I’ve done a lot of Googling since I got home last night. But I do have a solid case.
Considering how ready he was to bolt a few days ago, this feels like progress.
It’s hard though. This situation is a mess.
Kasen’s whole life is here, and his grandma has always been a huge part of it.
But Hawke and Kasen both deserve the chance to have a relationship.
At the end of the day, there really is no simple answer.
Me:
Do you want custody? Like what will that mean? You take him back to St. Louis to live with you?
Hawke:
I guess so. You said he’s got talent and I have the money and connections to help him go all the way.
Me:
Yeah, but as you saw yesterday, being a parent isn’t just about money. What about when your schedule is intense, and you’re traveling a lot through the season? Does Kasen go with you? Or does he stay in St. Louis by himself?
Hawke:
You don’t think I should do this?
Me:
Actually, I do. I think you should try. But before you go demanding to uproot Kasen’s whole life, I think you need a plan first.
Hawke:
I hate you.
Me:
Because I’m right?
Hawke:
Because you’re ALWAYS right.
It’s like I can hear that message in his grumbly voice.
Hawke:
Okay, well I still have to talk to Amelia. Tell her … I don’t know. That I want to be in his life, I guess.
Me:
That’s a good start.
Hawke:
Will you come with me? Not going to lie, she’s kind of terrifying.
I want everything to be able to say yes and support him through it. Just the fact he’s asked at all means more than I’ll let on. But I can’t get involved.
Me:
No. Kasen’s my player so I have to take a backseat on this one. But I’m happy to give you a lift there and then wait in the car until it’s over. At least then, good or bad, you can let it all out to me?
Hawke:
Smart as always.
My cheeks hurt from the way I’m smiling at my phone. Then one more text comes through.
I’d love that x