Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
LUKAS
Coach doesn’t say anything when I’m late again, and I slip into the video room three minutes after the meeting starts. His eyes flick towards me briefly before he continues breaking down defensive coverage from last weekend’s game.
Usually, I am not the player who drags himself through the week, looking half-dead and distracted.
I sink into the nearest empty seat beside Callum, rubbing my jaw as the footage rolls across the screen in front of us.
My body feels heavy. Not sore from hockey, though there’s some of that too.
Bone-deep exhaustion that sleep isn’t fixing, because I barely sleep long enough for it to matter.
I’ve been sleeping on Camille’s sofa for weeks now, too afraid to leave in case he forgets me.
It’s not ideal, but it makes sense in my head.
Félix woke up twice last night, crying for Camille. Then once for me. The second time wrecked me more than I want to admit.
I still don’t know what I’m doing with him. Every day feels like learning an entirely new version of myself while trying not to fail everybody else in the process.
Callum nudges my elbow lightly. “You alive over there?”
“Debatable.”
He studies me before lowering his voice. “You look terrible.”
“Merci.”
“I mean it lovingly.” He pulls an energy drink from his bag and hands it to me.
I huff out a tired breath that almost resembles a laugh and glance back toward the screen before Coach catches us talking. But the truth is, I barely absorb a word of the meeting. My thoughts are everywhere else.
The fact that Camille’s residency schedule means she’s already talking about travelling between galleries in London, Manchester, and Edinburgh over the next few months.
The fact that Félix cried when I left this morning, and I haven’t seen Kate in almost a week now, but she’s still everywhere inside my head.
I thought distance might quiet some of it. Instead, it feels worse.
Training is brutal. Coach skates us hard from the second we hit the ice, barking instructions sharp enough to cut through the cold air while we run drills over and over until my legs feel like concrete.
The rink has always made sense to me. Pressure. Structure. Routine. You work harder than everybody else, and things usually fall into place eventually. Now even hockey feels off-balance. I miss a pass from Callum during transition drills, and it clatters against the boards behind me.
“Christ, Devereaux,” he snaps. “Where are you?”
“Sorry.” The word comes automatically, but frustration flashes hot under my skin immediately after. Because he’s right, I’m anywhere but here.
Coach blows his whistle sharply. “Again.”
My lungs burn by the time we finish scrimmage work, sweat soaking through the base layer beneath my pads despite the freezing arena air.
The guys are loud, heading back toward the locker room after practice, shoving each other and arguing over some missed shot during drills, but I hang back slightly, dragging my helmet off as fatigue settles harder into my shoulders.
“Luke?” I blink, turning to find Callum watching me from the tunnel entrance. “You coming?”
“Yeah.”
But it takes me another second before my feet actually move.
Callum drops onto the bench beside me in the locker room, nudging my knee with his. “You need sleep.”
“I need about six extra hours every day.”
“That too.”
I pull my jersey over my head slowly, tiredness dragging at every movement.
“You talked to Kate again?” he asks more carefully.
My stomach twists instantly. “Not properly.”
His expression shifts slightly. “That bad?”
I stare down at my gloves in my hands for a second before answering honestly.
“I don’t know how to do this without hurting somebody.”
Callum is quiet for a moment after that. Then, “You’re allowed to be overwhelmed, you know.”
“Feels like everybody else would prefer if I was handling this perfectly already.”
“That’s because everybody else isn’t suddenly finding out they have a two-year-old kid.”
I let out a rough breath, leaning forward with my elbows braced on my knees. “I keep looking at him and thinking…” Callum doesn’t interrupt as my throat tightens slightly. “He should already know me.” The words scrape on the way out.
“He will,” Callum says eventually.
“Maybe.”
“No.” His voice is firm. “He will.”
I nod, but the reassurance doesn’t fully settle.
Every time I start thinking about Félix, guilt follows immediately after.
About the way I’ve disappeared from Kate and Hudson’s lives almost overnight while trying to figure out how to become somebody’s father.
My game is off, and it’s affecting my team.
I pull my phone out again while the room stays loud around me. Still nothing. I should probably be relieved. Instead, disappointment lands heavily in my chest anyway.
By the time I get home that evening, my flat is dark and painfully quiet.
Camille texted earlier to say Felix finally fell asleep after refusing dinner and demanding cartoons in French for an hour straight.
Apparently, he only wanted me to read to him tonight.
That alone nearly made me turn the car around, but we both agreed I needed to sleep before the next game or I could get benched.
I drop my keys onto the kitchen counter and stand there motionless, exhaustion pressing into every inch of me. This is not sustainable. I know that now. I’m trying to be everything for everybody all at once, and I’m slowly failing at all of them anyway.
The worst part is, every choice feels wrong. If I think about Kate too long, I feel like the worst father alive because nothing should matter more than my son right now.
My phone buzzes against the counter, and for one stupid, hopeful second, my chest lifts. Then I look down and see Hudson’s name.
Hudson: We got destroyed at training tonight. Think my coach hates us.
A laugh escapes me. I stare at the message for a long moment before typing back.
Lukas: If you can still walk afterwards, it wasn’t not hard enough.
The typing bubble appears immediately.
Hudson: That sounds exactly like something you’d say.
My chest aches because I can hear his voice saying it. I can picture him rolling his eyes. And suddenly, I miss them with such force that breathing becomes difficult.
Not just Kate, both of them. The thought makes me dizzy. Somewhere along the line, without meaning to, they started feeling dangerously close to being family.
Another message appears.
Hudson: You still coming to my game next week?
I freeze, and the ache in my chest turns sharp. I don’t know what my life looks like next week. I don’t know if Félix will need me. I don’t know if Kate even wants me near them right now. And I cannot be another man who disappoints that kid.
My hands drag slowly over my face, and guilt crashes inside me.
Tabarnak.
I stare at Hudson’s message for almost a full minute before replying.
Lukas: I’m trying my best, buddy.
The answer feels pathetic the second I send it. I toss my phone onto the sofa and pace across the flat, restless energy clawing under my skin despite how tired I am.
I know exactly what I have to do, and I hate it. I love Kate enough already to know I am hurting her with every cancelled plan and delayed text message. Every distracted conversation, while part of my brain stays somewhere else entirely.
And Hudson. Christ. Hudson is watching this happen. Already bracing himself for disappointment before I’ve even fully let him down.
The realisation settles heavily and horribly in my chest. I can’t do that to them. Not while everything in my life feels like it is collapsing and rebuilding itself at the same time. Not while I am still trying to figure out how to be somebody’s father.
I stop pacing and stare out across the dark city through my apartment window.
The answer feels unbearable, but also inevitable.
I have to let her go.
At least for now.
Before I hurt her enough that she never forgives me for it.