Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
LUKAS
Ispot Hudson before he sees me.
He’s sitting halfway up the stands while the junior skating session finishes below, hood pulled up, one foot hooked against the metal bench in that restless way teenagers have when they’re trying very hard to look unbothered.
A few parents linger near the glass watching their kids wobble across the ice, but Hudson isn’t paying attention to them.
He’s staring down at his phone instead, expression blank enough that I know immediately something is wrong.
The second I recognise him, my heart clenches.
For a stupid moment, instinct kicks in before thought does. I almost lift a hand to wave, almost call his name.
Then I remember the goodbye and Kate crying, and the look on Hudson’s face the last time I saw him.
I stop walking.
The arena smells faintly of melted ice and coffee from the kiosk downstairs, the noise quieter than usual now that the main training session is over.
A few of the guys are still on the ice finishing drills while staff move equipment around near the benches, but everything feels distant suddenly. Muted.
Hudson glances up. The second he notices me, something shutters across his face, it’s not surprise or happiness either, more distance masked with something else.
Hudson used to light up when he saw me. Not obviously.
He’s too old for that. But there used to be this ease between us.
Sarcastic comments and hockey arguments.
Eye rolls whenever I deliberately annoyed him.
Now he just looks at me like I’m someone he doesn’t trust anymore.
I force myself to keep walking towards him anyway. “Hey,” I say carefully as I reach the row below him. “I didn’t know you still came here.”
Hudson locks his phone and shrugs one shoulder. “Mum had errands. I got bored.”
His voice is flat. Polite in a way that immediately puts me on edge because Hudson has never been polite with me before.
I nod slowly. “You watching practice?”
“Sort of.”
I grip the railing lightly, trying to figure out how to stand here without making things worse. I’ve handled screaming coaches, hostile crowds, and brutal playoff pressure. None of that feels remotely as difficult as talking to a fourteen-year-old boy who looks at me like I disappointed him.
“How’s school?” I ask finally.
“Fine.”
“And your mum?”
That’s when he really looks at me. Not angry exactly, but guarded. “She’s okay.”
The answer is immediate enough that I know he’s lying. A dull ache settles heavily in my chest. I glance out over the ice briefly, searching for words that don’t sound pathetic. “I have been meaning to—”
“You hurt her.” The sentence cuts straight through me. I look back at him slowly. His jaw tightens slightly beneath the hood. “Mum cried because of you.”
Every part of me goes still. I knew Kate was hurting, of course, I knew. I saw it in her eyes when I ended things. But hearing it from Hudson is different. Worse. It makes it real in a way I cannot hide from.
Hudson stares down at his hands after saying it. Maybe he didn’t mean for the words to come out that bluntly. But neither of us takes them back.
“I know,” I say quietly.
He huffs, frustrated suddenly. “Then why did you do it?”
There’s no accusation in his tone now. I move up one row slowly and sit down at a careful distance from him. Not too close. Giving him space to decide whether he wants me there.
Below us, someone whistles sharply on the ice while pucks ricochet against the boards. The familiar sounds usually calm me down. Today, they barely register.
“I didn’t leave because I stopped caring about your mum,” I say eventually.
Hudson keeps staring ahead. “That’s not what it looked like.”
I swallow hard. “I know.”
He finally glances at me again, then, eyes sharper than most adults I know. “So what? You just picked them instead?”
The question punches the air from my lungs. Them. Camille and Felix. My son.
I scrub a hand slowly over my jaw before answering because I owe him honesty at least. “I found out Félix existed and everything changed very fast,” I say quietly.
“I missed most of his life already, Hudson. Two years.” My voice roughens despite myself.
“I did not know how to balance any of it. Hockey. Your mum. You. Félix.” Hudson’s expression flickers at that.
“I was failing everyone,” I continue. “Especially your mum. And she deserves so much better than someone only giving her fifty per cent.”
He looks back toward the ice again, shoulders tense beneath the hoodie. “Mum said it wasn’t your fault.”
God. Of course she did. Even heartbroken, Kate still protected me. That makes guilt twist viciously in my chest. “She should not have had to defend me,” I murmur.
Hudson doesn’t answer.
A group of younger kids skates clumsily near the far end while one of the coaches shouts encouragement at them. One little boy falls dramatically onto his stomach and starts laughing instead of crying.
Normally, Hudson would’ve made some sarcastic comment about future NHL prospects. Today, he watches quietly. “You know what the worst part is?” he says after a minute.
I brace myself slightly. “What?”
“You acted like…” He trails off, jaw tightening again. “Like we mattered.”
His words hit so hard I physically feel it. They did matter; they still do. More than I ever intended them to. I lean forward, elbows braced against my knees as I stare down at the ice. “You mattered to me a lot, Hudson.”
“Yeah.” He nods once, humourless. “That’s kinda the problem.”
Silence falls again.
I think about Kate standing in her kitchen, laughing at my stupid jokes. About Hudson arguing with me over hockey stats during dinner. About the lake walk and how natural it all started to feel before everything exploded.
I miss them with a violence that surprises me sometimes. It’s embedded in my bones.
“I never meant to hurt either of you,” I say quietly.
Hudson shrugs again, but his eyes stay fixed on the rink. “Doesn’t really change that you did.”
No, it doesn’t.
One of the assistant coaches skates toward the bench below us, blowing the whistle to end the session. Players start filing off the ice in loud clusters, shoving each other and chirping back and forth.
Usually, I would already be down there. Instead, I sit beside a disappointed teenage boy who used to trust me.
And I realise something brutal with absolute clarity.
Losing Kate was devastating. But losing Hudson too feels unbearable in an entirely different way, because somewhere along the line, without even noticing, they stopped feeling separate.
They became home.
Hudson stands abruptly before I can say anything else. “Mum’s picking me up soon.”
I nod slowly and rise with him. “Okay.”
He stuffs his phone into his pocket, hesitating before looking at me again. “You really didn’t know about Félix?”
The question is quieter now. More hopeful than he probably means it to sound.
I meet his gaze steadily. “No. I swear to you, mon garcon, I did not know.”
Something in his expression loosens slightly. Maybe it’s understanding. Whatever it is, it’s more than I deserve right now.
He nods once, slow and thoughtful, then starts toward the stairs before stopping halfway down. “Mum still misses you,” he says without turning around.
Then he leaves before I can respond.
I stand there long after he disappears through the doors downstairs, the noise of the rink swelling back around me in waves.
And the full weight of what I lost settles properly into my chest.