Chapter 28 Collin #2
“I love your mother, Collin. Loved her from the moment she walked into that hockey rink with you trailing behind her, all skinny limbs and determined eyes. But I was scared. Scared of commitment, scared of responsibility, scared of being what you both needed.” I think about Christmas.
How I’d told Iris I always suspected Hal and my mother were more than what they pretended to be.
“I told myself I was doing the right thing, keeping things professional. Coach and player’s parent.
Friend and friend. I told myself you didn’t need another father figure.
That your mother didn’t need the complication.
” Hal’s voice roughens. “But the truth is, I was a coward. And I lost eighteen years with the woman I loved because of it. Eighteen years of maybe’s and almosts and moments that slipped through my fingers because I couldn’t bring myself to reach for what I wanted.
” My throat tightens, a burning pressure building behind my eyes.
“Mom never said anything,” I murmur.
“She wouldn’t have. She had her pride, just like I had mine.
So we danced around it for years, always one step apart, never quite finding the rhythm.
” There’s a tenderness in Hal’s voice now.
“Thank God we finally figured it out, but those years... they’re gone, Collin.
Time we can’t get back.” His voice lowers, more serious than I’ve ever heard him.
“Don’t make my mistake, son. If you love this woman—really love her—then fight for her.
Love her loudly. Love her in front of God and everybody. ”
“What if I mess it up?” I whisper, voicing the fear that lives in the darkest corners of my heart. “What if I hurt them?”
“I know I taught you a lot about hockey over the years,” Hal says, his voice steady once more, assured.
“But I thought I’d taught you a lot about being a man too.
Now I know I’m not your dad... and that’s my mistake in life.
Not marrying your mom. Not claiming you.
But damn it, I helped raise you. I did. And I know I taught you better than that.
” I close my eyes, feeling the truth of those words seep into my bones.
Hal had been there—for every game, every practice, every triumph and failure.
He’d taught me how to throw a proper punch and when not to.
How to stand up for what was right, even when it cost you.
How to be the kind of man who kept his promises.
“I taught you to be kind and good and honest,” Hal continues, his voice a lifeline across the miles.
“And you are all of those things, son. That man took so much from your childhood. Don’t let him take this too. ”
Something breaks loose inside my chest, a tightly wound knot of fear beginning to unravel. I draw a deep breath, feeling it fill my lungs, my mind suddenly clearer than it’s been all day.
“I love her,” I say, the admission simple but earth-shattering in its clarity. “Her and Jamie both. I want to build something with them.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Hal asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice, the pride. “Go get your girl.”
“It’s not that simple. She asked for space. Said she’d see me Friday for the finale.”
“And you’re going to respect that,” Hal says, not a question but a statement of fact.
“Yeah,” I agree, though every cell in my body screams to go to her now.
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t plan. Can’t prepare. Can’t figure out exactly what you’re going to say to prove to her that this—the two of you together—is worth fighting for.”
“Thanks, Hal,” I say, voice rough with emotion.
“Anytime, son.” The word settles between us, acknowledged at last for what it is—not biological fact but a chosen truth. “One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m proud of you. Always have been.” I swallow hard against the sudden tightness in my throat.
“I know, Hal.” When we hang up I get up and walk to the refrigerator, carefully removing Jamie’s drawing from beneath the magnet.
I study it, trace the crayon lines with my fingertip, following the path of Jamie’s imagination.
The heart on the door, the way he’d used three different shades of brown for Iris’s hair.
A life rendered in waxy primary colors. One I hadn’t known I wanted until it appeared, fully formed and startlingly right, in my life.
The certainty settles over me like a second skin.
I know what I need to do. Not later. Not Friday. Now.
Seattle rain clings to my skin, my clothes, and my hair as I stand in Marcus’s doorway, breathing hard, water pooling beneath my feet on the hardwood floor of his office.
The dash from my hastily parked car has left me winded, though I suspect the tightness in my chest has more to do with what I’m about to do than any physical exertion.
Marcus looks up from his desk, surprise quickly hardening into a barely contained fury.
The fluorescent lights above cast harsh shadows across his face, deepening the lines around his mouth, accentuating the rigid set of his jaw.
His phone sits accusingly on his desk—evidence of the dozen calls I’ve ignored since dawn, each one a summons I’ve deliberately avoided until facing him on my own terms became inevitable.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. Water drips steadily from my jacket, marking time in the charged silence between us.
“What the hell, King?” Every syllable is clipped.
“I’ve been calling you all morning. Half the PR team’s been calling you.
Too busy becoming tabloid fodder to answer your damn phone?
” His words carry clear disappointment and frustration.
Yesterday, they might have made me second-guess everything.
Not today, though. Not after I’d finally figured out what I wanted.
I step fully into his office, letting the door swing shut behind me with a decisive click. My heart hammers against my ribcage.
“We need to talk,” I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice, the way it doesn’t betray the electric current of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“About Iris. About the team. About what happens next.” Marcus leans back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight.
His expression darkens, a thundercloud gathering force.
The vein in his forehead starts to show.
“That right?” he asks, the question deceptively casual.
“Because from where I’m sitting, there’s not much to talk about.
The sponsors are livid. Social media is having a field day.
The board is breathing down my neck.” Each statement lands like a body blow, precise and painful.
“And you want to know what happens next? I’ll tell you what happens next.
You’re going to issue a statement apologizing for your lapse in judgment, distance yourself from this.
.. situation, and pray to whatever hockey gods you believe in that it’s enough to salvage what’s left of your career, if the sponsors don’t immediately demand to drop you.
” Heat floods my body, despite my rain-soaked clothes.
I clench my hands at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
“That’s not going to happen,” I say quietly.
“Excuse me?” Marcus’s voice drops an octave, nostrils flaring as his skin turns red.
“I said,” I repeat, stepping closer to his desk, “that’s not going to happen.” Water drips from my hair onto the polished surface of his desk. He doesn’t blink. “I’m not apologizing, I’m not distancing myself, and I’m certainly not ending things with Iris.”
“You’re not grasping the situation, King. After all that work we did cleaning up your image, rebuilding your reputation with the sponsors, and what do you do? You dive headfirst into another scandal. We agreed you’d stay focused on hockey. No dating drama, no tabloid headlines, no distractions.”
“Because I’m dating a single mother?” I ask, keeping my tone even despite my rising frustration. “That’s considered a scandal now?”
“Because you’re publicly involved with someone when we’re actively trying to get your image back on track,” Marcus says, standing up to face me directly.
“The sponsors signed on for the reformed Collin King. Team player, focused athlete, no drama. No playboy bullshit. And now suddenly you’re all over the tabloids with a woman and her kid?
Getting into altercations over this girl?
Sponsors don’t like surprises, and your girlfriend—”
“Her name is Iris,” I say firmly.
“—your girlfriend,” Marcus continues, ignoring my correction, “represents exactly the kind of complication we promised them you were done with. The sponsors want predictable. They want reliable. They want—”
“Someone who doesn’t have a real life,” I finish.
“They want someone who never forms relationships, never falls in love, never actually lives.” I run a hand through my wet hair.
“That’s not me, Marcus. And I won’t pretend it is, not even for the sponsors.
” Marcus reaches for his phone, jabbing at the intercom with far more force than necessary.
“Shannon, get in here. Now.” He releases the button without waiting for a response.
“You think this is just about image? About what looks good on a billboard? This is about reliability, King. About trustworthiness. About whether this team—this organization—can count on you to make sound decisions.” The word reverberates through me.
Trustworthiness. The irony isn’t lost on me.
Walking away from Iris, from Jamie, that would be the true betrayal of trust. The door swings open as Shannon makes her way in, blonde ponytail swishing behind her.
“You needed me?” she asks, her professional mask firmly in place.