The Game Changer

Chapter Twenty-Six

IAN

The rage I feel at seeing my father crowd Lila as she shouts in his face in my defense is a living, breathing thing. It thumps in my ears and my blood and all through my body, so much so that not even the flicker of love that sparks from Lila taking him on for me can quell it. I barely register the moment in the time that it takes for me to rush my father, but suddenly his shirt is fisted in my grip and his body is up against a wall as I bump him with my chest.

“I do.”

He blinks at me, momentarily stunned, but he recovers quickly, his anger superseding any surprise I might have given him.

“Get off me, boy.”

I fist his shirt tighter. “Apologize.”

“Like hell I will,” he snorts. “I don’t give a damn about your flavor of the month. I care about the fucking mess you two have made. I know it was one of you.” His eyes flick over my shoulder toward Abby. “Or both. If you think that either of you will squeeze another dime out of me after this, then you’ve got another thing—”

“I never wanted your money!”

I turn my head toward a heaving, red-faced Abby, her eyes wet and her fists shaking as she stares at our father. Her chest rises and falls with shaky breaths, her lip quivering as she goes on.

“It was never about your money,” she says in that same exasperated tone. “I just wanted you to notice me. I just wanted you to be my fucking dad.”

My father surprises me by laughing, the sound harsh and cruel. “You did this? Just you? Wow. I have to admit, I didn’t think you had the balls. Do you even realize what you’ve done? You not only fucked with me, but with Ian too. Was it your goal to alienate everyone you had with this little stunt?”

Tears run down Abby’s face now, and her crushed expression as she finally lets herself realize exactly who Bradley Chase is crushes me in turn. My chest squeezes as I watch Lila go to Abby’s side, her hand curling around Abby’s, and I’m so in love with Lila at this moment that it hurts.

“Why couldn’t you love me? What did I ever do to you, Dad? You treat me like I’m just a—”

“Mistake?”

The cold tone my father uses to spit the word is gutting, and I hear Abby’s sharp intake of breath.

“I treat you like one because that’s what you are, Abigail. I didn’t need the headache that came from being in your life when your mother was alive, and that’s exactly what I told her when she let me know you existed. If she hadn’t gone and made herself a nuisance one last time by up and dying, then I wouldn’t be dealing with the full weight of my mistake right now.”

I shove my forearm into my father’s chest, gritting my teeth. “Watch your fucking mouth. You don’t fucking talk to her like that. What is wrong with you? Abby isn’t the mistake, you are. You’re the one who made your choices, Dad,” I sneer. “You cheated on my mother. You brought Abby into the world. You treated me like a fucking pawn to push around for the sake of your image my entire life. You turned your nose up at a chance for a relationship with the only child you have left who had any respect for you.”

“I made you,” my father seethes. “Without me, you’d be nothing.”

“You didn’t do shit for me,” I bite back, shoving him harder. “You gave me hockey, and that’s it. What I did with it was me. Just me. I don’t owe you anything. You weren’t there for me the entire time I was growing up unless it was beneficial to you, and now I don’t have any reason to put up with you at all. Now that there are no more secrets, I can happily tell you that we are done.”

“You’re just going to stand there and take her side? She hurt your mother, you know. She’s already kicked me out of the house. We were happy, and Abigail took that away from her. Are you really just going to let that go? Some fucking son you are.”

“Abigail didn’t do anything but quit accepting a life living under your thumb. It’s what she should have done in the first place. It’s what I should have encouraged her to do in the first place.”

“And this sudden attack of conscience is worth your mother losing her owner’s rights? Is it worth you losing your position? Because if you think I can’t work around your contract, you’ve got another thing co—”

“Enough,” I shout, leaning my full weight against him and bringing my face close. “It’s done. I don’t care what you do from here. You have no more power over me or anyone else. Understand? I should have never gone along with your lies. I should have never kept your secrets. I won’t ever do it again. I’m going to let the world know exactly who you are, and I am going to smile the whole time.”

I can see it, the moment my father realizes that the carefully crafted image he’s shirked his entire family for over the years is slipping through his fingers, and I wish I could say it was satisfying. I wish I gained any sense of triumph from it, but all I really feel is sorrow. Sorrow for the life we could have had, for the father he could have been, for the sister standing behind me who I could have been better for, for the mother I kept the truth from when all it did was ensure her suffering was tenfold when she finally experienced it—especially knowing what she’ll lose.

“I know people,” my father says quickly, grasping for leverage. “I could take away your career in a heartbeat.” He shoots a glare in Lila’s direction. “Your little whore’s too.”

“Sir,” Jack chimes in, choosing that moment to join the fray. “I realize that I have only one arm right now, but I will one thousand percent shove my foot up your ass if you even look at my sister again.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” my father hisses. “None of you.” He levels his gaze with mine. “Without me, Abigail will have nothing. You think I’ll keep paying for that fancy school she’s going to? I won’t shell out a dime for her. I won’t—”

“You won’t have to,” I interrupt, giving him one last shove with my forearm to his chest before stepping away. I go to Abby, who is still trembling slightly, and throw my arm around her to give her strength. I can feel Lila on her other side, and the warmth she radiates gives me strength. I don’t need this man who made me. I have everything I need right here. “I will. I’ve got more than enough to take care of her. She doesn’t need you. We don’t need you.”

My father is fuming, his face red and his body shaking, and for a moment, he almost looks as if he might want to lunge at the pair of us—but he just stands there quaking with rage, his nose wrinkling in disgust and his mouth curling into a sneer.

“You’re both the worst mistakes I ever made,” he practically spits. “I’m sorry I ever gave either of you a minute of my time.”

“And I’m sorry I ever let you take a minute of mine,” Abby says quietly, her voice small but steady. Her hand reaches up to squeeze mine, which is curled around her shoulder, and she stands a little straighter. “I don’t need you.”

“Neither of us do,” I agree.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” Jack calls from closer by the door. “Leave with some dignity, for Christ’s sake.”

My father looks from me to Abby to Lila and even to Jack, his confidence slipping away with every second as he realizes there’s nothing here for him. I want to hope that he feels some regret throwing away the only family he has left, but I know better. I’m just above letting it affect me anymore.

“This isn’t over,” he growls, stalking away. “Not by a long shot.”

“Tell it to the papers, man,” Jack says cheerfully, bowing slightly as he gestures out the open door. “I’m sure you’re going to be hearing from them a lot.”

“Useless. All of you.” My father stands in the open door, curling his lip. “You’re all a bunch of fucking—”

Jack slams the door in his face, smiling blithely. He regards the rest of us. “Anyway.”

I turn to Abby, who is swiping at tears still leaking from her eyes, wrapping my hands around her shoulders and looking her over.

“Are you okay?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I will be.”

“I’m so sorry, Abby.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” she hiccups. “Not totally. This will hurt you. Your mom too. I should have thought it through. God, did he mean it when he said she might lose her owner’s rights? What the fuck? I could have done something different. I could have—”

“It doesn’t matter now,” I tell her. “It’s done. What did we say about being sorry?”

She lets out a watery laugh. “Don’t be sorry, be better?”

“Exactly.”

“I have plenty of that to do too,” I admit. “You aren’t the only one who had a hand in hurting my mother. I have things of my own to mend.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Abby says in a small voice.

“I know,” I say, meaning it. “You should have never been in the position to do it in the first place. I should have never kept you a secret. You’re an amazing person, Abby. Too amazing to live your life in anyone’s shadow. Now you can live it as loud as you want, and I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.”

“We all will,” Lila adds, curling her hand over one of mine still clutching Abby’s shoulders.

Lila’s eyes meet mine, her smile bright enough to cast a light on the darkest parts of me, and I know right then that a future with her in it will be just as bright.

“I am happy to provide enthusiastic high fives and ill-timed comments,” Jack adds.

Abby laughs again, her chin tucking into her chest. “God, this has been a weird day.”

“And it’s not over yet,” I sigh, stepping away from her. “I still need to go check on my mother.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Lila asks, her voice full of concern.

God. I don’t even know what I was doing with my life before she burst back into it. She’s too good for me, more than I ever thought to hope for, but at this very second it fully hits me that she is mine, and I vow that she always will be.

I pull Lila to me, wrapping my arms around her and letting her immediate return of my embrace bring me strength and comfort. “I think I need to do this alone, but thank you.” I pull back slightly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Wait for me?”

That smile. That fucking smile. It’s all I’ll ever need for as long as I live.

She doesn’t miss a beat when she says, “Always.”

I hate this house.

I’ve hated it for a long time, but I hate it more now. Looking up at the extravagance of it all, the size that’s always been too much for three people, let alone two now, and thinking of my mother inside, all alone and no doubt hurting, makes me feel small. Like I’m a child again.

I press the doorbell and wait anxiously on the porch, twisting my hands as I hear my mother’s voice calling from the other side. Even through the door she sounds…tired. It makes my guilt worse, makes that sick feeling that’s been building in my stomach more prominent.

She looks as tired as she sounds when she opens the door, her blue eyes so clear that they always seem to see right through me wet with old tears and red-rimmed over dark circles. It makes her look smaller than she is, more frail.

“Ian,” she says wearily. She shakes her head. “Glad you finally came to visit.”

“Mom,” I try. “I’m—”

“Not here,” she sighs, stepping away from the door and gesturing inside. “Come in.”

I follow her through the house, watching her stop at the wet bar and pour herself a generous glass of wine. My entire life, my mother has been the picture of put together. Being the wife of Bradley Chase has meant she’s had to be—so it’s a little startling to see her in old flannel pants and a loose robe over a simple cotton T-shirt. Even on Christmas morning, my mother was always photo ready.

She carries her glass to the couch, taking a heavy sip before patting the cushion beside her. “Well, come on.”

I step through the room carefully, as if I might set her off at any moment, bracing myself for her anger, her sadness, her disappointment—knowing I deserve all of it. I settle next to her as she takes another drink of wine, silence hanging between us as I try to decide what the hell I should say, how I should even begin to apologize.

“Well,” she says before I figure it out, “I’d hoped you’d come to visit in better circumstances.”

There’s amusement in her voice, but like her face, it seems tired.

“I should have,” I tell her honestly. “I wanted to.”

She nods slowly, her gaze fixed on the opposite wall. “How much did you know?”

“I…” That panic that almost overtook me earlier claws its way up my chest, and I have to physically wrestle it down, knowing that my mother doesn’t need any more to deal with right now. “Everything,” I tell her in a small, guilt-drenched tone. “I knew everything.”

“For how long?”

“Since…” I wince, preparing myself for everything I deserve her to feel toward me. “Since I left Boston.”

She nods again, still staring at the wall. “I guess all of that makes sense now. I always wondered why you felt you needed to leave us. Why you couldn’t just come clean about who that woman was.” She shakes her head, smiling fondly. “I knew you would never do what they were saying you did.”

“No, but I did something worse,” I tell her. “I lied to you. To everyone, but more importantly you. I thought…” My voice cracks, and I have to take a deep breath. “I thought I was protecting you, and Dad, he—” I shake my head. “He told me to go.”

She stills. “He what?”

“He told me the team would be better off if I left. That everyone would be better off.”

“That conniving bastard,” she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest. Her face pinches as she shuts her eyes, seeming to try to collect herself. “So all these years when you said you were happy there, that you didn’t want to come back…?”

I nod. “He was strongly against it.”

“But you did, anyway,” she points out.

“Eventually.” I bob my head in a nod. “I wanted to finish here. At home. I decided it was worth risking his anger.” I make a frustrated sound. “And now look what’s happened.”

“Ian,” Mom sighs. “You aren’t the one who made all these bad choices. Your father is.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m as bad as he is. I chose not to tell you, and now you’re suffering even more than you would have if I’d just been truthful. None of this is what I wanted. I never wanted to hurt you, Mom.”

My mom takes another slow sip, her eyes faraway, as if she’s thinking. She draws in a deep inhale just to expel it slowly, bobbing her head in a nod. “Sometimes hurt is inevitable, sweetheart. Heart pain is a wound just like any other, but lies are an infection. Sometimes they’re deep enough that you don’t feel that pain, not for a while, but they keep the wound from healing right, they bury deep and make that wound bigger and bigger until it’s not a little cut anymore but a gaping, bleeding thing. Until it’s so big you have to amputate.”

“Mom,” I choke out.

“Shh, Ian.” She waves me off. “I’m not angry with you.”

I wince. “You aren’t?”

“Honey,” she sighs. She turns to face me then, pressing her palm to my cheek. “No child should ever suffer the sins of their parents. What your father did…That should have never been your burden to bear. I’m sorry that it was. I’m so sorry you’ve carried this for so long. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.” Her thumb brushes back and forth across my cheek, not unlike she’s done a million times in my youth, and relief bleeds into the guilt to form a confusing cocktail of emotions that makes it hard to breathe. “I’m not angry that you didn’t tell me, because I understand it, I think, but I’m angry that it cost us years of the closeness we used to have. I’ve missed you so much, son. I’ve lost your father, and it feels like I lost you, too, somewhere along the way.”

I reach to cover her hand with mine. “You haven’t lost me. I’ve just been so afraid. I didn’t want to disappoint you. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. I’ve hated every single second of lying to you, Mom. I thought I was protecting you. I thought—”

“Shh,” she says again, my rising voice and quick breaths obvious to her. “It’s okay. We all have a piece of blame in this.”

“Mom, no. You don’t—”

“Sweetheart.” She chuckles. “I know who your father is. Sure, I didn’t know this, but I’ve known for years what kind of man he’s become. What that legacy of his turned him into.” She looks away again, sighing. “He hasn’t been the man I fell in love with for quite some time.” She shrugs listlessly. “I’ve been holding on to something that’s been gone a long, long time. Maybe if I’d let go sooner, you never would have found yourself in this position to begin with.”

“No, that’s not—”

“Shush, I said.” She cocks a brow, eyeing me from the side. “This is what we’re not going to do.” Her voice is stern, and I sit up a little straighter instinctively. “We are not going to carry any more blame or guilt or whatever else you’re feeling over this. Not anymore. You’ve no doubt had years of it, and I think that’s quite enough suffering for one tragedy, don’t you?”

“But I—”

“And also, we’re not going to let this thing fester anymore. We’re cleaning out all the infection. You’re going to come see me, often, and you’re going to accept my obnoxious calls checking in on you, and you’re going to answer all my texts that have no real point to them. Yes?”

A watery laugh escapes me as her hand curls in mine. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“And you’re going to bring Delilah over for dinner,” she says firmly. “I haven’t had a proper conversation with her since you were teenagers, and I want to know what the woman you’re seeing has been up to. You are seeing her, aren’t you?”

“I…Yeah.” Thoughts of Lila have a real smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good.” She nods, a tension in her eyes and a set to her jaw as she adds, “And I would like to meet Abigail.”

I blink in shock, my mouth falling open as words fail me. When my brain comes back online, I manage a, “What?”

“I’ve been reading her story,” Mom says softly. “That poor girl. She’s been so alone in all this. I can’t imagine. She’s just as much a victim as the rest of us in this.”

My chest swells with overwhelming love for my mother, so much that it almost completely swallows the guilt inside me. Almost. “She’s…She’s definitely had a hard time.”

“Well, that’s something we can all relate to, don’t you think?”

“It is.”

Mom smiles then, squeezing my hand. “I love you, Ian. You know that, right? I’ve loved you since the day I found out about you, and I’ve never stopped. I’m sorry that so much got in the way of that, but the beautiful thing about life is that no one moment can destroy us, not really, because there will always be another chance to make things right. I think this might be ours.”

I wrap my arms around her then, careful not to jostle the glass she’s still holding. I hear her set it on the coffee table before her smaller arms curl around my waist, the familiar scent of her perfume tickling my nostrils and reminding me of better times. Times that I hope we can get back.

“I love you, too, Mom,” I murmur against her hair. “So much.”

“I know, baby.” She pats my back. “I know.”

I hold her tight for a moment, content to breathe her in, before another thought strikes me, making me jerk backward. “The team. What about the team?”

“The team?” She cocks her head. “What about it?”

“He said…” It hurts to think about, and unsurprisingly, hurts even more to say out loud. “He said if you got divorced the team would go to him. That my grandfather wanted it to stay with someone more knowledgeable.”

She blinks at me for a moment, and then she takes me completely by surprise by throwing her head back and laughing. “Is that what he told you?”

“I…Yes?”

“Oh, honey,” she chuckles, looking genuinely amused for the first time since I walked through the door. “I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, because I’m sure that’s just one more burden you’ve had to carry but…that’s not true at all.”

“It isn’t?”

“No.” Mom shakes her head. “Your grandfather hated your father. He didn’t even want me to marry him.”

My mouth gapes. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. He made sure that several stipulations went into our prenuptial agreement that ensured the team would stay with the family if our marriage ever dissolved.” She chuckles again. “I was so angry when he pushed me into doing that at the time, you know?” Another bewildered shake of her head. “I guess he knew what he was doing.”

“So…you keep the team?”

“I keep it all,” she clarifies, almost smug. “Your father will leave this marriage with only what he brought into it.”

“Wow. That’s…I feel bad for hating my grandpa all these years now. I thought he was a misogynist prick.”

She reaches to pat my cheek. “I wish you could have met my father. He would have loved you. He was quiet, but so strong. Just like you, really.”

“I don’t feel very strong right now,” I admit.

Her thumb strokes idly against my skin, her smile soft but still enough to pierce through the shadows hovering around my heart. “My dad used to say, ‘Strength isn’t measured by how quickly we pick ourselves up after we’ve fallen…A person’s strength is determined by their willingness to keep going once they’re back on two feet.’?”

“I…” My eyes sting, and I swallow at the lump in my throat. “Yeah. Okay.”

“You’ll keep going,” Mom tells me. “Even if it takes a while to pick yourself back up.”

I bring my hand to cover hers, the warmth of her palm soothing me. “You think so?”

“Yep.” Her lips tilt into a smile that is actually hers—the one that’s brought me peace since the first time I remember seeing it. “And so will I.”

I leave my mother’s house—not completely free of my guilt, because I know that will take time—but feeling confident for the first time in maybe ever that there will come a time when I’m free of it. When, as my mother said, I will finally recognize this as my moment to start making things right.

Standing on my mother’s porch, it’s overwhelming how much there’s only one voice I want to hear. One person I want to share everything that just happened with. I place the call with a soft smile on my face, and when her voice fills my ears, that same beautiful sensation of being so settled, one that only she brings, fills me up to the point of bursting.

“Ian,” she says with worry in her tone. “Are you okay?”

My smile widens, remembering something she said not too long ago.

The world won’t end if you’re okay, Ian.

“Yeah,” I tell her, meaning it, I think. “Yeah, I am.”