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“With Emily, yes. She goes out of her way to provoke Jax every single time. Other than that, no. He cooks and plays video games with the twins. They’ve talked about going to the gym.Aurora tinkers in the studio, reads, and naps. They spent a day shopping. They do well here.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
51
ETHAN
“You know,if you stayed in New York...” Rocco trails off.
We sit in a line of cars waiting to pass the Control Building at Rikers Island.
“I can’t, and neither can Jackson. We both have contracts.”
“The New York hockey team will take you back. They’d take you both. They’d be crazy not to.”
It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. We’d have a semi-normal life here, far from Kyle and publicity. We’d be blissfully isolated for the most part, but... “I don’t want to join the family business, no offense.”
“None taken. You’re right where your father wanted you to be. The war of his generation is over. No one is asking anything of you, but we enjoy seeing you.”
After being cleared through the gates, we drive past the Control Building and Ward Visitation Center to the Men’s Correctional Facility.
Barbed wire fencing surrounds the outside, and it’s not much better on the inside. The group cells we pass in processing remind me of cages—humans confined in dingy cages.
Maybe this is why he never wanted me. This is no place for a child.
We sit on a bench bolted to the floor in a brightly lit room. I drum my fingers on the metal table, and my knee bounces.
Do I call him Vincenzo or Enzo? Certainly not Dad.
The door opens, and a man in an orange jumper enters. He has salt-and-pepper hair and pale skin, as if he hasn’t seen the sun in years. He’s several inches shorter than me and much less bulky. He appears healthy for seventy, not heavyset but not starved.
He looks older than the pictures I’ve found online, but there’s no mistaking who he is.
The door shuts and locks behind him. No officer comes in, and he’s not in cuffs as I expected.
He sits opposite me. “Wow. I never thought I’d see the day.”
I nod, my head bobbing ever so slightly. “Yeah, me either.”
We stare, taking each other in. It’s strange seeing my eyes on someone else.
My father casually rests his cheek on his hand, elbow on the table, giving me his full attention. “So, tell me about yourself. Rocco says you’re divorced, took a job in LA, and have a model girlfriend.” He smiles, brightening his eyes. “Sounds glamorous.”
He has my dry humor—or I have his, rather.
I scoff. “Not at all. Marriage wasn’t for me. I accepted the coaching position to distance myself from my ex.”
Rocco pushes his phone across the table to my father. “His girlfriend, Aurora.”
I crane my neck to see a zoomed-in image of a bikini centerfold of hers. “Really? That’s the picture you show him.”
“I have a current photo.” A wide grin spreads over his face. “Calm down.”
He slides his finger along the screen, flipping through pics of Aurora, some professional, a few at the loft, until he lands on one of us from this morning. She’s snuggled in my lap, my hand cradling her stomach, my lips pressed to her forehead.
“Where are you getting these?” I ask, unable to hide my annoyance.
“The twins. I wanted a photo with you two together.”