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Paul

W e’ve been in Michigan for a few days, just hanging out with my grandparents. Brendon is learning all about keeping chickens and goes out to collect eggs every morning with Seymour. Pretty sure he’s now planning to raise chickens once we leave college. My little weirdo.

I’m sitting on the couch, the pup curled up in my lap when the front door opens and my dad walks in. He freezes with his hand on the knob when he sees me, half in the doorway as we stare at each other. We look so much alike it’s startling. Like looking into my future. His hair is longer and turning gray, his beard is going gray too, but his eyes are empty. There’s no light in him, not like when I was a kid.

Seymour barks, and I drop my gaze and set the dog aside to stand.

I clear my throat and straighten my T-shirt just to give my hands something to do.

“Hey, Dad.” I look up, standing tall while I try to sort through my feelings. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” He closes the door. “I was going to tell Richard that I grabbed the poles I left in the garage.”

He starts past me to go look for my grandpa, and I can’t help the punched-in-the-gut feeling.

“That’s it?” I demand, clenching my jaw. “I haven’t seen you in years and all you want to know is why I’m not at school? You didn’t even wait for an answer.”

He stops but doesn’t turn to look at me, and I swear I’m fourteen again, just wanting my father to tell me that he loves me, that it’s not my fault my mother is dead, that I’m enough. I never got those words, and I hate myself for still wanting them over seven years later.

“I’m on break, by the way.” I move to stand in front of him so he can’t hide from me anymore. “I had my appendix taken out a while back. Did you know that? I got married too. How about that?”

He won’t look at me. He’s staring at his shoes.

“I hate you for abandoning me.” My words are quiet, but he flinches like I struck him. “I needed you, and you left me at the hospital. I deserved a lot better from you.”

My lip trembles, and my chest is tight as I stare at the man who was beaten down by life and he let it win. He wasn’t strong enough to fight to live.

“But I have to thank you.” My voice breaks. “I learned I will never give up. I’m a fighter, and no matter what life takes from me, I will keep going. Should I ever be blessed to have a child, I will spend every day of my life making sure they know I love them more than life itself. I will no longer be afraid of love because, what has that gotten you?”

The sliding glass door opens behind me, and I hear Brendon’s laugh cut off.

“Ryan, I didn’t expect you this weekend,” Grandpa says, and Brendon comes to stand behind me, his heat radiating against my back.

Dad looks between Brendon and me and nods. A tear rolls down his cheek, and it breaks my heart.

“I’m glad you’re a better man than I am.” His tone is rough, like he’s been smoking two packs a day for twenty years. Hell, it could be the truth, for all I know. “I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger, but every day I’m glad you had your grandparents.”

My throat burns with the warring emotions threatening to drown me.

“I’m proud of you. I hope you can believe that.” He turns to leave but pauses in the doorway. “I love you, son. You were always enough. It was me who wasn’t.” Then he’s gone, and I crumple to the floor.

A sob rips from my throat, and I mourn the loss of the parent that still breathes. I never let myself grieve him. Instead I wrapped my anger around me and used my fear of being him to keep people at arm’s length. Until a smart-mouthed redhead came into my life and made me fall in love with him.

Brendon pulls me against him and holds me tight as I finally let the pain out. It’s been years since I saw my dad, and I’ve never been bold enough to call him out on his shit. I was scared it would push him further away, make me harder for him to accept. But thanks to Brendon, to his unending love, I don’t need him like I used to.

“I love you,” Brendon says against my temple. “You are more than enough.”

I wrap my arms around him and let the rapid waves of sobs ease into a stream. Seymour’s cold nose touches my underarm, and I open up enough for him to burrow in between us.

“We’re a fam-damn-ily,” Brendon says, petting the pup. “No getting away from us now.”

I lift my face to his and kiss him softly. “We can’t keep chickens in our dorm room.”

“You are the sucker of fun!” he groans.

Grandma sniffles and comes over, chuckling at us.

“You were never the problem, baby.” She cups my face and kisses my forehead. “And your momma would beat that man for leaving you, but his shortcomings are not your fault. They never were.”

“Thanks for taking me in.” Another tear streaks down my cheek, and she brushes it away.

“It wasn’t ever a question, and we loved having you around.”

“Except your damn hockey gear smelled like shit,” Grandpa says, taking the basket of eggs and moving into the kitchen.

We all laugh because he’s not wrong, and it has not changed.

This right here is what family is about, and I’m so fucking lucky to have it.

Grandpa starts cooking eggs, and Grandma leaves Brendon and me to our moment.

I sit up so I can see Brendon’s face but don’t move out of his arms. “I want to get rings. I don’t care if they’re just those silicone ones for now until we can afford good ones.”

“Those come in crazy colors and shit, right? Can they do patterns? Can you have them, like, engraved or stamped or whatever?” His mind is spinning with possibilities, and I love that about him.

“I think you can get custom ones.” I shrug. “Why? What do you want on yours?”

“What don’t I want on it? Hockey sticks, obviously. A puppy face. Pizza. Michigan. The date we got married, ’cause I already forgot it.”

I start laughing and can’t stop until my stomach hurts and there are tears in my eyes. God, I love this man and the way his ridiculous mind works.

“Okay, the date is a good idea,” I concede.

“Come eat,” Grandpa calls, setting plates on the table. Brendon gets off the floor and offers me a hand up. Without a word, Brendon moves the chairs so we’re sitting next to each other and he can hook his leg over mine.

Brendon starts telling me about the eggs we’re eating—he collected them and is very proud—how the color of the yoke is an indication of what the birds are eating, and the taste can change depending on their diet. All of a sudden, he’s a chicken guru, and it makes me smile. I grew up with chickens; I’m well aware of what he’s telling me, but I won’t stop him from sharing what he’s learned. He’s excited about it, and I want to share in that with him.

Once everyone is done eating, I start clearing the table since it was usually my job growing up anyway.

“Since I was out with Gramps this morning doing men’s work, you can clean up,” Brendon says with the fakest straight face I’ve ever seen.

“Men’s work?” I scoff, picking up his plate. “You mean checking for eggs?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You realize that is typically a child’s job, right?” I laugh at his scandalized expression.

Grandma and I get the dishes done and the kitchen cleaned up pretty quickly while Brendon falls asleep on the couch. We should be doing some kind of workout stuff while in the off season, but we’re tired. I’ll get him back in the gym when we get back to Denver.

The mailman pulls up to the box at the end of the driveway and stops. He opens his door and steps out, coming toward the house.

“Grandma, Mr. Phillips is coming to the door.” She’s had the same mailman for twenty years.

I open the door, and he smiles at me.

“Hey there, Pauly. I found this in the mailbox and didn’t want it to get lost.” He hands me what looks like a metal wedding ring with a piece of receipt tape with words scribbled on it in pen.

“Oh, thanks.” I take them from him, confused when I see my dad’s handwriting.

Paul-

I’ve followed your hockey career for years. I loved your mother more than I loved my own life. I hope you can forgive me.

Dad

I stare at the ring in my hand that I never saw my dad take off. The silver band doesn’t look like much, but it has a story to tell. The story of a man who lost himself in grief.

I don’t know what this means, if it’s his way of extending an olive branch or his way of saying goodbye, and that hurts. As hurt as I am by his actions, I hope we can repair some of the damage and maybe start over.

Grandma rubs my back, reading the note in my hand, and she closes my fingers around the ring.

“I think your mom would love to have you wear that. It was a symbol of a promise he never broke.”

I give her a hug, the metal warming in my palm.

“I’ll think about it.”

She pats my back, and I sit on the couch next to my husband and puppy. Brendon stirs and shifts, leaning against me, and falls back asleep. Seymour grumbles and lays his head on my leg.

I don’t know how I expected my life to go or where I would end up. I definitely didn’t expect to be married to Brendon, but nothing and no one is more perfect than this moment.