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23

LIAM

I wrap my arms around Jessica and never has anything felt so good. Not the thrill of winning a game. Not even the Cup. Because winning isn’t what it’s about. Rather, not losing. Control mostly. If I let it slip, everything will fall to pieces. Again.

Her arms lace around my middle and she holds tight with her cheek pressed to my chest. Her eyes are closed and she squeezes. It’s full-contact warmth and sends a whoosh through me.

I expect her to let go, but she doesn’t. Through some form of osmosis transfer, like snapshots in a dream, I feel alternately sunny, light, and hopeful.

We remain like this for far longer than a customary hug, but it isn’t awkward, more like melts something within me and between us.

Just before we part, I kiss her forehead which is like popping a cork because she’s no longer wearing her ‘Everything is fine’ face or the look of terror I glimpsed right before she mushed the pie into my face.

“I never want to see that again,” I say.

She shakes her head. “No, Liam. Your days of barking orders are over?—”

My lips dip and my stomach tumbles. Was I barking orders? I feel the need to explain myself. “I wasn’t—I was being direct.”

“When you talk to me, use a different tone. You’re not the hockey captain of my team. Try again. More sotto voce . Less aggressive. More tender.”

Chastened, I clear my throat. “Usually, you’re all smiles, heart wide open, pure sunshine. Whatever came over you was intense.”

She lowers onto the sofa and says, “That’s not who I want to be.”

“Right, you’re Miss Sunshine all the time.”

She shakes her head. “Not always. I lived under a rain cloud for more than half my life. It took Grandma Dolly baking me a cake for me to see things differently. To trust, mainly myself.”

“She’s a great baker.”

“The only reason I’m still here in your house is because I got a second chance. I’m willing to give you one too, mostly for KJ’s sake.”

The words slice deep and the knife glints in my eyes, reflecting the truth of how miserable I am sometimes. How everything between Jessica and me balances on the edge of that same knife.

She holds my gaze with a fierce strength I’ve rarely witnessed, reminding me that while the sun can warm and be a beautiful source of light, it can also burn.

“I wasn’t always sunny, as you say. My mother abandoned me. I never knew my father. I was in foster care, group homes, shuffled around, rejected. Mostly because I didn’t talk. Didn’t trust my voice. Didn’t believe anyone would listen. Unfortunately, I was repeatedly proven right. Thankfully, Grandma Dolly didn’t need me to speak to ‘hear’ me. To understand me. Same for you and KJ.”

My chest clenches at her story and the truth behind her calling me out for the way I’ve maintained distance between my son and me. Distance I’m trying to close. However, a door to the past remains open, blocking my way. From the darkness sounds a voice, telling me I’m not good enough for Jessica or KJ.

I rasp, “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to be. I’m not going to say that I wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for all my previous experiences. I could do without some of those. However, I know my worth. I learned to trust myself. I would never lie, cheat, or steal. Least of all your velvet box.”

I shake my head. “Jessica, I never thought you?—”

“If you haven’t already learned this lesson, buckle up, big daddy, because you’ll need it as KJ’s father and it’ll serve you well in just about every other interaction you have. Sometimes actions speak louder than words.”

My head turns fuzzy and my eyes burn as a memory rushes back. “I know.”

I’m about to tell Jessica everything, but the words don’t come because my actions nearly took a life. They stole a dream and I’ve lied about it ever since.

She tilts her head and her face softens. “You do?”

I close my eyes for a long moment and take a breath. “Yes, I do. I’ll work on it. Be less closed off.”

“Less demanding.”

I wince, “I’m being clear. Not leaving room for error or misinterpretation.”

“You come off like an egotistical thug living in a high tower who thinks everyone is here to do his bidding. I’m your assistant, not your servant.”

It crushes me that she thought that, even for a second. I’m not sure where this sudden glimpse of self-awareness comes from, but the army I built to protect myself from ever making a grave mistake again stands down.

I repeat, “I know.”

“Okay, so?—?”

“So, I’ll play by your rules. Say please and thank you. Use sotto voce— speak gently and kindly.”

“Good. That’s great.”

“But I wasn’t done. So long as you never wear Grimaldi’s jersey again. Anyone else’s for that matter.”

“I’ll follow your rules too and that means not wearing yours either.”

My pulse trips as I sit down on the couch. “But what if I want you to?”

“You want me to wear your jersey?”

I lift my shoulder in a bashful shrug because that’s as far down that road as I can travel for now.

“Sure,” she says, sitting down a measure away.

I bite the inside corner of my lip and blurt, “I blew it at practice earlier.”

I tell her about how my tough love approach with the guys didn’t go over well. Vohn has ownership over that method. Apparently, they need something else from me, but what? At this point, I don’t know how else to be.

Our conversation weaves between a few anecdotes about how Grandma Dolly took her in, hockey, and the kid.

We communicate, connect. It’s the most open I’ve been in a long time, and it’s nice. A breath of fresh air as we listen to each other rather than give advice.

She asks, “Why were you put in a semi-permanent penalty box?”

I replay it in my head all the time, never having discussed it with anyone. Not my father or Hendrix, not even the other guys on the team.

“During an intense game, Badaszek brought us back to the locker room to regroup. He got down on the ground and was demonstrating us crowding around the net. It was a funny position and I accidentally laughed.”

“So you were suspended? No wonder you’ve been so ornery. I would be too if I was practically fired for smiling.” She tosses me a pointed eyebrow.

I wince. “Coach wasn’t intending to be funny. I was running on very little sleep and already on his short list for what was called unnecessary roughness and, uh, a bit of a scandal in the league a few years back.” I scratch my temple. “I tend to have a short temper when things don’t go my way.”

“Maybe you should go to daycare with KJ. Learn how to behave yourself and play with others.”

I snort. “The two-week suspension seemed extreme at the time, but I can’t help but wonder if Badaszek knew I had some personal matters to tend to and wouldn’t request time off.”

“Is that when you found out about your son?”

“I was less than two weeks in, playing Mr. Mom. I had to jump right into fatherhood without any idea what I was doing. I think I cracked.”

Jessica’s hand presses into my arm. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that alone, but why didn’t you?—?”

“Ask my family for help? Because I?—”

“You think you messed up? KJ is not a mistake. He’s the greatest blessing in your life.”

The words pierce my heart. My eyes well up. I look away. She’s right though. I love that little boy with all my heart, but it also brings with it a risk.

“Sounds like your coach offered you grace.”

“And you are too. I don’t deserve it.” My voice threatens to break.

She takes my hand and laces her fingers through mine.

“I ruin things, Jessica. I’m the mistake,” I whisper so softly I’m not sure she hears.

A long beat passes.

“That’s not true.”

“I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing a great job.”

“No, you are.”

“We are together.”

I shake my head. She’s just being her usual nice self. Never has anything bad to say. Then again, she did make it clear that actions speak louder than words and I think there’s still some whipped cream by my ear. I’ll have to shower again.

I continue, “But none of that explains why he made me captain when I came back.”

“Your coach must see the leader in you.”

“More like loser,” I mutter.

“The potential to be a great father. For some people, it takes time to grow into parenthood. For others, they just never quite get there.”

Her hand leaves mine, taking with it warmth and hope. I reach for it, securing my palm around hers.

Gaze gentle, she says, “Liam, don’t be so hard on yourself. Especially when the little boy was just left on your doorstep. You had no idea. Most dads have nine months to prepare. Then, they’re still not ready. No one is. We learn as we go. Do you think you could try that as a captain and a dad?”

“How did you get so smart? So insightful? Reflective?”

“I was angry at the world for a long time about my situation until I realized no one owes me anything. Each day is a gift. It’s up to me whether I receive it or toss it in the trash and light it on fire. Return to sender.”

I balk.

She smiles. “Or greet it with a friendly wave and do my best to get through, leaving things better than I found them. I chose to make my life into a little positivity project.”

No, she’s a masterpiece.