Page 14

Chapter Thirteen

GREYSON

I’ve always been told that avoiding a problem won’t solve anything. It’s something that has been said to me more than once in my life, although it’s mostly been in reference to a struggle with school or hockey. Normally, I agree with the statement wholeheartedly.

Right now, though, I can’t guarantee that I can face my problem without losing my shit.

It’s been two days since I showed up at Stella’s door and learned the truth.

I could have stayed on her couch all night just listening to Stella talk about Harper. As she answered the endless stream of questions I had about our daughter, Stella showed pictures and videos to go with everything. Her camera roll was insanely full, a never-ending supply of captured moments that I’m thankful she had. Some were so similar, clearly taken seconds apart, but Harper’s facial expressions were slightly different. Stella said she just couldn’t bring herself to delete any, and honestly, I didn’t blame her.

There were even a couple that are now saved in my own camera roll too. Which also solved the problem of not having Stella’s number anymore.

She didn’t seem bothered by me texting her the following morning asking how Harper was feeling or if they needed anything. Then sent me an update that Harper was practically back to normal yesterday along with a picture of Harper on a little tricycle outside her house. If I hadn’t been on my way to practice, I probably would have turned my truck around and shown up just to watch Harper play outside in person.

It took every ounce of my self-control to wait until Sunday to meet my daughter. Not that I even had much free time at the moment since we’re only a month into hockey season. Tonight’s game is the final one in another three-day stretch, and the first two were both away games. Normally, I’d be taking the following day off and be dead to the world, but I wasn’t going to let anything prevent me from meeting Harper as soon as possible.

There was also the fact that I needed to have a conversation with my mother before then. For as much as I know that I need to confront her and find out why she kept this from me, I’ve been struggling with doing so in a way that will be productive.

I’ve never yelled at my mom, never so much as thought about raising my voice or even sassing her in the slightest. The anger that has been lingering under the surface for the last forty-eight hours is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Which is enough to tell me that I will most likely break the no yelling streak.

Missing nine months of Stella’s pregnancy and four and a half years of my child’s life kind of warrants yelling, though…

My teeth clench and I snatch my phone off the counter, pull up my mom’s contact, and hit call. There’s no doubt she’ll answer. While she prefers scheduled calls a few times a month, I hardly ever call unless something is wrong. The last time that happened was four years ago when I moved down here, and that wasn’t even for me. My dad had driven down with me to help me move and decided to stay a couple extra days so he could come to my first game playing with the Bobcats. Only he ended up in the hospital from second-degree sunburn after spending the entire day at the beach without sunscreen.

“What’s wrong, Greyson?” My mom answers before the first ring has even fully finished.

“I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to answer me straight up. No bullshit, no deflecting. Just an answer.” My voice sounds eerily calm, completely opposite from the chaos that’s raging inside me, but I’m okay with it.

“Young man, watch your language.” She gasps, no doubt clutching at whatever thousand-dollar necklace she’s wearing today.

I roll my eyes, not surprised in the least that she managed to ignore everything else I said so she could single out the swear word.

“Your adult son swearing should be the least of your concerns.”

“What happened? Did you get hurt? I didn’t think your game was until seven but?—”

“Why did you tell me that Stella left?” How I manage to keep my voice calm is beyond me. All I want to do is scream through the phone.

“Oh, honey.” My mom sighs as if we’ve gone over this a hundred times and she’s exhausted from explaining things to me. “I knew nothing good was going to come of that girl coming around again. Women like her are trouble. She’s probably hoping to get money from you. You need to stay far away from her.”

“Ah yes, money. She probably wants more to store next to that check you gave her over five years ago.”

There’s a long pause and I almost laugh.

“Check?” she asks dumbly, and I scoff.

“Yeah, you know, if you were smart, you would have checked to see if she ever actually cashed it.”

“Greyson, I don’t know what lies she’s telling you, but that’s exactly what they are. She’s smart, I’ll give her that. Painting me as the bad guy and trying to drive a wedge between us. She’ll say whatever she needs to get her way.”

“You mean like tell me we have a kid?” I placate.

“Oh, dear, please tell me she didn’t do such a horrible thing like lie about having a baby?” The tone of her voice makes my heart drop. I have to close my eyes and lean against the counter for support.

My mom forced me to go to countless parties and events with her. I had to listen as she said one thing to one person, then went behind their back and lied straight to the next person’s face. Not that any of them could tell the difference in the intricate web of lies and deceit she was weaving. She had everyone eating from the palm of her hand. But I picked up on the subtle shifts of her voice when she was deep in a lie or secret.

Which is exactly how she sounds right now as she digs herself deeper into her grave.

“Don’t give her a single cent. I have some connections and can figure out the best lawyer. We might need to get you a restraining order, but that’s no?—”

“Enough,” I snap, unable to listen to her go on any longer. For almost five years I wasn’t able to stand up for or support my girls and that stops now.

My girls.

It’s a thought that is so right, it eases some of my anger. But only a fraction.

“If you’re going to try to call someone else a liar, you might want to make sure they don’t have evidence that proves their innocence.”

“Pr-proof?” my mom stutters, her confidence finally faltering.

“Yup.” I put extra emphasis on the P before pulling the phone from my ear and pulling up a text message to my mom. I hit send on the picture that was drafted and waiting to go for this exact moment.

Stella didn’t even hesitate to say yes when I asked her if I could borrow the shoebox to go through everything, which is what I spent all morning doing.

I can tell the exact moment the attachment goes through as her breath hitches and if I heard correctly, a curse rings through the line.

“Maybe you should have followed up to confirm that Stella cashed any of the checks you gave her. Or maybe you shouldn’t have used your personal email. Or actually maybe the slip-up was your handwriting of “return to sender” on the letters she tried to send me.”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” she whispers without denying anything.

“You had no right to interfere like that. You had no right to keep my daughter from me.”

“I am your mother. It is my job to protect you,” she says, some of her usual steel coming back.

“You’re the one I needed protecting from!” I snap. “You knew how much I loved Stella, how much she meant to me. Yet you sent her away and made me believe the worst about her. Worse than that, you made me miss the birth of my child.”

“You would have turned down the scholarship!” She seethes back at me. “Your whole career, your whole life, was all about to happen. I knew if you kept going with that girl you would have let her hold you back. And if you knew she was pregnant? You would have kissed your hockey career goodbye.”

“You don’t know that.” Even as I say it, I know she’s not completely wrong. I’d like to think I wouldn’t have given up hockey completely, but I do know that whatever I did would have been the best decision because I would have had Stella by my side.

However, like Stella told me the other night, there’s no use dwelling on the woulda, coulda, shouldas.

“They were my choices to make, and you stole them all from me. Honestly, I don’t see how I can ever forgive you for that.”

“Greyson William, I did what was best for?—”

“Yourself. You did what you thought would work out best for you. The truth is out, so no use denying it now, Mom.” I shake my head, but I can’t find it in me to feel anything but a sense of rightness as I continue. “Your choice didn’t just hurt me, you hurt Stella and let my baby go four years without her dad. I won’t let that happen again. Until I decide otherwise, I suggest you stay silent. No calls, no texts. I will reach out to you when I am ready.”

“I think you’re being a bit too harsh.” My mother cries, but the sound only grates on my nerves.

“Actually, I think I’m being rather nice. This is the part where you get to face the consequences of your actions for once in your life.”

I don’t bother waiting for her response and end the call.

My chest heaves as I play back the conversation. While I managed to keep the yelling to a minimum, going no contact doesn’t lessen the anguish I feel.

The silence in my apartment feels almost deafening and my skin itches to move. I glance at the time, then at my gear bag by the door. If I were to leave now, there’s a chance I could beat anyone else to the rink to snag in some solo laps on the ice to clear my mind.

Dominik is normally the first one of us there, occasionally dragging along Dean or Landon. Before Dom came along, none of the guys even considered showing up a second before we were told to. Now it’s very rare to get time alone on a game day.

But it’s early enough now that I should manage at least an hour by myself.

With my mind made up, I snatch my keys and wallet from the counter and head out.

Once I park, I slip my earbuds in and blast my favorite rock band while I make my way inside, hoping security or any lingering staff will take the hint and give me space. Not that anyone usually bugs me. That’s part of the reason I even have the contract with Stella.

Which is something we’ll have to figure out how to end early, even if that means I have to buy out the rest of the contract. There’s no way I’m going to be able to keep things professional now.

No one stops me as I head into the locker room to get changed into my gear and skates. Even with the volume of my earbuds dangerously loud, it does nothing to stop my mind from wandering as I rush through the motions. It’s impossible not to think about Stella and Harper. The strength it took for Stella to do everything as a single mom blows my mind, regardless of the fact that I wish she hadn’t. Then I keep wondering what Harper will think of me, or if she’ll even like me at all.

Yeah, I definitely need to stop thinking.

It isn’t until I’ve finished tightening my laces and finally take my earbuds out that I realize my hope for solo skate time is a bust.

The music blasting in the arena vibrates through the tunnel as I head toward the rink. It would be wishful thinking to let myself believe it’s just an early sound check. Although that would have been preferable to what I do find.

Carter and Reid, two of the forwards on my line, are sitting on the half-wall cracking up while recording the scene before us on their phones.

Dominik, Landon, and Dean are all on the ice, jumping on their skates and doing a modified version of the “Cotton Eye Joe.” Landon falls behind, struggling to keep up with the beat. Dean adds his hockey stick to the mix, tapping it on the ice with each foot and screaming the lyrics at the top of his lungs. Dominik looks like he’s barely breaking a sweat and smoothly does the line dance on skates.

“What the hell,” I grumble just as Dean spots me from over Carter’s shoulder.

“Grey! Perfect timing. We have a running challenge to see who can do the ‘Cotton Eye Joe’ the best on skates.” Even as he talks, he continues to move.

I shake my head, trudging past the two watching from the sidelines.

“Aww, come on.”

“I’m not here to dance,” I say, trying to keep the bite out of my words, but the way Dean’s expression falls tells me I failed. He’s very much like a golden retriever puppy. Energetic, fast, and a little shaggy. He teases and jokes around the majority of the time, but he’s one of the most caring guys on the team. Hurting his feelings feels the same as accidentally stepping on a dog’s tail.

Landon frowns at me, but I avoid his gaze. The last thing I need is to be pulled aside by my captain right now. I flash Dean what I hope is a passive smile.

“Thanks, though,” I offer, hoping to make up for my mood. Sure enough, Dean is right back to tapping his stick and taunting Landon beside him.

I grab a half-full bucket of pucks from in front of the bench and skate to the far side of the rink. No one bugs me while I find my groove with solo drills and shots at the net. I’ve almost forgotten that they’re all here too until Dominik whistles as he skates up beside me, hitting the ice with his stick. I snap the puck I currently have toward him. We pass it back and forth, switch up our paths, and practice shots until we’re both breathless.

“All right, man, let’s take a breather so we don’t wear ourselves too thin before the game,” Dom says, snatching the puck from me and hitting it away. I’m about to push it to keep going, when I finally notice that we’re alone.

I nod and make my way toward the benches.

“You okay?” Dominik asks, keeping his voice low even though we’re alone.

A pitiful laugh slips between my lips, the sound unrecognizable even to me. “No.”

He comes to a stop in front of me. “Wanna talk about it?”

I’m about to say yes, the need to get some of this off my chest strong, but I hesitate at the last second. Stella and I didn’t talk about what I should or shouldn’t tell people. Would she be okay if I told Dominik?

The last thing I want to do is anything that would upset her or cross any of her boundaries, even if we haven’t discussed them yet.

“I don’t know if I can,” I tell Dom honestly.

I hold my breath, expecting him to push me for more, but all he does is place a hand on my shoulder.

“Is it because it’s me specifically or because of the people involved?” he questions, no judgment in his voice, just curiosity.

“It’s not you,” I tell him while ripping my helmet off my head. “I just…I don’t want to screw anything up and if I say the wrong thing or?—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it.” Dom pats my shoulder, meeting my stare head on. “I’m here when you need me.”

Emotions I’m not used to feeling threaten to pour out.

I’ve gone years keeping everything in check, but having Stella back in my life and finding out about Harper seems to have broken some metaphorical emotional dam I had built. Suddenly, I feel everything all at once and all the time.

When I see Stella tomorrow, we can figure some of this out. I know it’s going to be a long road ahead of us. There are a bunch of details still left to work through. However, I’ll do whatever she asks of me, as long as it means they’re both in my life.

I just need to make it through tonight’s game without losing my shit or falling apart.