AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Is that what this is about? Your health?” I can’t keep the crack from my voice, the vise around my throat tightening.
“No. That was the catalyst to speed up the timeline.” He lets out a defeated sigh. “This has more to do with family obligations.”
We lock eyes, two players at a standoff, neither willing to drop the gloves first. But then, something in him shifts, like the release of a breath held too long.
“Maybe I was scared,” he admits, and the words come out small, almost lost amidst the trophies and accolades lining the shelves behind him, all mine, none his. “Scared you’ll end up like me, full of regrets.”
“Then let me take that risk,” I say, softer now because I see it—the flicker of the man who once chased a dream my granddad squashed.
“And partially because I was jealous.”
That grabs my attention. “Jealous?”
His eyes become distant as his expression becomes wistful. Joy and sadness shape his features and become palpable. He runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair before speaking. “Blake, I owe you an apology.”
My brows knit together, the grip on my emotions teetering. This stone-faced and stubborn man now looks like he’s carrying the team’s loss on his shoulders alone.
“Back when I was your age…” He trails off, finding something in the grain of the wood desk that I can’t see. “I had dreams, too. Not of ice rinks but open fields. I wanted to move to Colorado and start a ranch.”
A ranch? The thought blindsides me. I’ve never heard him talk about anything besides Morton Textiles, our family’s legacy—a legacy he assumed I’d step into. The idea of him with a wide-brimmed hat shading his eyes from the sun and cattle grazing behind him is foreign and unreal.
“Your mom and I would talk for hours on end about it,” he says, picking up a horse paperweight that now makes more sense. “When I brought it up to Dad, he threatened to disown me. After a while, the dream felt foolish. Life took its course. I let that dream slip away.”
“Let it slip away…” I echo, the words tasting bitter, the realization striking me. His opposition to my NHL dreams wasn’t just about risk or pride. It was about this, a ghost dream he buried beneath carburetors and quarterly reports.
“But when you started playing hockey and showed natural talent, I needed to squash the idea before it implanted in your brain. Imagine my surprise when he insisted you pursue this. I’ll never understand that man, but I wanted to spare you the hurt of having your goal within reach only to have it snatched away.”
It makes more sense now. The arguments they had. Me thinking Dad was being an asshole while Granddad was my savior. Doesn’t make what Dad did right, but I can understand better.
“Guess we’re more alike than I thought,” I say, the words hanging there, suspended.
“But your mother’s right,” he says, his voice raspy and tired. “Your heart isn’t in the company; Em’s is. And she’s good, brilliant even. I meant what I said. It’s time to break the tradition that plagued this family for years.”
I can breathe fully for the first time in my life. But as joyous as the words sound, the oxygen tank by his desk reminds me of how fragile he’s become. No number of words can change the limited time my father has left. There is no getting better. Only learning to live with a new normal.
“Your health…” My throat tightens, squeezing out the words. “You don’t have?—”
“Time, Blake. I know.” He reaches out to bridge the gap between us. But all I can think of is the clock ticking down on his life.
My grip on anger loosens, fingers uncurling as I sit across from him. The tension shifts and becomes something we share instead of fighting over.
“Son…” He leans forward, the effort etching deeper lines into his face. “Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I can’t see how you’ve been moping around here.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, wondering where he’s going with this. “Sir?”
“I’m sick, not blind. I know you’ve been pinning over that girl.”
My mouth falls open, but he continues.
“Don’t worry about me. If chasing the girl will make you happy, go after her. Do whatever it takes to make her happy. Nothing, not even your granddad, could stop me from going after your mom.”
Love wars with fear and sadness as I fight off the threatening tears. I never heard Dad talk about Mom this way. It makes me see him through fresh eyes. The weight of his words sinks in, heavy and raw, stirring newfound respect for the man who raised me, flaws and all.
With a lump in my throat, I nod slowly. “I will, Dad. I promise.”
“Love you, kid,” he says so softly I almost don’t catch it.
“Love you too, old man.” And it’s true, despite everything we’ve been through.
