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“Sure,” I agree, begrudgingly. Isla notices my discomfort, and surprisingly, looks a little sympathetic as Sadie pulls out pucks from her nightstand one by one. There are a handful of commemorative ones from special games or nights. There is also an official game one signed by Tyson, and one from the season he won the Calder Trophy. I feign excitement. Sadie loves them, her pride in the collection evident by the big, crooked smile when she shows me each one. How am I supposed to feel about her having a puck with Murphy’s face on it when I didn’t even know she existed? Why does Tyson get to know I have a daughter, but I don’t?
Bitterness is hard to swallow down so instead it manifests in that anger toward Isla that is becoming all too fucking familiar. None of this is my kids fault though, so I talk to her about everything she wants to talk about until her words start to slow, and her eyes start to droop.
“I have to leave in the morning to go back to Boston,” I tell her.
“Why,” she asks, her eyes popping back open.
“I need to get my cat and my car so I can bring them back here.”
“You have a cat?”
“I do. I didn’t like living by myself, so I got a cat to hang out with me.”
“But it’s been by itself now, cuz you’re here.”
“Yep, so I should go get her, huh?”
“I know that’s right,” she says slowly. “What’s her name?”
“Saint,” I whisper.
“Like Mommy.”
I hum. “Go to sleep now, princess. I’ll call you every night.”
“Night, Daddy.”
“Night, baby girl.”
Isla stands outside the door; I grab her elbow and lead her down the hall.
“You named your cat after me?”
“You let another man play father to her?” I shoot back.
“She loves hockey and gets excited by knowing professional players.”
“Like her dad?” I accuse.
“Listen,” she says, getting bent out of shape quickly. “I told you. Whether you remember that or not, isn’t my fault. Since that night, every decision I made was for Sadie. I couldn’t afford to be weak or sad because she needed me. And it was hard, Cillian. Harder than you could ever fucking know. So, you don’t get to come in here and be critical about the people, or the relationships, that kept me and Sadie healthy.”
“What does that even mean, Isla? You’ve never been weak a day in your life.”
“You haven’t been around enough to say that. You missed a lot while you were fucking Trina.” She struggles to get the words out. When she walks toward the bathroom, I let her go without a fight.
“What the fuck are you doing, Wylder,” Willa asks, startling me. I didn’t even see her hiding out in the kitchen.
“Fuck if I know, Willa. I’m not sure about anything anymore.”
“Do you still love her?”
“Of course, I do. I never wanted to hurt her. This isn’t all on me though, she’s made mistakes, too.”
“Sure, she has,” Willa says, propping her chin in her hand as she leans on the counter to study me. “She also had a hard pregnancy and things didn’t get easier after Sadie’s birth. It’s not a lie when she says it was harder than you can understand, and she still carries a lot of guilt.”
“She should feel guilty for not telling me she gave birth to my daughter,” I argue. “I’m not the only villain in this story.”
“Maybe neither you nor Isla are the villains,” she says as if I should know this already. “But someone let the villain into your relationship and that sure as fuck wasn’t my sister. She tried, Cillian. And at nearly every step that twat, Trina, was standing in the way. But Isla wasn’t the same woman after you broke up. She wasn’t as strong. You want her to open up to you about everything you weren’t here for? You’re going to have to earn back some trust. She won’t tell you anything if she doesn’t feel safe.”
