“I thought we weren’t talking before food.” He paused for a beat before throwing a Molly Morrison level eye roll and tutting. “Russell called Mia, who came to visit you, then came home in a panicked mess. You really are dramatic sometimes – you know that, son?”
“Guess it runs in the family.” Linc’s grumble was loud enough to be heard as he turned to open his bedroom door. “Are we eating here?”
“There’s a hash brown casserole already in the oven.”
Linc bit down the urge to say something about how Mom had trained him well. He’d changed the bed, made a pot of coffee, and had a breakfast casserole cooking – how very domesticated.
He pulled out the coffee pot and topped up his dad’s mug before filling one for himself. Unlike his father, he liked it with milk and sugar. His eyes fell to the mug Cleo used for her tea when she visited. A pang of sadness struck him in the chest.
“Christ, you’re like a kicked puppy, making sad eyes at a friggin’ mug.”
“Don’t.” He shook his head to emphasize the warning. “You don’t get to have an opinion on my love life.”
“Sounds like I don’t get to have an opinion on any part of your life. Except that’s not quite true is it?” He sighed, twisting his wedding ring around his finger a few times. “You’re right about one thing though.”
Linc cocked his head. Had he ever heard his dad admit Linc was right about anything? “What’s that?”
“Myopinion onyourlife? That’s none ofyourbusiness. It doesn’t matter, or shouldn’t matter anyway.” Eyes trained on the steaming mug in front of him, he kept fidgeting with his ring. “I’m sorry you felt pressured into doing things I wanted you to do, like you had no other option, no room to express your own… well, anything, I guess.”
Dad was apologizing. To him. Had Linc fallen back to sleep? Or somehow hit his head? “You’re… sorry?”
His dad’s lips tugged into a smile under another eye roll. “Yes, Lincoln, I’m sorry. I make mistakes too sometimes, you know? And while I’m not always man enough to admit I’m wrong and apologize… well, let’s just say your mom was pretty clear about my need to vocalize my fuck-up this time.”
He rubbed his neck as a flush crept into his cheeks. “The guest room bed is not the most comfortable of places to sleep. From now on, we’re gonna refer to it as The Thinking Room. While your mom was smoldering in her anger at me, I had time to do a lot of thinking. And you’re right.”
He sipped his coffee before rising from his stool and checking the casserole. If they didn’t eat fast, every hungry college kid on the floor would get a whiff of the potatoey goodness and want in on the molten cheese deliciousness.
Dad scooped casserole onto three plates, leaving one to the side. “I told Russell I’d protect his portion with my life.”
Linc laughed. “Sounds about right.”
They returned to their seats, barely able to contain themselves from shoveling piping hot casserole in their mouths.
“You were saying I was right.” Linc gestured at his dad with a forkful of food. “Continue.”
It was his dad’s turn to laugh. “Youareright. I have no business trying to steer your life in any one direction. I guess I saw how good you were on the ice and assumed you’d follow in my footsteps. I didn’t think to check. I just pressed forward thinking I knew best.”
He scooped up a mouthful of casserole, but paused before putting it in his mouth. “I had no idea how talented you were outside the rink, and I’m sorry about that. I was so blinded by what I wanted for you out of life that I didn’t see you.”
Linc shoved down the ball of emotion in his throat with a heaped forkful of casserole. He swallowed hard. The conversation was not at all going how he’d expected. Maybe his dad had been kidnapped by aliens.
“Anyway, I didn’t come here to fight. I wanted to tell you to follow whatever your dream is, and since I’m so damn clueless, maybe talk about what that dream might be – because I’m interested. Not because I wanna change your mind.”
“Man, Mom must’ve come down hard on you.”
His dad nodded, mouth full, and swallowed. “She was right to, though – I was being an ass. Some parents would give anything to have a smart boy in college with his head on his shoulders. Your grades are good, you’re playing well, and you’re not doing drugs…” His eyes flashed wide. “You’re not doing drugs, are you?”
“Not unless Cleo counts as an addictive substance.”
Dad chuckled. “I was so blinded by the bright lights of the NHL rink at the end of the tunnel that I lost sight of the fact it’s not my rink anymore. And in all my thinking, I realized something. I’m proud of you. I don’t think I’ve said that to you before, and that’s kinda shitty of me too.”
Linc fought the urge to reach his hand out to check his father’s temperature. He’d never been so open. Sure, Mom probably coached him on what he needed to say, but he was eating humble pie and saying it out loud.
“I don’t know what to say, Dad. I appreciate it. Really.” His mind whirred. He’d been so afraid of losing his father after his confession of not sharing his dream to go pro. Now he had his dad’s permission not to pursue it.
Everything was different.
Would he truly be supportive of his art? Only time would tell, but this was huge. The weight he’d been shouldering had lifted, but his heart sank because he couldn’t share the moment with Cleo.
