Looking down at my board, I call off Sasha, Holden, and Smith, sending out Tyson, Boone, and Harry in their place.
I wait for the usual look of disdain from Sasha as he meets my eyes. But it isn’t there.
There is something different about him tonight. Really, there has been something different about him all week. It's almost as though someone flipped a switch inside of him. Like he has come to some kind of realization.
One that I’m clearly not privy to, but for some reason, feel as though I am in some way involved. Because of the look in his eye, it changes every time I have found him looking at me this week.
“Sasha?” I question as he steps over the boards.
I feel like I've waited forever for something from him. So much so that I expect he will just turn his back and ignore me, like he normally would.
“I…” he begins, trailing off with a quick shake of his head as he glances over at Dominic, who is sitting a few spaces down from me. “I need to speak to you tonight about something. Do you think you could meet us at our house?”
A deep frown settles between my brows. After weeks of some kind of mix between silent treatment and distant flirting with little more than five words spoken between us, Sasha suddenly wants to talk?
I know that I am a fool for saying yes, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Intrigue wins out in the end.
This may be the only way I can get answers.
We are only minutes into the third period, up by one point, when something in the air changes around me. It is subtle at first, but as the seconds pass, I turn, trying to find the cause for my sudden rise in hackles. At the entrance to the bench guarded by a security guard, there is a man is talking animatedly. And he is pointing towards me.
I don’t know what it is about him, but I know I need to speak to him.
Forgetting the game that I know I should be watching, I walk over to the security guard and the man.
“Can I help you, Sir?”
“Lennon, I need to speak with you. I have information you will be interested in knowing.”
I frown. There is something about this man that gives me pause. For a moment, I had considered that he might have been a crazed fan trying to get access to the players. Or maybe someone in the media is trying to get some kind of inside scoop.
“It's about your father.”
Now that sparks my attention. Giving a short nod to the security guard whose name I can’t quite remember, I step through the door separating us, coming out into the hall that leads to the player tunnel.
“Okay…” I drawl, waiting for the mysterious man to finally reveal himself and whatever information it is he thinks he has on my Dad.
“My name is Brett Welsh. I am related to Cameron Welsh. Is that name familiar to you?”
I shake my head, never having heard of either man. He nods, almost solemnly.
“I had thought as much. Cameron, my brother, was mated to your mother.”
I give Brett a confused look. “I’m sorry, but I think you may be confused. My mother was mated to my father, Patrick Gilmore. She died during a very traumatic childbirth.”
Brett scoffs dryly, “Is that the story he told you? No, Lennon. Your mother was very much alive after she had you. In fact, her birth was completely complication free.”
“I don’t understand,” I mutter, as something in my chest begins to tighten. Who the fuck is this man, and why is he telling me this stuff?
Brett’s face saddens, one of pity as he turns his head to the side. “Patrick Gilmore is not your father, Lennon. He may have raised you, but he wasn’t mated to your mother. He is not listed on your birth certificate.”
My mind refuses to accept it. The words don’t just crack the foundation of my life, they shatter it. Every memory I have ofDad crashes into me all at once. His hand steadying my first pair of skates. The pride in his smile when I stepped behind the Cardinals' bench for the first time. The way he always called me his greatest achievement, his legacy. Was any of that real? Did blood matter when he was the man who bandaged scraped knees, celebrated every milestone and tucked me into bed each night? Or had I spent my entire life mourning one parent while unknowingly losing another? My surname. My inheritance. My place within the Cardinals. Everything I have ever believed about myself suddenly feels borrowed, like I’ve spent my entire life wearing someone else’s name. Their dreams. If Patrick Gilmore isn’t my father, then who the fuck am I?
This has to be a joke. Right? There is no fucking way that my father wasn’t mine. He loved me. He gave me a good childhood. I had never wanted for anything. Never felt like a part of me was missing, even though I had longed for the love of my mother.
The confusion must be evident on my face. Brett—the man that might very well be my uncle if he is to be believed—places a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry that this is how you had to find out.”
