He closes his eyes. “Fuck.”
When they open, they’re swimming. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad cry. I’ve seen him get angry, lose his shit, but theonly time I’ve seen him this kind of emotional is when he talked about the accident that nearly ended his career. And the night Lavender went missing. “Are you referring to what happened in my office after? When I lost it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m so sorry, son. I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice breaks, and he turns his head, like he’s trying to keep it together. “I didn’t realize you were still holding onto that after all these years. Not like this. Your mom and I made a mistake—one we can’t ever take back. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just a kid. You weren’t responsible for any of it, and you weren’t responsible for what happened when Lavender got locked in the closet either. There were adults in the house who were supposed to be paying attention. And I knew that lock was prone to jamming. I’d meant to fix it the week before, but I forgot. Your mom had dresses in there, and she’d been going through the closet that afternoon and forgot to close the door and lock it.” He pauses, taking a breath. “I know I lost it on you that night, and I shouldn’t have. I couldn’t get my emotions under control, and it wasn’t fair.”
“I told you it was my fault. It made sense that you’d be upset with me,” I tell him, not wanting to shift that burden off my shoulders and onto his. I’d been the seeker. I should have found Lavender sooner. And he’d gone off in a way that had terrified me. But I felt like I’d deserved it, because for the second time, my selfishness was the reason something bad had happened to her. Rook had eventually come in and told me to go upstairs.
I perceived it as anger back then, but when I think about it now, through an adult lens, I realize he was terrified, that it triggered the memory of when we’d lost Lavender.
He shakes his head. “You were kids. It was an accident. I should never have made you feel like it was yours to own. Itwasn’t your fault. If I’d known you were still dealing with this . . .” He looks away, choking on emotion. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it.” He pulls me into a bone-crushing hug—awkward since we’re both still on the floor. “You have always been your sister’s protector and her biggest advocate. Always. You put everyone ahead of yourself.” He pulls back, eyes red-rimmed. “I’m sorry I failed you.”
“You didn’t fail me, Dad.”
“But I did, because I didn’t see how much this was weighing you down, howmyactions are responsible for making you feel this way all these years.” He rubs at the corner of his eye, expression despondent. “How can I ease the burden, son?”
“You just did.” I feel like that kid all over again, but instead of the weight of guilt dragging me down, it’s been lifted from my shoulders—a lot like a different weight was lifted after Lavender and I had that heart-to-heart.
For years I’ve carried around that blame, wore it like a punishment, believing everyone felt the same way. Now to be absolved again, to see it through a different lens, brings with it a peace I’ve never experienced before. It’s almost a terrifying feeling, and one I don’t know how to handle.
My dad hugs me again, and I break, really and truly in a way I don’t expect. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear those words until he spoke them. I needed the absolution so I can finally move on from this.
Eventually he sits back and reaches over, yanking several feet of toilet paper free. He tears off a handful of squares and passes them to me. He uses the rest to blow his nose. I do the same.
“I feel like I have a lot of years of making up to do when it comes to you,” he says.
“You don’t.” I shake my head. “I loved the time I had with you more than I loved playing hockey. It was worth it, though.Taught me solid work ethic.” I toss my wad of TP into the toilet. “But, uh, if you’re really serious, I wouldn’t say no to you dealing with Mom if I don’t end up accepting a training camp offer.”
He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “I can handle your mom on this one.”
My alarm goes off, signaling that it’s six, the time I usually get up for work. There’s not much point in going back to bed. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.
“You think you can handle coffee?” Dad asks.
“Yeah.” I pick myself up off the floor and hold out a hand, helping my dad up.
He grimaces and limps a couple of steps before he finds his footing, another reason I’m not entirely sold on a professional hockey career. I see the toll it’s taken on my dad’s body, and what that might mean down the road.
I pull on a shirt and shorts and follow him downstairs. We make a pot of coffee, and I throw some whole grain bread in the toaster. And instead of talking about this year’s draft and who we think is going first round, we pull out the Scrabble board, and my dad lets me kick his ass.
Once the day gets started, Kody and I message back and forth all morning. He’s meeting with his agent and while Vancouver drafted him, there are trade talks and apparently Philly is pushing for him. He lived in Philly for years, and it’s the closest to Chicago he can get.
Kody comes over later in the evening, and we head down to the beach, beers in hand. Our dads hang back, probably trying to give us space.
I leave my flip-flops on the beach and dip my toes in the water. It’s hot, being the end of June, but the water is still cold.
“You all right?” he asks.
I nod and drop down in the sand, close enough so the watercomes up to my toes, but not so close that my shorts get wet. “Even if I get an offer for training camp, I’m not sure I’m going to go.”
“What do you meanif? You’ll get an offer. There’s no way you won’t.”
I appreciate his conviction, even though I’m not so sure it’s accurate. “Have you called Lavender and told her yet?”
He shakes his head. “We decided we’d wait until I was back in New York before I say anything. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’ll be going to Philly, but my agent is negotiating, so we’ll see. And Lavender and I want to be together when I give her the news. She threatened to break up with me if I didn’t accept an offer.”
I frown. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you accept?”
