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“Should I make us some coffee?” Mom says after all the staring.
“Uh… what’s going on?” Dad asks, walking slowly into the room.
I step forward and swallow. The emotion in my throat is trying to stop me from speaking again, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep running. Anyway, Mom’s going to burst if I don’t say something. “I have to tell you something, Dad. Actually, LoganandI have to tell you something. Please.”
Dad turns to Logan and raises his eyebrow. Logan looks so conflicted. He nods at Dad, trying to seem like this doesn’t affect him, but I can see the pain. I can always see the pain in my man, even when he hides it from everybody else behind a layer of ice.
“Let’s get some coffee,” Dad says, a note of suspicion in his voice. Ducking his head as if purposefully avoiding everybody’s gaze, he strides into the kitchen muttering to himself. Logan shakes his arms out like he does before a game. I’m not sure he knows he does it, but every time he steps onto the ice, he does that like he’s getting his body ready for battle.
The three of us awkwardly follow Dad. I want to fall into Logan’s arms, kiss him, and feel his security wrapped around me. I know this isn’t the time or the place, especially when I hear Dad slamming around in the kitchen.
Mom walks forward as if to help him as he aggressively opens and closes drawers, then she retreats, her hands raised. She looks at me like she wants help. None of us knows what to do when he finally slams a door shut and spins, his eyes red, glaring at Logan.
I can’t read his expression. It’s like a mixture of everything. “What could youandEm have to tell me? What couldyoupossibly have to tell me? There’s nothing. Nothing,Edouard.”
“I think you’ve got it,Michel. Or at least some of it.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.” Dad grits his teeth and shakes his head as if thinking of all the signs he should’ve read, mentally replaying it. “You invited me to Canada and screwed my daughter. Then, when I called you, you felt so guilty you decided to give this sad sack a helping hand. Well, which part isfuckingwrong?”
“Michael!” Mom rushes forward, putting her hands on his arms when he steps forward.
I clasp my hands over my mouth. I’ve never seen him like this. Mom wraps her arm around him, and Dad calms down, but only a little.
“That’s not exactly right,” Logan says after a pause, his voice calm. “You’ve got some of it right. Emma and I slept together that night.”
Dad surges forward like he’s going to hit Logan. It’s such a sudden change, so different from how he usually behaves. It’s like the pressure has been building within him and finally erupted.
“Michael, honey,” Mom yells, pulling him back.
Dad breathes through gritted teeth. He’s staring at Logan like, if Mom let him go, he’d spring at him as if by some reflexive action. The spirit of fatherly protection would take hold of him, and it doesn’t matter if Logan is bigger and fitter. It would be an ugly fight if Logan dared to hurt Dad, which he wouldn’t.
My head is a mess. Logan sighs. His voice is bleak. “You can hit me if you want. Sometimes, I think I deserve it.”
“What would you do if it was your daughter?”
“That’s thepoint, Dad,” I say passionately, finally finding my voice. “Logan’s going to feel exactly what you’re feeling now. That sense of protection… of, of love.” I’m almost crying, but I can’t break down. Dad will soften if he sees me crying. He always has. I won’t do that to him now. “I’m… I mean, Logan and me… You’re going to be a grandfather!”
I blurt it out. This isn’t how I planned to say it, but that’s life. Plans are always difficult to rely on. You can have as many charts, tactics, and drills as you want, but eventually, you have to take a shot.
Dad takes a step back, almost stumbling like the news has physically collided with him. “You’re… pregnant.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
Michael
Angela’s arms are wrapped reassuringly around me. I can feel how torn she is. I can feel it pouring out of her. From the small looks and things, she seems to be on Emma’s side, the gestures that become wordless communication over years of marriage. My chest hurts from it all. I’ve never been a strong man. Hopefully, I’ve been a good one. Just maybe not right now.
Emma nods, my little girl seeming suddenly a fully grown woman. Her eyes shine with tears, but she’s bravely holding them back. A memory slams into me and chokes me up.“I’m not hurt, D-Daddy,”with a cut on her knee.
Logan stands just behind her. It’s easy to see him as a kid, too, his hair across his face, almost feral-looking. Once, at school, somebody called himstrayand shoved his face into his lunch. Stray dog because he was so lean and raggedy, but that’s not the case anymore.
“You’re pregnant,” I repeat, and Angela registers no surprise. She knew, then. Of course, Emma would tell her first. Angela’s always been the best mother.
“Shall I make some coffee? Or tea?” she says, giving me a look. She’s asking if I’m going to freak out again, but I feel too stunned. Life is simple when focusing on work, contracts, supplies, and building connections.
I nod, walk over to the table, and sit in a patch of sunlight. My bones are starting to ache. I am forty-one years old, and I’ve worked almost every day for years just for some punks to come along and take advantage of me. It’s a funny feeling to go from fiercely liking and respecting Logan for what he did to doubting every interaction we’ve had.
Emma and Logan sit opposite me, both of them seeming awkward. Emma’s cheeks are red. She truly is glowing. It’s like we’ve always talked about, but withEdouard?A celebrity. We’ve never talked about his love life, but one looks at the news shows and how celebrities jump from woman to woman.
