Page 123 of Born of Ice

Your name was the last thing she said before she passed away. “Exton, because he belongs on water,” she said. And I’m wearing a smile writing it, remembering it because little did she know you’d be walking on that water every day. Living on it. Living and thriving.

It’s something you and her have in common, you know. At least, I hope you know. I hope that somehow you found out thatyour mom was Helena Quinn. The best damn figure skater in the whole damn world and I was the lucky bastard standing by her side when she took every gold medal there was.

And fuck, Son, you are damn good on that ice too. The best. Just like she was.

It’s yet one more thing I never got to tell you.

I watch every game of yours, you know. Ever since I got clean, which was about two years ago. I try to come out to as many as I can but it’s getting harder and harder.

My favorite was the one against the Ice Devils last March. Man, you wiped that bastard Zima against the boards every minute of every period and managed to score two goals while doing it. You were fucking brilliant, and I yelled as hard as I could to anyone who’d listen that it was my son! That was my son on that ice!

I wanted to see you after every game, but I was a coward. Afraid to hear how much you hate me—rightfully so—to my face.

I wish I’d ask for help sooner, before it was too late for me because if you are reading this, it means my liver finally gave up. After years of abuse it finally called quits and I’m not mad about it.

Everything comes with a price in this life, and I’m paying mine. So, yes, I wish I’d have more time to see you, to talk to you in person. To fall to my knees and beg for the forgiveness I don’t deserve.

I hope you are happy. I hope you are in love with someone as special as your mom was. I hope you keep playing and you guys get that Stanley Cup this year.

I’m rambling, I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to put everything on this paper. How to tell you so much in so little time. I already rewrote this letter seven times and it’s still a mess.

I tried to call you as soon as I was out of rehab, but I don’t blame you for hanging up. I kept calling, though, and hell, I still do.

Sorry if I filled up your voicemail with my rambling.

But most importantly I wanted to tell you how proud I am. I don’t deserve to feel it, but I am damn proud of you. Every time I see you on that ice, son, it hits me right in my chest.

It’s unfair you never got to meet your beautiful, fearless, kind mom. And it’s unfair you lost your dad as well while he was still alive.

For that, I’m sorry and I’ll be sorry long after I’m gone.

There’s not much left for me to pass onto you, but these few memories and what little I had left from your mom. I’ll drop a small key to a PO Box in here where I’ll move her things to for you. It’s not much, but it’s what’s left. What little I couldn’t sell for another bottle of vodka even when I was too far gone.

Those few things I never touched and for that I’m glad because you should keep them.

Sorry, it’s a long one. But I could fill hundreds of letters like this with all I should’ve said twenty-eight years ago.

I’m sorry, Son. I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to be there for you. I’m fucking sorry for hurting you, for saying those vile things to you. That’s what I hate myself for the most.

It was never your fault. Your mom will kill me all over again in that afterlife for saying that, andthatI deserve. I know without a shred of a doubt that she’d go through it all again, knowing the outcome, just to have held you for one short minute.

There’s not much wisdom I can pass onto you either, except that if you ever find a love like the one I had with your mother, take it, keep it, cherish it because Quinn men fall in love onceand forever, and I’d never trade a single minute with her for any treasure in this world.

Don’t ever change. You are perfect. You are the best. You are a part of her that gets to live on forever.

I love you, Exton.

Dad

I no longer feel the tears streaking down my face. I can’t tell where mine start and Electra’s end as we cry together, her cheek pressed against mine, her hands wound tight around my neck from where she climbed back on my lap as soon as we read the last words.

The tears started long before that and they couldn’t seem to stop.

“How was this supposed to help me, Electra? How is this going to make me feel better when now I know I fucked up! I should’ve picked up that damn phone. Electra! I should’ve picked up that damn phone!Why didn’t I?” I’m screaming, thrashing against her but her hold never weakens.

It never fails as she rains kisses over my tear-stained face. “Shhh, baby. He understood. He knew why you didn’t.”

“But I could’ve had more time with him.”