Page 51 of Pucking Fate

“How do I know what?”

“That my dad plays hockey. Do you know him?”

“Ah, well…” I pick off some pepperonis while I struggle to figure out how to answer his question. Having him ask me about his father while wearing another man’s hockey jersey makes me so fucking angry. And jealous. God, I’m just tired of lying, of pretending that he’s not my son and I’m not his father. While I know Maya wanted to wait and tell him on her own timeline, Finley deserves to know the truth. He deserves to know that I’m not just some random hockey player he looks up to babysitting him for a few hours, but that I love him so damn much I would do literally anything in the world for him.

“You’ve already met your father, actually,” I tell Finley, swallowing around the sudden tightness in my throat. Not out of fear of Maya’s reaction, but a new fear of how Finley will handle it. I didn’t even know to worry about that before now, but it still doesn’t stop me from saying, “In fact, you’ve spent the wholesummer playing hockey in the backyard and eating pizza with him.”

“But…” Finley trails off as he bites into his cheese pizza, chews it up, takes another bite, all while thinking that information over. Finally, he swallows and tosses the crust down on his plate. “You’re the only one I’ve played with this summer. You and Uncle Preston.”

“That’s right.” I nod my head in agreement, letting him put the pieces together.

He blinks at me, staring at my face. “Areyoumy father?”

Holy shit, the waterworks instantly turn on and I have to blink the tears away after hearing him use that word in reference to me.

Giving him a smile, I say, “I am, Finley. I’m your father.”

And those are the last words I get to say before he storms off to his room and slams the door.

I imagined having this conversation with him so many times, and this is not at all how I expected it to go.

In the best scenarios, Finley would immediately throw his arms around my neck to hug me and tell me that he’s glad I’m his dad.

This version is definitely the worst. I should’ve expected the anger for lying to him for weeks. Just because he’s a kid doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t be hurt by the betrayal.

After wiping off my greasy hands on a napkin, I go after him. I knock on the bedroom door and try the doorknob that’s locked. “Finley, please let me come in so we can talk about this, okay buddy? I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…”

“You lied to me! Every day! You’re a big fat liar!”

“I wish I had told you sooner,” I reply. “And I’m sorry I didn’t. Your…family thought it would be best if we got to know each other as friends first, and that was all my fault. Your mom and uncle weren’t sure if I was up to the job of being your dad,so I had to prove it to them. That’s what I’ve been doing all summer. Not lying to you, but proving to your mom that she could trust me to take care of you.”

He doesn’t respond to a word I say the rest of the afternoon through the door.

And when Maya comes home from her interview, I lie and tell her Finley was tired and went to bed early before leaving. I just don’t have the energy to fight with her, too.

21

Maya

My interview went great. At least I think it did.

Spencer’s aunt Justine was invited in for most of it as well. She and her boss gave me a tour of the center and we talked for over an hour before her boss said she would be in touch soon.

I don’t know if she’ll be in touch in a day or so or a week. All I can do now is wait.

Which sucks, and meant another night I couldn’t sleep worth a shit.

By six-thirty the next morning, I’m sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee when Finley shuffles into the kitchen just as early. His energy is at the lowest level ever, as if picking up his feet would be too much work. That’s how I know something is off with him.

“Good morning,” I say cheerfully as I get to my feet to make him his favorite breakfast. “Are you hungry? How about some blueberry pancakes?”

“I guess.”

I smile weakly at his unenthusiastic response. He must still be waking up and is just sleepy. I start gathering up all the ingredients, trying not to let him see the worry on my face.

Finley watches me closely, his little face scrunched up in thought. “Mommy?” he asks, his voice unusually soft.

“Yes, baby?” I reply, turning to face him fully.

---