Page 50 of The Final Faceoff
Dad stirs his espresso, which is the most Italian thing he does, despite not being Italian. “You’re being suspiciously quiet.”
I blink at him, because I’m not the chattiest of the bunch. Six children and they should know who’s the one who’ll be talking their ears off—and that’s not me. “There’s nothing new. I’m still adapting to the change. I have a few more weeks before I have to start training with the team—though I’ve met with some of the guys at an ice rink a few times.”
That’s good, right? It should be good. I don’t know if I’m ready to tell them about my house guest. And our little . . . ours? My stomach flips. Mine? Theirs? Ours? The word lingers, pressing at the edges of my thoughts. The truth is that the baby isn’t mine, and what if she decides to just pack her shit and leave once she doesn’t need me? And there I am, having my own doubts.
She doesn’t need me. Hailey stays with me because we choose each other—but she only sees me as her friend. And how the fuck do I change that?
Papa, who is the observant one, narrows his eyes. “Leif, are you in trouble?”
I sigh. “No.”
They look at each other and then at me.
Dad sets his cup down. “Are you regretting moving to New York?”
“What? No.”
“Did you start a bar fight and Jacob fired you?” Papa guesses now.
“Have I ever started a bar fight?”
Papa lifts a brow. “There was that one time?—”
“That was not my fault.” I glare at him. “Kaden started it and I had to finish it.”
They exchange a look, which is their silent way of saying they don’t believe me right now. I rub my temples and exhale, already regretting this. I should change the conversation for something . . . different.
“I have a question,” I say, finally getting to the point. “About me. About when I was born.”
Dad leans back, blinking at me. “You want to talk about your birth?”
Papa shifts, straightening in his chair. “Leif, if this is a weird way to ask if you were adopted, you need to sit down and rethink your strategy.”
“I know I wasn’t adopted.” I shoot them a look. “I also know I didn’t just magically appear one day. I know you had a surrogate.”
They both nod, waiting.
I clear my throat. “I was just wondering . . . when did it happen?”
Papa tilts his head. “When did what happen?”
“When did you—” I hesitate, trying to find the right words. “When did you know I was your kid? Yours to love, to protect . . .” I trail my words because maybe this isn’t distracting them from my current issues.
Can anyone blame me though? Hailey and the baby are all I can think of lately. Thank fuck the season hasn’t started yet, or I’d be in a lot of trouble.
Papa gives me a worried look. It’s like I’m speaking in another language—probably Klingon.
“Yeah, like when did you love me and know, ‘This one is ours,’” I explain further.
Dad furrows his brow, like I just asked what color the sky is. “From the second we decided to have you.”
“That doesn’t count,” I say. “That’s just logistics.”
Papa studies me. “You’re not asking about the process.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m asking about the feeling. When did you stop thinking about it as having a third baby and start thinking of me asyourbaby? ”
Dad looks at Papa, and they exchange one of those silent married couple conversations that means they already know something I don’t.
