Page 131 of Collide
“Aiden, would you mind giving us a minute?”
His voice is tight, but his neutral face is commendable considering he wanted to rip my head off just minutes ago. I want to refuse, but Summer comes up behind me to give me a reassuring nod, and I squeeze her hand before leaving them alone.
44 | SUMMER
TONIGHT IS A clusterfuck of emotions, and the situation before me is the last thing I expected.
“I was wrong,” he says.
I lift my head to look at my misty-eyed dad. I’ve never seen him cry. Not when he lost a championship game, not when he fractured his ribs, and definitely not when his dad died. Never.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said to me, and I’m beginning to understand how you feel. You’re not a prize to be won, Summer. You’re a person, my daughter, and you need my love just as much as I need yours.”
I take a deep breath, trying to stay strong. I recall everything my therapist allowed me to practice with her. “You’re right. It’s not okay, Dad. You treated me like a last priority, like hockey meant way more to you than I ever could.”
He winces but lets me continue.
“Sometimes, I wonder if I even enjoy what I do or if it’s to spite you. Swimming? I did it because you wanted me on the ice. Psychology? I dove into my books because getting your attention seemed impossible, so I stopped trying.”
“I had no idea you felt that way.”
“Because you never cared enough to ask!” I can’t keep my voice low. “I couldn’t wait to get out of the house so I wouldn’t have to see your disappointment every time you looked at me.”
“Disappointment? Why would I ever be disappointed in you?”
“Because I stopped skating and playing hockey. I stopped caring about the one thing you loved the most in the world.”
“It’s my fault. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t bother asking you. When you said you thought we felt that you were a mistake, it broke me.” He releases a shaky breath. “At eighteen, when we found out we were pregnant, our parents were pissed, and we were terrified. But none of that mattered when I saw you. I had no idea I could love anything more than I loved hockey. There was your mom, of course, but then there wasyou. The sweet, brown-eyed girl that called me dada.”
I have to blink to keep from bawling my eyes out.
“As for your sisters…I love all my children equally. But you, Sunshine, you’re my firstborn. My baby girl who taught me what it was—what it is—to be a father.”
I can’t help the tear that slips down my cheek.
“I loved you the moment I held you in the palm of my hand, and that’ll never change kiddo.”
These are the words I’ve been dying to hear. They wash over me like the first drops of rain in a drought.
“But when I got signed, I had to play to provide for my family. My rookie season was tough, but your mom held us together. After that, it was like an addiction. I was living and breathing hockey. The league was different than anything I’d ever done. That’s when your mom threatened to leave me.”
The revelation startles me. “What?”
“She saw how neglected you were. How neglected she was. My family was slipping through my fingers, but everything was moving so fast it was hard to get my feet on the ground.”
“That’s when her parents came back into her life?” I remember when I met my Nanna and Nanni. My dad wasn’t around, and my mom was constantly stressed. Having their support was like a weight lifted off her. Grandparents weren’t something I knew I was missing, but now I wouldn’t trade their love for the world.
He nods. “By the time I grounded myself, your mother and I had gotten to a better place. But I couldn’t figure you out. I thought we could share our love for hockey or skating, but you switched directions so quickly I didn’t know what to do.”
“I didn’t want to compete for your attention.”
He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing and gray eyes softening.
“All the money stuff? I’m grateful, but none of it gave me you.”
His tears fall in a stream. “You are the best thing to ever happen to me, Summer. I’m sorry that I didn’t show it these last few years or that I seemed judgmental. I would have loved for you to skate, but I can’t force passion. Your passion is psychology, and I am proud of you for all you've achieved. Truly.” He wipes at his face, red eyes determined as he takes my hand. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but let me earn it, please.”
The sincerity in his voice sears my heart. I don’t know if I forgive him, but telling him how I feel makes everything lighter. My therapist would be so proud.
