Page 146 of Lucky Shot
“Me too.” He looks down at his guitar.
Fuck. All this time I was wallowing alone, not thinking about how he might be feeling. I cross over to him and pull him into a hug as I sit next to him.
“I’m sorry. Of course you do. I know she misses you too.”
“She’s coming back though, right?”
“I’m not sure,” I tell him honestly. A lot could happen between now and December. “Maybe.”
His brows pinch together. “But if she’s your girlfriend, shouldn’t you guys live in the same place or at least visit regularly?”
“My girlfriend?”
The look he gives me is a mixture of annoyance and mistrust. “Come on, Dad, I saw you kissing at the ice rink and at her going-away party. Plus, you were always making googly eyes at her.”
“Googly eyes?” I bark out a laugh.
His smile lifts on one side as he nods. “Allthe time.”
I ruffle his hair. “Googly eyes.” I laugh again. “I probably was.”
A tinge of guilt seeps in as I think about how long he knew without me talking to him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You should have heard that from me instead of finding out the way you did. I haven’t dated in a long time. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel, and you’re my number one. No matter what. You know that, right?”
He nods.
“Okay. Good.” I settle my arm around the back of his shoulders.
“It’s cool if you date or whatever. Grandpa has already talked to me about the birds and the bees.” He groans and makes a face that tells me how much he disliked that conversation.
“Oh god, not the birds and the bees. Did he actually call it that?”
Aidan’s wide-eyed, disgusted face remains.
“I got the same talk when I was your age,” I tell him. “You’d think he would have come up with something better by now.”
“Heading in early?” Dad asks as I come downstairs the next morning. He’s standing in the kitchen with a coffee mug in his hand. “I figured you’d be sleeping in today.”
“I’m meeting with the team psychologist before camp.”
His carefree expression shifts quickly. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I say immediately, then hesitate before admitting, “I’ve been struggling a little to get my head right and I want to make sure I’m set before the season starts.”
Dad sits at the dining room table, an open invitation for me to do the same. “This about your shoulder? Are you worried about going back out there and getting hurt again?”
“I am, a little,” I admit. “But no. That isn’t all of it.”
His puzzled expression remains. “What’s been on your mind?”
“You, Pop.”
“Me?” His brows lift as he flashes me what appears to be a genuinely shocked look. Slowly, though, he seems to unlock the puzzle of my worries. “I’m okay. The doctor cleared the blockage and my last test results looked great.”
“I know, but…”
He’s patient as I figure out how to get my head around my own feelings. “I think it brought up a lot of old wounds. Mom died so young and as I get closer to her age, I can’t help but think about things.”
