Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
You don’t know what would happen if you made another choice. You make the best one you can in the moment, and you move the hell on. One of my strongest suits as a player is I don’t dwell on the past. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from the way I play hockey.
I blow out a breath, then tell the story I’ve only ever shared with my parents and Jason. “I was going to propose to her on Christmas morning. I had the ring and everything. She loved Christmas so when I woke up early to head downstairs and make sure everything was in place for Mia, I wasn’t that worried that Regina wasn’t in bed. Then I spotted an envelope poking out of my stocking. Inside it was a goodbye letter,” I say, biting out the words. The memory doesn’t sting like it used to. It’s not raw and tender anymore. It’s a scar though, long and jagged.
“Oh Rowan,” Isla says, her eyes full of sympathy.
“We’d met shortly after college, started dating, then she got pregnant pretty quickly. And she said in her letter that after four years of doing nothing but parenting, she was heading off to discover herself at last. It was her present to herself, she’d said. It was what younger Regina would have wanted.”
I can feel the crinkle of the paper, see the loopy ink of her handwriting, smell the pine from the tree she’d picked out. I can hear, too, the terrified drumbeat of my heart as reality sank in with each terrible word I’d read. “She said she was going to backpack and make art—what she’d always wanted. Marriage wasn’t part of her dream. And besides, Mia would always be taken care of with me, thanks to my career.”
Those words taste bitter on my tongue as I say them out loud for the first time in a long time.
Isla hisses. “Like that makes it okay,” she mutters, then holds up a hand, backpedaling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Actually, her protective streak is hot. “No apologies. I felt the same way. The implication that Mia would be fine because I made good money was fuck-all insulting,” I say, rubbing a hand across the back of my neck. “Like that’s the point of parenting.”
“You’re a good father regardless of your career,” Isla says, agreeing.
My heart softens a little. “Thanks. She’s a great kid,” I say, then heave a sigh. “But she had a rough go of it for a while. It’s not as if Regina’s cards and gifts make up for her leaving. For a long time Mia kept asking when Mommy was coming back.” That pain is still raw. I’m not sure that wound will ever stop aching. “Broke my heart over and over again every single day.”
“I’m so sorry,” Isla says gently. “Of course it would.” She pauses and takes a breath, like she’s gearing up to ask something hard. “Has she ever come back? Seen her at all?”
My chest tightens like a vise, but the pain’s not for me. It’s for Mia, whose mother doesn’t choose to see her. “Nope.”
Isla’s eyes shine as she covers my hand with hers. “I understand now why Christmas is hard for you. I’m sorry I pushed you to try to embrace it more.”
Ah, hell. I can’t let her shoulder an ounce of blame. “Isla, I own my grump. It’s not on you. And you did nothing wrong by pushing me. Hell, my own daughter pushes me every damn day for the month of Christmas,” I say, but there’s affection in my tone again. How could there not be when I talk about the person who’s the center of my world?
“She does love it,” Isla says with affection for Mia too.
“She even likes pears,” I say with a scoff. “Don’t know how that happened.”
She holds my hand tighter but doesn’t take the sarcasm bait. “Thank you for telling me all that. For being open. I know that wasn’t easy.”
My stomach churns. It wasn’t easy. It was hard—borderline awful—to share the heartbreak. But it sure feels like it qualifies as vulnerability homework after all. I’m kind of surprised I had it in me. Then again, Isla has a habit of surprising me and motivating me to do things I didn’t think I’d do. I grunt out a “You’re welcome,” since I don’t know what else to say.
We’re quiet for a beat in the chilly night air, the lights twinkling above us, the quiet wrapping around us. In the distance, I hear faint sounds from the town—the rumble of cars. The muted noise from patrons leaving bars. The click of shoes far off. But here, it’s like we’re in our own secret date land, and that’s a good thing. It’s also part of the problem. But maybe, just maybe, I have a solution.