Center Ice (Boston Rebels Book 1)

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, trying to keep my tone curious. I don’t want to be combative about this. I understand that I missed the last six years and don’t know what those years have been like for her. But what the hell is she talking about?

“Per the conversation we were having before Jameson showed up, how do you think he would have taken the news that Graham was your child and you didn’t want to take responsibility?”

I step closer so that I’m looking down at her, and I try not to focus on how flushed her cheeks are or the slender column of her neck as she tilts her head up to look at me. “Let’s get absolutely clear on one thing. I wasn’t refusing to take responsibility; I didn’t know that we had a kid together. I fully accept responsibility for not listening to your voicemails. It’s my own fault I didn’t know. But I need you to understand that if I’d known about Graham, I absolutely would have been here for you and for him.”

She nods, her lips pressed between her teeth, before she says, “I spent the last six years raising our kid without you while you were off living your NHL life…most of it was really fucking hard, but much of it was also undeniably amazing. And I hated you for missing out on both parts.”

My stomach sinks. I can’t imagine what that was like for her, and I wouldn’t blame her if she hated me for it.

“I regret missing out on all of that. But the reason I didn’t call you back was because I was a mess. I’d moved to a new country, was living away from my family the first time, and had just found out my mom had Parkinson’s. I was just trying to survive.”

She turns around and sets the coffee mug in the sink, then with her back to me, she says, “You sure it’s not because us sleeping together was supposed to be a one-time thing, and you thought I was being needy and not respecting those boundaries?” Her voice is teasing, even though her words aren’t.

This is exactly why she thinks I didn’t call her back—she still believes I didn’t think she was even worthy of a return phone call.

I put my hands on her shoulders and turn her so she’s facing me. “Audrey, me not calling you back—that was about me, and what a mess I was as I was trying to adjust to everything. It wasn’t about you.”

“Hmmmm,” the sound of disbelief rolls out of the back of her throat.

“So that’s why you didn’t contact me through Jameson? You thought I didn’t want any part of having a kid with you?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “And I knew that if Jameson found out, he’d sabotage your career.”

“So you saved my career, but cost me my son’s childhood.”

“I didn’t think you wanted any part of that childhood, Drew.” She practically spits my name at me, her pretty eyes narrowing. “You cost yourself your son’s childhood because you couldn’t be bothered to listen to my messages or to call me back.”

“You’re right.” The words are a quiet admission, and I deflate a little as I admit this. If I had called her back, everything would have been different.

“So are you,” she tells me, and I watch her body relax as she lets out a deep sigh. “I could have tried harder to get a hold of you.”

This feels like progress. “We were idiots.”

“We were.”

“What are we going to do about it now?” I ask.

She bites the corner of her lip, and I wish she’d stop doing that, because I don’t need any more reasons to focus on that part of her face. We’re talking about really serious stuff—important things that will be life-changing—and I can’t stop thinking about the feelings I had for her back then.

God, I wanted so much more than one night with her, but it wasn’t possible. I needed to focus on hockey, and hanging on to Audrey when she was back in Boston and I was in Vancouver would have only gotten in the way of my game. Not calling her back had seemed like the right choice at the time.

But clearly, I was only thinking about myself and what I needed, and I had no idea how much she needed me to be there for her, and then for Graham, this whole time. I’ve always felt unworthy of her, but never more than in this moment.

Finally, she says, “I guess that depends on what you want.”

“I want to get to know Graham,” I tell her without an ounce of hesitation.

Her swallow is practically a gulp. “Not having a dad has been hard enough on him. But having one who isn’t around, or doesn’t make time for him, would be even worse. I’m not opposed to you being part of his life, but it has to be an all-in situation, Drew. You can’t be unreliable when there’s a child depending on you.”

“I understand.” The reality that I have a son is still settling in. I missed the first five-plus years of his life. Which means I’d be coming into his life right when my own father left mine.

My mom is wonderful—I owe everything to her. She somehow raised three kids on her own, and made sure I was able to keep playing the sport I love, despite how expensive it was. But not having a dad was hard on me, especially when I was a teenager. I have the opportunity to be the dad I never had. The dad Graham has never had, either. “I want to be there for Graham,” I say with conviction, “but I’m having a hard time picturing how this will all work out.”

“Me too,” she admits, then walks around me and back toward the tables in the center of the room. “Shit. I forgot that I left my salad still sitting all over the floor.”

I turn and follow her gaze.

“I’ll help you clean it up,” I say. “And then, maybe we can grab lunch?”

She glances at her watch. “I have some architectural plans that I need to finalize so I can send them to Jules, and she needs them as soon as possible. I have to finish them before I pick Graham up from school, which, at this point, only gives me a little over an hour before I have to leave to get him. I’m sorry, I just don’t have time today.”

I blink slowly, reminding myself I’m the one who barged into her day. She owes me this conversation, but not necessarily at this time. “When’s a better time to talk?” I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans and glance out the front wall of glass with Our House etched into it. Outside, it’s the perfect fall day—blue sky with puffy white clouds and temperatures in the mid-seventies. I want to sit outside and eat lunch with her, catch up on everything I’ve missed, maybe see her smile. I adored that smile, and I’ve yet to see it again.

“Are you free tonight?” she asks.

I’m so relieved that she’s not trying to put this conversation off for another day that I blurt out “Yes!” without even considering whether I have plans. “Wait, actually, I told my mom I’d come over for a while after my meeting with the team doctor this afternoon. But I could be back into the city by seven or eight.”

“Let’s say eight,” she says. “That way, Graham will already be in bed. I just have to make sure Jules can stay with him, but I’m like ninety-nine percent sure she’ll be home tonight packing. I’ll make a reservation somewhere and text you the details, or I’ll text you if anything changes.”

“Alright,” I agree, relieved that she’s willing to see me again so soon. This has all been a lot of change for me, but I know it has for her too. And if I remember correctly, she’s someone who really needs to be in control.

I turn to leave, and when I’m halfway across the room, she calls my name, so I turn back to her.

“Were you serious about wanting us to work on your mom’s house?”

“Yeah. It’s not why I came over, but I do want to have that work done. Maybe at some point, you can come take a look and see if it’s feasible?”

She crosses her arms in front of her, and it’s like she’s already putting those walls back up. But her voice is soft when she says, “Why don’t you send me a video of the space and explain exactly what you want done.”

Not what I was hoping she’d say. I can feel her holding me at a distance, which is valid. I haven’t given her any reason to believe that she can trust me…yet.