Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

Logan

Mom and Dad were surprised by my invitation to come visit and go to a game, but they eagerly accepted. Which makes me feel bad that I don't do it more often. I avoid it because I know Dad would always be critical of me and we'd end up arguing.

We lose the game in OT, which sucks.

"You could easily have won that game," Dad rants on the way home. "What the hell happened?"

"We were doing all the right things," I reply, digging deep for an even tone. "Three pucks went off the goalpost or crossbar when we were trying to score."

"That turnover in OT, though." He shakes his head.

"It was three on three. That happens."

"We never had three on three overtime in my day. I don't like it."

I swallow a sigh.

Back at my place after the game, when I've changed out of my suit and into sweats, I pause in my bedroom. I have to do this.

I have to think about Annie. About her courage and guts and determination. If she can be brave enough to do the things she has, I can do this.

I walk out to the living room where Mom and Dad are watching TV in my living room, a recap of the game on a sports channel. "Hey, could we talk about something?"

Dad barely looks up. Mom says, "Sure. What's up?"

I take a seat, wishing for a shot of tequila. Teemu jumps into my lap and I set my hands on his furry body. "I met a girl."

Shit. That wasn't what I was going to lead with.

Mom's eyes brighten. "Oh."

Dad still doesn't look away from the TV. "You're always with some girl or other."

"I think he's telling us because this one's special," Mom says.

"Yeah, I think she could be." I don't mention our "timeout." I search for the words I rehearsed. "But what I really want to talk about are my goals for this year and how I've been playing."

Dad frowns. Mom smiles with a perplexed notch between her eyebrows.

I launch into my spiel. About my goals, playing better, getting more minutes. Dad interrupts a couple of times and I quietly ask him to hear me out. Mom gets up and takes the remote control for the TV away from him and mutes the volume.

I shoot her a grateful glance.

"There's nothing wrong with being a fourth liner," Dad says. "Like I was. Hardworking, getting under the other team's skin, baiting them into penalties. Those guys set the tone for the game a lot of the time. They get the crowd into things with the big hits."

"Okay. So this is the thing. When you say things like that—trying to justify that I should be happy being a fourth liner—it makes me feel like you don't care about how I want to play. You want me to play the way you played. I feel like you don't support me."

Mom turns anxious eyes between us at my challenge to Dad.

"What's wrong with how I played?" He frowns at me.

"Nothing was wrong with it. That was you. I'm me . I want to play a different game." I pause. "I'm playing a different game. I'd like to have your support. I'd like to know…" Aw fuck. My throat closes up and I have to stop. I swallow hard. "I was thinking when I invited you here that I'd do it more often if I didn't have to listen to you criticize me after every game."

"Oh, Logan." Mom sighs.

"I don't criticize you after every game," Dad snaps

"Dennis." Mom gives him a look. "You do."

He scowls.

Again, I give her a look of thanks. "I think you do. I feel like you do. It's hard to listen to." I tell him how I felt as a kid. Never good enough. Worried about not being loved.

He looks at me as I talk, his eyebrows pulled down, like he doesn't quite understand what I'm saying. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe this is all news to him.

"I'm an adult now and I need to let go of my need for your approval. I've formed my own identity and my own values. I can't live my life to impress you. I have to live it for myself. I don't need your approval…but what I need…what I'd like…is your support."

"I do support you."

"I don't feel like you do," I reply quietly.

"We're here, aren't we?" he asks gruffly. "That's support. Support. Approval. It's the same thing."

"No. It's not."

He gazes at me.

"Support means giving me your blessing to do what I've decided to do, even if you don't agree with it. Maybe offering to help me. Not telling me I'm wrong."

"I've helped you your whole life!"

Breathe . "I know you have. And I appreciate it. I know you both have done so much for me and made sacrifices so I could play hockey." I hate whining about shit when I know that. They have done a lot for me.

"I'm glad you see that." Dad frowns.

"Oh, Logan. We're your parents. Of course we did everything we could to support you. And you don't owe us anything for that."

I gaze at her. "Are you sure?"

Her forehead puckers. "What does that mean?"

"I'd like to know that you love me even when I don't drop the gloves or make the hard hit."

"Of course we do!" Mom's head tilts. She sends a distressed glance at Dad.

I don't think Dad's ever said he loves me. Mom has, more so when I was young. Will he say it now?

He makes a sound in his throat. "Of course I love you."

"And we're so proud of you," Mom adds. "Look what you've accomplished. Right, Dennis?"

"Yeah." Dad looks away from me, at the TV still playing highlight reels. "You're a better player than I ever was. I'm proud of that."

Jesus. My throat constricts. I take a slow breath, then swallow, digging my fingers into Teemu's fur. "Thank you. That means a lot to me, to hear that."

"I was always proud of you. I just wanted you to be the best you could."

"Thanks, Dad." Okay, fuck, I'm going to lose it and start crying. I rub my nose. "I love you, too. And you, Mom."

I've tried to tell myself I don't care what Dad thinks about how I play. But that's a lie. I care. I guess the need for a parent's approval never goes away. I do want to know I've made them proud. I want to honor the sacrifices they've made as hockey parents. Because I know they made a lot of sacrifices. But I also want to be my own man. Make my own decisions. There's a tension between those things that makes it hard.

"We've had a lot of arguments," I say. "I haven't handled things as well as I could have. I go back to being a kid and argue with you. So I've been thinking about it and I'm going to try to not do that anymore. And I'd like it if you wouldn't jump in with your opinions or advice unless I ask you." I meet his eyes.

His Adam's apple bobs. He says nothing for a long moment and the silence in my apartment beats against my eardrums. I dig my fingers into Teemu's soft fur. Finally, Dad nods. "I'll try. I kind of like giving my opinions though."

Mom laughs softly. "Yeah, you do."

"We'll both work on it," I say, my voice rusty.

"It's like…" Dad hesitates.

I wait. I know it's hard.

"You doing your own thing, trying to be different…trying to be the new kind of player…" He coughs. "It's like you don't need me anymore."

I pull in a slow breath through my nose. There it is. Fuck.

The moment drags on forever as I absorb that and process it. Pressure builds in my chest, like someone has a bicycle pump attached to me and is pumping hard. I know how hard that had to be for him, to admit a vulnerability, a fear. I appreciate that he's gone that far…for me. It means so much.

I move my head up and down slowly and choke out, "I'll always need you, Dad."

Okay, Mom's crying. Dad and I are close, but she's full-on bawling into a tissue.

"Geez, Mom, don't cry. Please don't cry." I swipe my forehead.

"I'm sorry," she sobs. "I love you both. I wish we talked about this sooner. I wish you weren't the one who had to bring it up, Logan. But I'm proud of you for doing it."

It's messy and uncomfortable and disturbing. And I've never felt so strong.

* * *

The next day, I get a call from Ivan.

My first thought is that somethings happened to Annie and my heart vaults into my mouth.

But I just saw her this morning at the practice facility and she was fine.

"What?" I bark into the phone.

"Uh…sorry to bother you…"

"Is she okay?"

"Who?"

"Annie."

"I think so?"

"What are you calling me about?"

I hear him chuckle. "You okay, bro?"

"Not really."

"It's okay. Chill. Annie's fine." He pauses. "Well, sort of. I need to talk to you about something."

"Okay. Go."

"In person."

I frown. I'm still at the practice facility and we're about to leave for the hospital to visit some sick kids. "I'll be home around five," I say. "Or do you want me to come there?"

"No, your place is good."

Because of Annie. "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you later."

My mind buzzes with curiosity, but at the hospital I focus on the kids, stuck in this place when it's nearly Christmas. Some of their stories are heartbreaking, like the little guy with Ewing sarcoma, a kind of bone cancer, so pale and thin and bald, but wearing a Bears jersey and a huge smile.

Maybe it's being around these kids that makes me anxious and fear the worst. But Ivan said Annie's fine. And surely she wouldn't send Ivan to dump me…would she?

At home, I tell the doorman to send Ivan up when he arrives and a moment later he knocks on my door. I let him in, but I freeze in place at seeing who's with him. Stella Bang.

She scares the shit out of me.

A woman who's raised five hockey playing boys and one headstrong girl who likes to be thrown up in the air—on skates—is not someone to mess around with.

My breathing quickens and sweat breaks out under my arms. "Uh. Hi, Mrs. Bang."

"Call me Stella."

I swallow. "Uh. Come in." I give Ivan a what-the-fuck look.

He grins. "I'll let you two talk. Bye!"

"What?" I glare at him, then turn back to Stella as Ivan leaves. "Okay."

What more do we have to talk about? She's probably going to dejunk me.

"Can I offer you a drink?" I ask politely, wiping my palms on my jeans. "Coffee? Tea? Water?"

"I'd love a cup of tea."

"Oh. Wait. I don't have tea."

She laughs. "A glass of water, then."

I get us both one and we sit in the living room.

"Your place is nice," she says. "Great view."

"Thanks."

"So." She fidgets with her hair.

I'm not the only one who's nervous. I wait.

"Annie was a bit rebellious in her teenage years."

I nod slowly. "She told me."

She cocks her head. "Did she? That's surprising. But mature."

"Rebellion is a sign of a kid who's fighting to be seen as who she is."

Stella gazes at me. Her tightly schooled features shift as her bottom lip quivers and her eyes go shiny.

Jesus. Another crying mother. Panic flares in my gut. I rub my mouth, not sure what to do.

"Yes." She sniffs. "You're right. I know Annie always felt overshadowed by her brothers. Star hockey players. I knew that and I tried to make sure she knew she was special. But it was difficult when she was always arguing with us and acting out."

"I argued with my dad a lot, too."

"Because you wanted to be seen as who you are."

"Yeah." I pause. "Exactly."

"We try. Parents. We don't always get it right. But we love our kids and want the best for them."

"I know." Didn't I just hear this from my own mom?

"I'm sorry I kept pushing her and Ivan together."

Whoa. I gaze at her speechlessly.

"It truly came from a place of wanting Annie to be happy. But I also thought that maybe she was being so obstinate about it because…that's her. If I wanted her to wear pink, she wore black. If I hated tattoos, she got three of them."

I slowly nod.

"I don't believe she was with you because she was being defiant. I shouldn't have said that. She's not like that now. She's grown into an amazing young woman. Strong. Determined. Resilient."

A thick feeling tightens my throat. "Yeah."

She bite the inside of her cheek, looks away, then back at me. "The other thing I'm sorry for is that I did misjudge you. We all did."

I stare at her.

"Annie got us all together on a video chat and showed us the video of when that hit on Jensen happened. She slowed it down and played it for us a few times and pointed out where you lost your edge and fell. But you fell on Jensen with your stick out."

My head goes empty and I can only stare at Stella. After a moment, I say, "Annie did what?"

She smiles. "It was interesting. Also she showed us where Jensen wasn't completely solid on his skates either, and that probably contributed to how he got hurt."

My head turns slowly from side to side, trying to comprehend this. "When did she do that?"

"A couple of days ago."

So it was after I lost my goddamn mind and told her we should break up. Even after that…she defended me. To her family.

I think my heart stops. Then it explodes into a rapid banging.

She believed in me. Even when I was an asshole to her. I don't even know what to do with that…with that kind of love. Love that expects nothing in return. I want to believe I deserve it. I want to believe I can have that. But, holy shit… "I really screwed up."

"No. Well, maybe."

I squint at her.

"That's why I'm here." Her smile has faded and a troubled notch has formed on her brow. "I want to help make things right."

I haven't felt like such an idiot in a long time. I don't understand what's happening.

"Do you love Annie?"

My eyes widen. I swallow. "Yes."

She pulls in a shaky breath, her lips pushing out and her eyes shining. Christ. More tears. I'm still sweating. "I knew it." Her lips curve into an unsteady smile. "All I wanted for my kids is love. Like Lars and I have. I messed up, pushing Annie and Ivan together. I've been interfering a lot lately. But things have worked out pretty well for my other kids. I want things to work out for you and Annie. But I can't do it myself. Annie's not going to listen to me right now."

"I need to talk to her." I'm seized with a sense of urgency. "Right now. I fucked up…er…"

She waves a hand. "Don't worry. I've heard it all."

No doubt. She's a hockey mom.

"I messed up," I try again. "I told her we should end things between us."

"I know. She told us. But it's not too late." She pats the air in a calm down gesture. "I think she feels the same about you. Let's talk about what you can do."

"Uh…okay."

An hour later, I'm calling Ivan. "Okay, dude. You owe me. Big time."

"Yeah. Sorry about that. She wanted to talk to you."

"Well, here's how you can pay me back."