25. Brock

I make my way through the bustling corridors of the Stetson Falls courthouse. Tierney has left me no other choice. After talking with my lawyer and agent, this is the best course of action.

I approach the clerk's desk and request the necessary paperwork for a restraining order. The clerk gives me a sympathetic smile, her eyes filled with understanding as she hands me the forms.

"Good luck," she murmurs.

I take a seat in the waiting area, the scratch of the pen against paper a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. With each stroke, I commit all of Tierney's actions to paper. I never thought it would come to this but I have to protect myself, Breckin, and Layla.

It's not long before my name is called, and I find myself standing before the judge, my hands trembling as I present my case. The words spill from my lips in a rush, as I recount the relentless harassment I've endured at the hands of Tierney.

The judge listens intently, his expression grave as he considers my plea. When I finish speaking, he nods solemnly, his gaze unwavering as he renders his decision.

"Based on the evidence presented, I find that there is sufficient cause to grant the restraining order," he declares, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

Tierney is relentless, and I know that she won't go down without a fight. The restraining order specifically states that she can no longer slander me as well as she can't come within five hundred feet of me. She also can't go through third parties to do so. All of her tactics lately will be stifled.

Sure enough, as I arrive back at the Airbnb, I see her lurking outside, a dark shadow against the fading light of day. My heart sinks as I realize that I can't avoid this confrontation any longer.

I reach for my phone, and call the police department. They need to serve her the restraining order for it to be in effect. She just brought herself on a silver platter for them to do so.

"I had a restraining order filed and the person is on my property right now. Can you send an officer to serve it."

"Certainly," the dispatcher says before I recite my address.

I put the car in park and get out. Tierney's eyes narrow as she approaches, her expression a mask of false concern.

"Brock, I'm so glad you're here. I need to stay here with you. I cannot take another minute with your ridiculous mother."

"No, Tierney. You need to leave."

"I'm not leaving. Why are you being so difficult?"

"Tierney, you literally told the entire world that I cheated on you. Why on Earth would you want to go back to someone who supposedly did that to you? Have some respect."

"I made it up. I'll come clean when you take me back."

"That's so fucked up."

She scoffs, her laughter grating on my nerves like sandpaper. "Come on, Brock. You don't really expect me to go back to your parents, do you? I can't stand another second in that hellhole."

"Then go back to Nashville. There's no reason for you to be here."

"I met someone," she says indignantly. "He's a lawyer and very successful. He treats me better than you ever did."

"That's great, I'm happy for you."

Her eyes flash with anger, a dangerous glint.

Was she trying to make me jealous?

"When are you going to stop being such a little bitch and come back to me, Brock? You know you want to."

"Never. I'm done with you, Tierney. For good."

"No, Brock," she cries as she tries to throw herself at me.

Before I can respond, the sound of approaching sirens fills the air, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I see the flashing lights of a police car pulling up to the curb. Tierney's eyes widen in disbelief as the officers step out, their presence a welcome sight amidst the chaos.

Tyler gets out of his squad car and immediately hands Tierney the restraining order.

"You've been served."

"Served? What?"

"It's a restraining order stating that you cannot contact Mr. Bowen, you cannot be within five hundred feet of Mr. Bowen, you cannot use third parties to contact Mr. Bowen, and your threats and slander in the media will stop as well. If you fail to adhere to these guidelines you will be arrested and charged."

"This is ridiculous. He's making it all up."

"Ma'am, a judge read through everything and made the decision to grant it. It's not something he takes lightly. I suggest you return home to Nashville and just let this go."

She makes a little scream before she stalks off to her car.

"Do you think it was that easy?" Tyler asks with a laugh.

"I can hope, but no, I think that she'll be back."

***

Breckin's team is all out on the ice preparing for their game. The sound of skates slicing through the ice and the thud of sticks against puck filling the air with energy and excitement.

I make my way to the bleachers, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Breckin's familiar figure darting across the ice. Eric spots me and waves me over, a grin spreading across his face as he gestures for me to join him on the bench.

"Hey, Brock! Come join us!"

"Thanks!"

"Mr. Brock!" Breckin calls out when they skate to the box.

He gives me the best high five he can with all his gear on. He's grinning from ear to ear.

"Go kill it, buddy."

He nods as he takes the ice with his teammates. The crowd erupts in cheers as the puck drops, signaling the start of another thrilling youth hockey game. The players race forward, their skates slicing through the ice with precision as they vie for control of the puck.

On the blue line, a young forward named Jake steals the puck from an opposing player with lightning-fast reflexes. With a burst of speed, he streaks down the ice, his teammates racing to keep up with him.

The defense scrambles to intercept him, but Jake deftly maneuvers around them with a series of quick turns and pivots. The crowd holds its breath as he approaches the opposing goal, his determination evident in every stride.

With a flick of his wrist, Jake sends the puck soaring towards the net, a blur of motion as it sails past the goalie's outstretched glove and into the top corner of the goal.

The goal light flashes and the scoreboard ticks up another point for Jake's team. The players rush to congratulate him, their faces alight with excitement and adrenaline.

They skate back to center ice to continue the game.

"Damn, I forgot what it's like to play just for the love of it," I laugh as I look at Eric.

"You're telling me. I bring a lot of my teammates here for these games during the season, when we can, or for practices just so we can all be reminded of that."

"Breckin is having the time of his life."

As the final buzzer sounds an hour later, signaling the end of the game, Eric, Breckin and I make our way to the lobby to wait for Layla. The air is alive with excitement as parents and players alike celebrate the hard-fought victory.

"Great game out there, buddy," I say, clapping Breckin on the back as he emerges from the locker room, his cheeks flushed with exertion.

"Thanks, Mr. Brock," he replies, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "I can't believe we won!"

Eric chuckles, ruffling Breckin's hair affectionately. "You played like a pro out there, kid. Grandpa would be proud."

"I hope he and grandma feel better soon. I hate when they're not here."

"He got a full Facetime report from your mom though," Eric adds.

Eric draws my attention to a nearby display, a shrine of sorts dedicated to my own hockey career.

"Check this out, Brock," he says, gesturing towards a series of framed photographs and trophies arranged on a nearby table. "It's like a trip down memory lane."

I approach the display, my eyes scanning over the familiar images of my younger self skating across the ice, a wide-eyed grin plastered across my face. And then, I see it: a photograph of me at six years old, clad in hockey gear and beaming proudly at the camera.

"I had no clue this was here," I laugh.

"That's Mr. Brock. This is the same rink he grew up playing hockey in," Eric explains.

Beside me stands Breckin, his resemblance to me uncanny as he gazes up at the photograph in wonder. "Wow, I look like you, Mr. Brock," he says, his voice filled with awe. "That's wild."

I smile at the comparison, a surge of pride swelling within me at the sight of my son standing beside me, a living embodiment of the legacy I've worked so hard to build.

"Yeah you do, how about that?"

I hear Layla's voice behind me, her presence a welcome interruption to the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm me. "Time to go, Breckin."

Breckin nods obediently, shooting me a quick smile before following Layla out of the rink. I watch them go, a pang of sadness tugging at my heart as I realize just how much I've missed out on by letting Tierney's toxicity poison our lives.

Eric looks at the photo, at his sister's retreating figure and then back at me angrily.

"Why would he look so much like you?" Eric snarls.

"Eric," I start as I hold my hands up in the air.

He shakes his head and storms off. I call after him, but he doesn't stop. We can talk tomorrow when he has time to think.

***

The knock on the door interrupts the quiet of the night, sending a jolt of surprise through me as I glance at the clock. Who could be visiting at this hour?

I open the door to find Eric standing on the threshold, his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol and anger burning in his eyes.

"What are you doing here, Eric?" I ask, my voice tight with suspicion.

Eric pushes past me, his movements unsteady as he stumbles into the room. "I can't believe you didn't tell me," he slurs, his words slurred with intoxication.

I frown, confusion clouding my mind as I try to make sense of his words. "Tell you what?"

Eric rounds on me, his gaze piercing as he demands, "Are you Breckin's father?"

"Yes."

Eric's eyes narrow, disbelief written plain on his face as he takes in my response. "How long have you known?"

I swallow hard, the truth catching in my throat as I struggle to find the words to explain. "Only a few weeks," I admit, the shame of my ignorance weighing heavy on my conscience.

But Eric isn't listening, his anger mounting with each passing second. "You son of a bitch," he snarls, his voice dripping with venom. "You knew all along, didn't you? You knew and you abandoned my sister and your child. You're a worthless piece of shit!"

"Eric, I swear I didn't know. That day at the rink the first time I saw Layla with Breckin, I knew he was mine."

"You slept with my sister."

"Yes, but it's not what you think.'

But Eric isn't listening, his accusations coming fast and furious as he unloads years of pent-up frustration. "You took advantage of her that night," he accuses, his words cutting like knives. "You saw her get hit by that car, and you left her in that ditch to die."

"Eric, you're wrong," I protest, my voice barely a whisper. "I wasn't even there when it happened. You know that."

But Eric isn't swayed, his anger boiling over as he lashes out with renewed fury. "You betrayed me, Brock. You went after something when I asked you not to. You took advantage of Layla, and you shit on our friendship."

"Eric, I'm sorry. I never meant to…I love her. I loved her the second I met her. I…we were going to tell you but our relationship was over before it even started because of the amnesia."

"You ditched her when she had amnesia!"

"I didn't know she had amnesia until I saw her in the coffee shop this time and she didn't know who I was. I didn't know she had a kid until that day at Breckin"s practice. Had I known any of those things I wouldn't have given up so easily."

"You will pay for what you did to her!" Eric hisses before he leaves the house.

What the fuck just happened?

Eric is extremely drunk and pissed off. He's not listening to reason and thinks that I took advantage of you and left you to die that night

Shit. I'll talk to him

When he's sober he'll realize he's wrong. I'm sorry

She doesn't reply and I fall onto the couch.

Welp, there's more drama I just dropped onto her doorstep.

I cannot believe you filed a restraining order against Tierney, Brock! You're ridiculous. Drop this nonsense now!

Just what I needed — a text from my mother. I shake my head. I will deal with her later.