CHAPTER TWENTY

"Hey, good workout, bud," Tom said, slapping Shea on the shoulder as they finished their late-morning workout and left the gym. "I still think you could have gone heavier on the squats but …"

"Mmm," Shea said because he wasn't going to argue with his dad about the fact that he was protecting his knee. With good form, there was nothing inherently wrong with doing squats but he didn't like to overload the weight.

Shea knew exactly what he could manage, but, as usual, his dad didn't agree.

When they were back at the house, they went their separate ways to shower and change, and then Shea helped his mom make lunch.

After, she and Emma disappeared to go get manicures and pedicures and then it was just Shea and his dad alone.

Usually a recipe for disaster, but Shea would try to keep his temper in check.

Shea helped his dad move some things up into the attic and then they watched ESPN for a while.

"How's work been?" Shea asked. His dad worked as a general manager for a chain of gyms.

"Not too bad."

They killed twenty minutes discussing his dad's career before they exhausted that subject and fell silent again.

Shea tried not to fidget.

"What about yours?" his dad asked a few minutes later, after the silence had gone past awkward and into downright uncomfortable. "How have things been at the clinic?"

"Oh, pretty good. I've had some interesting patients lately. Long hours some days, but it's always challenging and rewarding."

Shea told him about a recent client—a high school swimmer with a torn rotator cuff—who had recently returned to competing. "He's doing great. Didn't medal or anything but his times were solid."

His dad nodded. "Yeah, that does sound rewarding. Knowing you helped someone return to the sport they love."

Shea flinched. "Yeah."

A guilty look crossed his dad's face. "I didn't mean …"

Shea swallowed hard. "Yeah, no, I know. It's just …"

It was weird now. This distance between him and his dad.

They'd been so close when Shea was growing up.

Shea would never forget the time they'd spent in the car on the way to and from rinks. He'd never forget the drills they'd worked on together, or the way it had felt when he'd finally gotten something he was struggling with and they celebrated together.

Shea would never forget the laughter or the hugs or the times they went out for ice cream after a game. Because yeah, his dad had his moments. He could be harsh and demanding at times. And maybe he'd pushed too hard, been too rigid, but he'd always tried to be a good dad.

They'd been close and then … they weren't.

"I hate that we don't talk anymore," Shea blurted out.

His dad glanced away from the TV, his brow furrowing. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know," Shea said, frustrated. "Anything? I know you've never forgiven me for quitting hockey but I miss—"

"Forgiven you?" He frowned. "There's nothing to forgive. I don't agree with your choice but you didn't do anything to me that I need to forgive."

"Didn't I?" Shea looked down at his hands. "I know I disappointed you. You wanted me to make it to the NHL so bad."

"I did. But—but you wanted it too, right?" His dad sounded troubled. "You wanted to be a hockey player."

"Yes!" Shea looked over at him again. "Of course I did. I still hate that I lost my chance. I still wish things had gone differently."

"Good. Because I—I know I was tough on you. And maybe I was too tough, sometimes." He looked away.

Shea hesitated. "Yeah, sometimes you were," he finally admitted.

His dad nodded, still staring at the TV. "Thought so."

"And I'm not saying you caused my knee problems," Shea said. "But—but sometimes you—you didn't listen when I said it was hurting. And then when I realized I needed to quit, you made me feel like I'd failed."

"I thought you were going through a rough period mentally and you needed to buckle down and work harder."

"That's not always the solution, Dad. I know your generation thinks mine is so fucking soft but maybe we're tired of sacrificing our minds and our bodies all the damn time. Yeah, of course you have to work your ass off to make it to the NHL and you have to push to win. But there's a point where you're destroying yourself in the prospect—mentally and physically—and maybe … maybe that's not always worth it."

His dad nodded again, staying silent, so Shea pressed on.

"I mean, you've heard some of the guys in the league talk about mental health stuff. Do you want to tell me that Theriault bottling up the shit he was struggling with when his father was diagnosed with CTE was healthy ? Or that Hale drowning his sorrows in a bottle was the way to cope with a breakup and career struggles?"

"No, of course not," his dad said gruffly.

"I know everyone thinks it's fucking strange that La Bouche retired when he did or that Murphy and Hartinger did the same, but you know what? I admire what they did. I admire that they knew their limits and walked away when they could still fully enjoy their retirements."

"Sure, but they'd accomplished something," his dad argued. "They had their Cup wins."

"And I accomplished nothing," Shea said, stung by his dad's words.

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"Didn't you? Because by most people's definition, I'm a fucking failure. I gave up my dream for nothing."

"Shea—"

"But I—I didn't want to spend most of my career out on IR or recovering from surgery after surgery or not being able to walk without constant pain when it was over," he said. "And Em showed me that it was okay to admit when sometimes you have limits."

"She still pushes herself too hard."

"Maybe? Or maybe we should trust that she knows her own body better than we do. But the thing is, she also isn't afraid of using the tools out there to help her live the life she wants to live. Finding that balance."

"True."

Shea licked his lips. "And when it comes down to it, I guess I didn't want to be a pro player bad enough to put myself through the kind of agony I'd be in with shitty knees. And I know you think that makes me weak but—"

"I never—"

"Yeah, you did. You told me to man up and push through. And maybe you didn't mean that if I didn't keep pushing, that made me weak, but that's definitely the way it came across . Especially to a nineteen-year-old who only wanted to make his dad proud."

"Shea," his dad said roughly. "I'm proud of you."

"Are you?" Shea said, his eyes stinging. "Because I never once heard you say that. Even when I got my masters. Em and mom came to my graduation but you weren't there."

"Fuck." His dad sighed. "I'm sorry for that. I was being hardheaded."

"You think?"

"How long have you been mad at me for all this?"

"Since I was nineteen," Shea said flatly. "And worse than being mad, I was hurting because I never felt like I was good enough for you. Like nothing I ever accomplished would make you happy ."

"Fuck me," his dad said, putting his head in his hands. "I had no idea."

And Shea could argue with him that he should have.

He should have known how deeply it hurt Shea to feel like he'd let down the man he'd spent his whole childhood admiring. But his dad was actually hearing him for the first time and that was something.

It wasn't a lot but it was a start.

"Well, now you know," Shea said roughly. "And I'm not saying I was perfect either. I shouldn't have cut you guys off for so long. I know that hurt both of you."

His dad looked up, expression pained. "I think if I fucked up that badly that you felt like you didn't want to be around me, that's on me, not you."

"Well, I get my stubbornness from somewhere, eh?" Shea nudged his dad's thigh with his knee.

He let out a little chuckle but his eyes were still sad. "I'm sorry," he said, growing serious again. "I'm sorry I made a lot of bad choices."

"Hey, I'm sorry too," Shea said.

"I'll try to be better at listening, okay?"

"Yeah." Shea swallowed. "While we're on the subject … there's something I should probably tell you."

"Yeah, what's that?" His dad sounded a little wary, which was fair.

"I know you said you couldn't see me like that but I—I kinda lied the other day when we talked on the phone."

"About what?"

"I'm not gay but I'm not entirely straight either."

His dad frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means … I've been involved with men too. I'm"—he remembered what his sister had said last night—"bisexual, I guess."

His dad was silent for a moment. "Well, I'm surprised and it'll, uh, take me a minute to wrap my head around it but this is what makes you happy?"

Shea nodded. Close enough, anyway.

"Then I'll support you," his dad said gruffly.

"Yeah?" Shea hated how surprised he was. How much he'd been bracing for a fight.

"Yeah. Your mother and I, we love you. And I know how much I hurt you and hurt her when we were fighting."

"What about you?"

His dad blinked. "Of course it hurt me. You're my son . Like I said earlier, if I did something that hurt you so bad you don't want to be around me, then I was the one who screwed up. And I don't want to do that again."

"I don't want to do that either," Shea said quietly. "I want a relationship with you and Mom."

"Then I'll be as supportive as I can be. And you tell me if I need to work on things, okay?"

Shea swallowed, throat thick. "That would be—that would be great. And I'll work on not assuming the worst, okay?"

His dad nodded, then turned back to the TV. They watched in silence for a few minutes before he said, "This about you and Olson?"

"Dominic Olson and I are friends," Shea said firmly. "I'm his stylist and we hang out outside of work occasionally but don't go thinking I'm going to bring him home to meet the family because we're dating or anything. That isn't going to happen."

"Good," his dad said. Shea shot him a sidelong glance and he held up his hands. "Just saying you can do better than that if you're going to date a hockey player."

Shea snorted. "He's a two-time Stanley Cup winner and likely to be inducted into the Hall of Fame. How much better do you want me to do?"

"Well, an extra Cup couldn't hurt."

Shea laughed, relief flooding his body that this had gone so much better than he'd hoped.

Telling his mom would be a piece of cake by comparison.

And now he could relax and enjoy celebrating her birthday, knowing that the entire weekend would a lot less stressful than he'd initially feared.

Relieved, Shea grinned at his dad. "Well, if I do ever bring home an NHL player to meet the family, I'll be sure to let him know that."