Page 165 of Over the Line

Liam

Yeah the dads usually don’t miss many games unless there’s complications.

Wow. I mean I get it wasn’t taxing on him physically. But still. It was a lot. Plus being away from Jasmine and the baby so soon… (grimace emoji)

I know. (sad face) It’s always hard on the new dads.

On the bright side, new dad luck is a thing.

Oh yeah?

Yep. Don’t know why, but new dads always score like crazy.

lol wow. Hockey is weird.

Are you just now figuring this out?

No, but year after year, I learn just how weird it is.

Give it time. It’ll get weirder.

I’m sure it will lol

Anyway, keep an eye on Chris. He was barely awake enough to make it through the airport this morning, and I know he’s stressed being away from Jasmine and Asher.

We’ve got him. Don’t worry.

What about you? How are you doing?

Still tired, still kind of overwhelmed. But good. Holding my grandson for the first time was an amazing experience.

I bet it was. He’s cute!

Right? A nurse tried to tell Jasmine he looks just like his dad. She looked right at him and said he’s five minutes old—he looks like a potato.

LMAO I mean they kinda do at that stage

They really, really do.

Eh, they’re cute. Anyway, we’ll take care of Chris. He’ll probably have a killer game.

He wasn’t wrong—in Chris’s first game after becoming a father, he scored his first career hat trick.

New dad luck really was something else. As was my son. I couldn’t have been prouder of him as both a dad and a hockey player.

But of course, I still had guilt chasing me around, and it hadn’t let up over the past couple of days. If anything, it was worse now.

I wanted to maintain this close relationship Chris and I finally had, and that meant I needed to be honest with him about things. I needed to tell him about Liam and let those chips fell where they would. I wasn’t so sure I could wait until the end of the season after all.

Let him get back to town. Let him catch his breath a little.

And then…

I’m going to come clean.

“The Pittsburgh goal”—the announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium—“scored by number sixteen, Liam. Saint. Clair!”

The hometown crowd roared and I cheered right along with them as Liam skated toward the bench for fist bumps.