Page 90 of Two for Roughing

Mom reached out and grabbed his hands. “I promise you, Kilian. You may have disappointed us once or twice because children need to make mistakes to learn, but you have never been a disappointment.”

“You never told me,” Kilian said, his voice watery and weak. Childish. He took a deep shuddering breath and let it be what it was. “Every time you call, you tell me what I did wrong.” He eyes flicked involuntarily to his dad.

Dad had always been emotive. Mom was the level-headed one they went to for life advice. Dad was the one who gave hugs when the girls cried over a boyfriend, the one who cheered for them at competitions and called all the other children cheaters.

Now, he sat as if poleaxed, stock-still on Damir’s cozy couch and looking as though he’d never been less comfortable. “I thought…” He licked his lips. “I thought I was helping you. Giving you tips on what to work on next.”

“I have other coaches now,” Kilian said. He absorbed the way it made Dad flinch and kept talking anyway. “I want you to be my dad again. I want you to be proud of me.”

“Kilian, I’ve always been proud of you.” Dad took off his glasses and wiped at his eyes. “Jesus, I couldn’t be prouder. My son, the NHL player.”

Kilian looked down at the coffee table. The soda bottle sweated out droplets of moisture that would leave water stains on the wood, but he couldn’t remember where Damir kept the coasters. “And…the other stuff?”

“You mean that I have a son who isn’t afraid to stand in front of the world and tell them who he is? Who can admit when he was wrong and learn to be better? And who is strong enough to show everyone he can play hockey and love whoever he wants?” Dad’s voice gave out at the end.

It didn’t matter. Kilian was crying too hard to hear much of anything anyway.

The couch cushions dipped next to him, and then he had his mom on one side and his dad on the other, and they were both hugging him for all they were worth. Kilian crumpled into their hold, safe in the knowledge that for the first time since he’d been traded to Chicago, he didn’t have to be strong.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been sitting together all tangled up when Damir cleared his throat from the doorway.

“I apologize,” he said. “I don’t mean to intrude, but dinner is ready if you want it. And your tea, Mrs. Howard.”

They pulled apart, all a little more waterlogged than they had been a few minutes ago.

Kilian wiped at his eyes with the backs of his hands. “Thanks, Damir. Um, I guess we need to eat here?” The kitchen island barely had enough space for everyone when Ketchup was home, so it couldn’t seat four.

“Why don’t I help set the table,” Mom suggested. She got to her feet and followed Damir to the kitchen before anyone could protest.

Dad chuckled at her retreating figure. “Don’t mind her. She hates getting all emotional.”

“Knew I got it from somewhere.”

“Yeah.” Dad pulled away to look at Kilian properly. “I’m sorry I never intervened in the locker room when you were younger.”

Kilian shrugged. “You didn’t know I was gay.”

“No, but I knew you would all go out into the world and meet people who were someday.” Dad smiled down at his lap. “I guess I got used to being a girl dad, you know? Girls are good at telling you how they feel and what’s wrong. I guess we expect them to be. And your sisters…well, you know them. They never hesitate to speak up about anything. When you came along and you were interested in the things I was interested in, I wanted to be there for all of it, and I guess I expected you to know your own mind and have all the words to say it the same way they did.”

“I—” Kilian started, wanting to defend himself against the accusation of not knowing his own mind, but Dad wasn’t done.

“And you did. I’m sure you did. But you were always so sensitive and tried so hard to make us all happy. I should have known you wouldn’t come right out and tell me if you weren’t happy. You don’t learn how to be real with your emotions in a hockey arena, and it was my job to teach you.” He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “I never should have coached you, should I?”

During the worst part of puberty, between the ages of eleven and fourteen, Kilian had thought the same thing many times over. But now that Dad was saying it, he found he couldn’t answer.

“I never knew whether to raise you or train you. At the rink, I didn’t want to step into the locker room and discipline you as my kid, and at home, I was always in hot water with your mom for all the hockey talk.”

“If you hadn’t been my coach, I might not have stuck with hockey.” Kilian didn’t know where the admission rose from or why he felt the need to share it now, when he’d finally heard the words from his father that he’d wanted to hear for so long. It turned out he couldn’t handle seeing Dad look so sad. “When I was little, my favorite thing about it was having your attention. You and Grandpa liked watching me play so much. That’s why I love it. Because of you.”

Fresh tears rolled from the corners of Dad’s eyes.

“Anyway,” Kilian added, “we can’t change it now.”

“No, but I can be a better dad in the future.”

Mercifully, before Kilian could respond with assurances of what a great dad he already was, he continued.

“And you had better talk to your sisters. They’ve been calling us at all hours of the day.”