Page 147 of Over the Line

When I was out shopping for baby stuff with my son and his girlfriend? It wasn’t quite as amusing. Especially when I was still petrified of how he’d react when he found out who I was with.

After the season, I reminded myself. We’re not hiding it from him—we’re just waiting until the right time to tell him.

Why did that feel like I was gaslighting myself? Probably because I was an idiot. In particular, an idiot who’d royally fucked my relationships with my kids and was terrified of losing all the progress I’d fought so hard to make. Hell, Chris would probably just say, “My dad is dating my hockey idol? Cool!” and that would be the end of it.

But there was always the chance he wouldn’t react that way. And I was scared.

“Dad?” Chris jostled me out of my thoughts, and when I turned to him, he and Jasmine watched me quizzically. “What do you think?” He gestured at the strollers.

Strollers. Right. They wanted my input.

I shook myself and focused. Luckily, there was one that stuck out as being practical and reasonable. It wasn’t a bus with a push bar, and when I gave it an experimental spin, it was super easy to maneuver and corner. One of the ones my ex and I had for our eldest had been a nightmare to turn, especially when she’d still been recovering from delivery.

“This one’s good,” I told Chris and Jasmine. “Give it a try.”

They did, and I had to smile as I watched them. This was becoming more and more real by the day. I mean, it was tough to ignore—Jasmine was huge and probably wished her due date was tomorrow—but something about watching them trying out strollers and comparing notes on other baby stuff really drove it home.

He’d grown up. He was about to be a dad.

Sometimes I felt stupid for being this scared of telling him about Liam.

Other times, I was all too aware of just how much I had to lose if I read the situation wrong.

I want you to know. I just don’t want to lose you.

Please, please understand.

“You really don’t mind putting this together?” Chris eyed the flatpack for a dresser they’d bought yesterday along with the stroller. “I can do it.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “And if you hurt your hands or your back, you won’t be useful to your team or your girlfriend.” I made a shooing gesture. “I’ve got it.”

He frowned, but then shrugged and chuckled. “I mean, I won’t say no if you want to do the hard stuff. I hate putting together furniture.”

“That’s because you hate following directions.”

“Hey!”

“He’s not wrong, hon,” Jasmine said with a giggle.

He tried to scowl at her, but the expression quickly turned fond. Rolling his eyes, he put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “Rude.”

More giggling. She poked him. “You know it’s true.”

“I know you’re a brat.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Ugh. Dad! She’s being mean!”

I put up my hands. “No, no. I’m staying out of this.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on the side that’s building your furniture.”

He grumbled something I didn’t catch, which made Jasmine and me laugh. They left me to it after that, and I eased myself onto the floor to start assembling the furniture.

Of course, that movement brought back all those delicious memories of the other night… along with the ever-present barrage of guilt. I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. After another brief internal lecture about how I was doing nothing wrong and fully intended to tell Chris when the time was right, I opened the box and got to work.