Page 67 of Over the Line

I wanted to take him at his word that he’d suggested pausing this because of the team dynamics. That if he and Chris hadn’t been teammates, we’d absolutely still be seeing where this went.

But I wasn’t stupid. Liam was a great guy. He absolutely was. But he was also not someone who needed to settle for an older guy who still had to worry about things like health insurance premiums and retirement contributions. Liam wasn’t just a pro athlete—he was a superstar pro athlete who could have his pick of men who were younger, hotter, healthier, and wealthier than me.

So could I really blame him for not wanting to carry on with me? I could believe he’d enjoyed himself when we’d kissed in his kitchen, but he and I both knew I was hardly the pinnacle of what he could get. If anything, I was just grateful he’d been polite about cutting me loose. Having my son on his hockey team was a convenient alibi, and I didn’t begrudge him for using it.

And even after that, we’d kept on texting and even FaceTiming. A lot. So maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal when we saw each other in person for the first time in a while. Though I could still see the air between us being moderately awkward, so maybe staying out of the locker room would be a good idea, at least for now.

And maybe seeing him on the ice and on the Jumbotron would be a good primer for seeing him face to face. We wouldn’t be able to avoid each other forever, and I didn’t want to. I just wanted to be ready so I didn’t do or say something stupid.

“Hey, Garrett?” Jasmine’s voice jarred me out of my thoughts.

“Hmm?”

She gestured at the other spouses, who were starting to head down one of the many hallways at ice level. “We’re going to the Zamboni gate for warmups. Do you want to come hang with us?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” I smiled. “Sounds great.”

At the Zamboni gate, Jasmine helped Temo’s wife wrangle their three youngsters, all of whom wanted to watch Daddy through the puck-scuffed glass.

“Do you need another pair of hands?” I asked. “I can help with one of them if you need to.”

Ximena met me with a tired smile. “You don’t mind?”

“Nah, of course not.”

She exhaled. “Thank you so much.” She picked up her three-year-old, Mito, and handed him to me. “They behave, honestly, but they just get so excited before warmups.”

“It’s okay.” I laughed as I settled the boy on my hip. “I’ve got four. I know how it goes.”

“Four?” She touched her chest and shook her head before picking up her littlest, Tepi. “Temo wants five, but I think three is enough for me.”

“Smart,” I said with a laugh.

Then warmups started, and the kids cheered as their dads came out of the tunnel one by one.

I smiled as Chris stepped onto the ice. It would never stop making me proud to see him play, especially at this level. Right now, he looked so focused and determined, same as he always had from his U10 days all the up to this. Some people never found their calling in life. Chris had absolutely found his.

In my arms, Mito craned his head toward the glass, probably looking for his dad. I moved closer to give him a better view, but I could only get so close.

“Do you want to stay up like this?” I asked him. “Or—” I gestured at the bench some of the other kids were standing on “—stand on that?”

Mito shook his head in that exaggerated way little kids did. “No! Up!”

I chuckled. “All right, you can stay up.” I adjusted him on my hip to accommodate some annoyed muscles, and we stayed behind the kids with their noses pressed to the glass.

Then Mito’s older sister squealed, and I looked up just as Temo skated up to the gate. He fist-bumped his daughter through the glass. I held Mito closer to it so he could do the same, and both kids laughed with delight.

Temo caught my eye and gave me a sharp nod—an unspoken thanks. I returned the nod, and he headed back out to rejoin his teammates.

Some of the other dads broke away to say hi to their kids. It was seriously cute, watching them melt and smile at their babies. Most of the kids were fairly young—grade school age at oldest—and some were toddlers or infants. It must’ve made a dad’s whole night, skating up to see his kids in their tiny Daddy jerseys, the littlest ones wearing earmuffs to protect them from noise and the cold.

I glanced at Jasmine, and my throat tightened. It wouldn’t be long before my own son would be stopping to see his baby at the Zamboni gate. I would definitely have to be there the first time, camera at the ready.

Maybe I should see if Taylor wants to be here for that.

Though our divorce hadn’t been anything remotely amicable, my ex-wife and I had worked hard in recent years to be civil. We would never be close again, or even be friends, but in the months leading up to our eldest’s wedding, we’d agreed to bury the hatchet enough to not make their events about us and our bullshit. I thought we’d done a pretty good job of that. There was no reason we couldn’t manage a hockey game together, especially if it meant we both got to watch our son seeing his own son through the Zamboni gate like this.

I tucked that thought away for later. I’d run it by Chris, then check with Taylor. For now, I shifted Mito onto my other hip, which he didn’t seem to mind, and we kept watching warmups and the father-children interactions.