Page 231 of Off Limits: The Firsts

He reaches down to the back of his pants where he’s obviously tucked something and produces a LumberJacks hat and places it squarely on my head.

I throw my head back and laugh, and then have to hold it to my head when I almost lose it.

“It’s a good look on you,” he shouts above the fray.

“I’m so proud of you,” I tell him and kiss him one more time. “Now go celebrate with your team.”

He steps down off the bench but his eyes still hold mine, and the goofy grin on his face tells me he’s struggling to take this all in.

“I love you,” he mouths.

“I love you more,” I say, my words drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the Stanley Cup is carried out onto the ice.

Hunter

Dad: Congratulations.

I stare at the text just delivered to my phone and then back across the room where my dad is standing against the wall with his cell in his hand but his eyes locked on mine.

I wait for the criticism to come. For my phone to alert another text where he tells me what I did wrong or what I could have done better. I expect the negativity that I’ve lived with all my life to come roaring in.

But he doesn’t send another text, he doesn’t say a word. He only gives a nod, but it’s a nod that says more than I could ever ask for. It says things I’ve longed to hear for far too long and now that I don’t need to hear them, I can probably appreciate them more.

But it takes me back. It challenges me to remember a time when there wasn’t something negative to weigh down anything positive that has happened.

And still, the text doesn’t come.

I struggle with how to feel. Relieved. Confused. Uncertain. At a loss. I’d think one of them would stand out, but it’s been so long since I’ve been given a chance to have an emotion other than shame and anger when it comes to my dad, that I don’t know how to feel.

And then there’s the fact that he’s over there staring at me but can’t voice the word.

I should be angry at that. I should expect more . . . but I lost hope over that so very long ago.

So what now? How do I proceed?

While Jonah’s body bears physical scars, mine are within, unseen, and just as devastating.

Some scars may never heal, but for the first time, it seems I’ve accomplished what he never thought I could. I won the Cup. I lived up to his ridiculous standards.

And a part of me suddenly feels free.

While I shouldn’t give a fuck that I made my dad proud or happy because he stole or dominated so many years of my life, I have more to be thankful for than angry about right now.

I did this for Jonah.

I did this for me.

I did this for my team.

I’ve found Dekker.

Now I can really live.

A dream has been won. My heart is full because of the love of a woman I never thought I’d deserve.

I’m a winner in more ways than one.

And fuck . . . I’m thankful.