Page 37 of Never In My Wildest Dreams

But no, the more she told him, the easier it would be for him to put the pieces together, and she couldn’t have that. “If you hadn’t found those papers, do you think she ever would’ve told you?”

“No. In her mind, we were a family. She said they didn’t want to tell me something that would make me question my identity.”

“But your identityisin question. I mean, no shade on your mom, I get where she’s coming from, but you’re a grown man. You have a right to know the truth.”Calm down. Her getting worked up over it certainly didn’t help him.

“That’s exactly my point. But she said, ‘When should we have told you? At ten? Twenty? When you graduated from college? When was the right time to say this to you?’”

“And the answer is before I sorted through documents and found adoption papers.” She needed to stop. It was none of her business. “I’m sorry. She’s your mom. It’s your relationship, and I need to stop?—”

“Don’t.” The word shot out of his mouth like a dart. “Other than George, I haven’t talked about this with anyone, so it’s good to hear someone else’s perspective.”

She nodded. “Well, obviously I get pretty worked up over any kind of deception. She could’ve kept it a secret, and you might never have found out, and that would’ve been fantasticfor her. But the thing is, what is a relationship without honesty? I’m sorry, but it isn’t real if there isn’t transparency. And out of respect for you, they should’ve sat you down when they felt you were old enough to understand and told you the truth.”

“I agree.”

“I mean, if only to hear your dad’s answers. It’s not the same to hear it from your mom, who might be trying to make you feel better. Her words don’t matter nearly as much as his. She took that from you.”

His lips pulled into a taut line, and the muscle in his jaw popped. Leaving his mug on the counter, he headed toward the back door, jammed his feet into running shoes and his arms into a fleece jacket, and slipped outside.

Leaving her sick to her stomach.

Had she just told a total stranger that his mother screwed him over? That the father he lost had treated him with disrespect?

What is wrong with you?Projecting her issues onto him wasn’t fair. It was a sensitive subject for him. She shouldn’t have been so aggressive.

I’m a self-involved idiot.And the longer she stayed in isolation, wallowing in self-pity, languishing in her identity crisis, the worse it would get.

Dammit.What had she done?

* * *

Fuck, it was cold. But he needed it. Needed the wake-up call.

It was the nature of his job to be on-call twenty-four seven, but a consequence of that was ignoring his personal life.

Instead of acknowledging his anger, he’d avoided his mom.

He didn’t want to deal with the fact that his dad wasn’t his biological father. It wasn’t just a ripple in the fabric of his life. It tore it apart at the seams.

It changed his entire reality.

As he stared out at the snow-covered forest, he shoved his freezing hands into his pockets. But he wasn’t seeing sunlight glistening on snow.

He was seeing his dad’s expression when he scored his first goal as a six-year-old. Where the other parents shouted, pumping their fists, his dad had remained quiet, his whole being radiating pride.

He remembered it vividly, his shock at getting the puck in the net. The way he’d immediately swung his gaze to the stands, seeking out his dad. The patient, encouraging man who’d taught him to skate.

He saw him parking along the Snake River, getting out of the car, and making his way down the hill to the boulders where Booker and his friends sat with the police after one of the guys had fallen through the ice and nearly died of hypothermia. The other parents were angry, yelling, flipping out. But Booker’s dad moved quietly through the chaos, grabbed him, and hugged him so hard, he could hardly breathe.

“I’m going to guess you knew a river wouldn’t freeze,” he’d said in Booker’s ear. “Make your own damn decisions.”

And his dad’s ravaged expression when Booker had awakened in the hospital after the injury that ended his NHL career before it’d even begun. His dad slept in a chair, never leaving his side. Not even to get a coffee.

A hand touched his back. “Come back in. It’s too cold out here.”

Ripped out of his memories, he hadn’t fully landed back in the now. So, head down, he skirted around her and went inside. The generator was working, warming the cabin up. He went back to the counter, but his coffee had cooled.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

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