Page 159 of Jaded

“Dad . . .” Her voice is a pale ghost of a whisper, and she tilts her gaze up towards me. “I’m sorry about meeting with Uncle Jesse behind your back. I just . . . I got caught up.”

“I know, kid. Trust me. I get it.” I exhale in a long, slow sigh. And I say more things I need—have needed—to say. “It’s not your fault. I never talk about him. We had a complicated relationship.”

“Complicated how?” She tilts her head against my shoulder, and I want to freeze this moment so I never have to let go of her. Of us. But I have so much more I need to say.

“He used to be a good brother.” Regardless of anything else he was, he was mybrother, and I loved him with everything I had. “He taught me how to play guitar. How to skate.”

“Damn,” Syd murmurs.

“But he’s six years older. So he got to high school, and he was popular and talented . . .” I shrug. “It’s like he forgot I existed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Stupid, now that we’re adults.” The whole world smiled down on Jess, and all I wanted was for him to return that smile once.

But he never did.

“Jess left Day River after high school to play in college. I was twelve.” I don’t tell her how much Dad hated being stuck with me instead—the unwanted son. The one who kept him in his shit job long after he wanted to retire. “He never called. Or visited.”

Syd’s still lying against my shoulder. She offers no interruption, so I keep talking.

“He came back to play for the Dingoes when I was sixteen. Got his own apartment, never once stopped by.” My voice cracks slightly. But I push through, force my emotions away. “He played for the Dingoes for three years—three championship wins. And then, he went to the NHL and never looked back.”

Syd’s inhale is a sharp gasp of surprise. “Did he know about me?”

“He was still in Day River when you were born.” I lift my free shoulder in a shrug. “Never even bothered to meet you.”

Maybe that’s when I truly shut him out, when my whole world refocused—and Jess didn’t even glance over.

“I started working at the rink, Jess left, and Brenda and I finally moved out when I was twenty. When Dad died, Jess got the house. I never asked if I could move back in, and he never offered.”

“Damn, Dad.” Syd’s voice sounds ragged again, like she’s holding back another wave of tears. “I never knew . . . I never knew all of that.”

“How could you?” My own tears slip down my cheeks to crystalize the top of her hair, like dewdrops on a summer morning. “I never talk about him. I spent so much time hating him . . .”

“Do you still hate him?”

Do I? How can I, when I see now what I didn’t see then—that he’s just another broken Day River kid, trying to get out. Trying to live a dream, no matter the cost.

If our positions had been reversed, if I’d been the brother with the NHL on a silver platter, would I have said no?

“No.” I sigh. “I don’t hate him anymore.”

We sit like that for a long, long time. Me and Sydney. Father and daughter.

Time passes, but I have no idea how much. I wish I could freeze this moment forever, me and her.

“You know,” she says suddenly, her voice muddled with tears. She sniffles, lets go of my shirt to wipe a hand across her face. “You’re the best dad I could have ever asked for. And whatever—”

Her voice cracks, and a short, staccato sob breaks free of my throat.

“Whatever you decide about the tournament,” she says, pressing the words through tears, “you will always be a great dad. Even if that means a lot of traveling. Or staying here.”

“And I will always support you,” I murmur against her hair. “But just know, no matter how big or awesome you get, you’re always gonna be my little girl.”

“Ugh.” She sits up, laughing through tears. “That’s the corniest, lamest thing anybody has ever said.”

“Huh. Maybe I’m dad material after all.”

---