Page 133 of Need You to Choose Me

Then Gemma says, “My mommy is an angel.”

That cuts the amusement off Bodhi’s face. When I give him a sympathetic look, I can see his jaw working back and forth. “Yeah, she is,” he confirms, his grip on the wheel tightening. “She’s looking down on you, right?”

“Right. Grandma said she’s always keeping an eye on me to make sure I’m good. Like Santa.”

Her innocence is both sad and refreshing at the same time. What would I be like if I lost a parent? The thought makes my stomach hurt. My mom and I are close; it’d kill me if she weren’t around. And my dad… Well, even if we aren’t close, I don’t want to see anything bad happen to him.

To prove her innocence, she changes the subject entirely. “I wonder what Santa will get me for Christmas this year because I’ve been super good. I hope it’s a unicorn.”

Bodhi’s fingers ease from their white-knuckle grip on the wheel as we stop at the end of the campus driveway leading to the main road. He settles into his seat, releasing a long breath. “I don’t know, kiddo. I guess we’ll see what he’s able to do for you.”

He doesn’t comment more on his ex.

The short drive to the diner is spent with Gemma telling us all about her birthday and Christmas wish list. I don’t know what to say, but Bodhi “oohs” and “ahhs” every so often and comments in between her rambles about Barbie dolls and kitchen sets.

When he finds a spot to parallel park in outside of the diner, he cuts the engine and turns to me with a small smile. It’s not as big as the one I’m used to seeing on his face, so I return it hoping it’ll ease whatever is on his mind.

Gemma’s mom maybe?

It’s hard to tell.

A few minutes later, we’re seated in a corner booth with menus spread out in front of me. But none of us are looking at them when we place an order for three sodas and three chicken tender baskets with fries.

I fiddle with the napkin at my place when Bodhi finally breaks the silence. “Gemma usually stays with her grandparents because of my job, but we’ve recently come to an agreement that splits the time more evenly.”

I slowly nod, wondering why he’s telling me this. “That’s…good.”

He shifts in his seat, glancing at his daughter who’s coloring on the back of paper the waitress gave her with some crayons. “Since her mother’s passing, I’ve wanted to become more involved. It’s been a difficult process, but being a dad is something I’ve always wanted to be. Besides hockey, it’s the only other certainty I’ve had in life.”

Sebastian is the same way. “I think that’s sweet, Bodhi. Are you worried that hockey is going to mess with this?”

He lifts one of those broad shoulders. “It’ll be an adjustment, but I know I’ll make it work. I just need her grandparents to get on board.”

All I do is nod along. What is there to say? I’m not sure what I can contribute to this conversation that would make a difference.

“I’ve always…” He sighs, looking at me with studying eyes. “I’ve always had a thing for you, but you didn’t know. Did you?”

Ever so slowly, I blink.

He wets his lips, dipping his head. “I kind of figured.”

“I thought you were always play flirting,” I eventually say, tearing at the napkin in my lap. It’s not discomfort I’m feeling, but it’s close. “I figured it was innocent.”

A thoughtful noise rises up his throat.

“Look,” I say softly. “I think what you’re doing is really sweet. It’s going to make you such a great dad.” I briefly glance at Gemma, who’s in her own little world beside him. “But I don’t know how I would fit into this. Being a mom has never been something I’ve wanted for myself. I wish it were, because you’re a great guy.”

He harrumphs. “If I didn’t have her, what would you say to me?”

Would that matter? “But you do,” I remind him, smiling. “And I can tell how much you love her and want to protect her. If it weren’t her, it’d be a different child—a boy, a girl, I don’t know. That wouldn’t change how I feel about parenthood. Would it change for you?”

His nostrils flare before he rubs his jaw and sits back in his seat, resigned. “No, I suppose not.”

I stop tearing apart the napkin, my smile remaining small and soft. “I didn’t think so.”

We’re both quiet for a few minutes.

“So is it O’Conner then?” he asks, his cheek twitching like the thought makes him mad. At least he tries to contain it. Sebastian would be scowling if we had this conversation.

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