Page 172 of Puck Me Secretly

“Rumor was that he wasn’t a gentleman with the ladies, but he was such a gifted hockey player, your father turned a blind eye to his antics. We didn’t have the media reporting things like they do today. It was a different time back then.”

A sickening feeling grew in my stomach. “But something else happened.”

Her lips trembled. “I was waiting for your father one night after the game. He was in meetings with the coaches. He was much more involved back then. And Garrett found me waiting. We were alone, and no one was around.”

“Mom, what happened?”

“He tried to assault me, but your father interrupted him. It was terrible. Your father didn’t want that negativity to impact the team, so we didn’t go to the police. Your Dad kicked Garrett off the team. We would have won the cup that year but with Garrett gone, we didn’t even make the playoffs. Garrett died a few years later in a drinking and driving accident.”

Holy shit.

“Oh Mom.”

She swallowed. “Max is a dead ringer for Garrett. I didn’t see it at first until that night at the ball when you mentioned Garrett. And it all came rushing back.”

“Mom, Max is not Garrett.”

“I know,” she breathed. “But he reminded me so much of him, and I was scared for you. We let that cloud our vision. Then with everything going on, it was easy to believe the worst of him.”

“I think he was my father,” Max stood in the doorway.

“What?” We both spoke at the same time.

Max came over and sat down across from us. Trouble clouded his eyes. “When I was 15, my coach told me that my playing style reminded him of Garrett Walters. I became obsessed and did everything I could to research him. My mom walked in on me watching footage of him and she became hysterical. I put two and two together after that.”

“Garrett Walter didn’t have any children,” Mom managed to speak.

“My mom waitressed in the restaurant at your stadium at the same time Garrett played for Vancouver.”

Holy shit.

“Hey guys, I got here as quick as I could.” Brian stood in the doorway, wearing the same clothes he was wearing yesterday. His gaze skittered between the three of us. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Mom recovered. “Do you have papers for me to sign?”

“Right here.”

Max stood up and moved out of the waiting room. With anxiety, I followed him.

“Wait, Max.”

He turned. Pain etched his expression. “So, now you know.”

“Know what?”

“The entire truth about who I am.”

I touched his arm. “That’s not who you are.”

“My father was not a good person.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You just heard that my father tried to assault your mom. Doesn’t that scare you?”

“The only thing that scares me about you is that you’re about to leave again.”

“Maybe I should.”

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