Page 31 of Outlaw Heartstrings
The memories of what happened between us that night are fuzzy. But I remember that Raya crept out of the house right before my mom and brothers got home. My family moved away shortly after that. And I thought the whole thing was over and done with.
Little did I know that I leftan entire babybehind. Well, he’s an eight-year-old now. An incredible eight-year-old who hasn’t had his mother or his father in his life. An innocent boy who deserves to have his dad in his corner.
I didn’t have a father. The pathetic excuse for a man who got my Mom pregnant—three fucking times—never stepped up to the plate. He never paid a dime in child support. He never showed up to a hockey game. He never taught me how to tie my shoelaces or how to ride a bike or how to be an upstanding human being.
My brothers and I had to figure everything out on our own, bickering and fighting the whole way.
My so-called father was nothing more than a name printed on my birth certificate. And from the time I was a little boy, I promised myself that I could never be anything like him.
Now that Jagger is in the picture, I’m more than ready to follow through on that promise I made to myself all those years ago.
“...Easton. Earth to Easton.”
“Huh?” My eyes shoot up to my physiotherapist, Thomas, who’s been calling my name.
“I asked how many reps you’ve done.”
“Oh, uh…”Shit, how many is that?
I’m flat on the floor, stretched out on a mat, running through light physiotherapy exercises. It’s important to improve my strength and mobility after being non-weight bearing on this leg for too long. I’ve got a band connected to my healing ankle, and I’m supposed to be doing these boring little leg lifts, but I’ve been distracted, to say the least.
My hockey team, of course, is making sure I get the best treatment possible to aid with my recovery. Even though I’m laying low, out here in the middle of nowhere, team management has ensured that I’ll still be working with the best therapists and other professionals around.Thomas isthe best. He definitely has a stellar resumé to back him up. Yet, here I am, fucking around.
“I guess I lost track,” I admit, feeling like an idiot. “Maybe twenty? Thirty?”
My physiotherapist shakes his head, tossing a white towel at me. “More like seventy-five,” he grumbles.
I really need to keep my head in the game here. Too much is riding on my recovery. But yet my head has a mind of its own. It keeps drifting back to Jagger during my session.
That poor kid has been growing up without a father, all while I’ve been living my best life. And Alba—she’s sacrificed so damn much to take care of a child that’s not even her own.
Alba…I’m so fucking confused when it comes to how to feel about that woman.
The logical part of my brain is telling me that I should hate her. After all, she kept my son from me for eight damn years. Yes, I am pissed about that. But the feeling that completely trumps my anger is gratitude.
She made so many sacrifices. She tried to prioritize everyone’s needs above her own. Was she misguided in her decisions? Hell fucking yes. Totally. But I have no doubt that she had the best of intentions for everybody involved.
And as much as I regret how much time Jagger and I have lost—let’s be real—my career probably wouldn’t be where it is today if I had found out about him in my early days after going pro. Now, I’m in a solid financial position and I can give him the life he really deserves.
My brain is a mess over this whole thing.
Oliver had to go back to Chicago already. But Lincoln and Rocco are here with me at physio today. They’re huddled up in the corner of the room, deep in conversationat the moment. When they realize that my physiotherapist is chewing my head off, they casually stroll over.
Thomas fists his hands low on his hips. “Look, you seem a bit too distracted to make meaningful progress today. You’re going to get yourself hurt if you don’t follow the program to the T.”
“How about we end the session early and come back strong on Thursday?” Rocco suggests, his eyes on Thomas.
My physiotherapist nods. “I think that would be a good idea.”
I sigh, flexing my foot and feeling the pull of my achy muscles. Maybe they’re right. I climb to my feet, grateful to not have to deal with the crutches anymore but still moving gingerly. I was told my ankle is now considered to be in stage two of the healing process.Whatever that means.
“Sorry about today, man. My head will be in it a hundred percent on Thursday,” I promise Thomas. “And I’ll do that homework you mentioned, too,” I add, wanting to prove that I’m dedicated to this. I’m dedicated to my recovery process.
“Follow the reps,” Thomas says, his tone serious. “Nothing more.”
“Got it.”
After my brothers and I head out of the clinic, the guys decide they want to hit up the local bar for a late lunch. Although I’m sure a drink would help me temporarily forget about my problems, I don’t plan on drinking. Alcohol is what turned me into a ‘surprise dad’ in the first place.
