She scoffed. “Did you grow so much, you stopped being my son?”
“No.”
“Good.” She paused just long enough to take half a breath. “So tell me everything, especially about this woman you were with. Is she someone special? Should I expect to meet her soon?”
Like that was going to happen. She wanted nothing to do with him. He was a trapped-in-a-cabin lay and that was it. Not that he cared what she thought. She was just some annoying kinda-reporter who stuck her nose where it didn’t belong and then told the world—accidentally or on purpose.
“That is never going to happen.” He grabbed an electrolyte-balanced water from the fridge and sucked a third of it down in one gulp while standing in front of the open fridge and letting the cool air hit him.
His mom tsk-tsked. “Such a sourpuss all of a sudden.”
The ache in the back of his head, the one that throbbed and sizzled at the same time, went into overdrive at the reminder that his former good nature had died a sudden and painful death that hurt enough, it could have been written by George R. R. Martin. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Ian Elliot Petrov,” his mom said, her tone sharp but with an edge of hurt. “I love you, but I’ve had just about enough of this attitude. I know you’re hurt. I am, too. I’m also angry, confused, and a million other things. However, I’m not taking that out on you, and I expect you not to take it out on me.”
She was right, but the person he wanted to take it out on, he couldn’t even look at right now.
“Speaking of Dad, is he still calling you?”
“He is.” She let out a soft sigh. “Not that you should be concerned about it. I’m taking care of it.”
Ignoring the sharp edge of her tone, he dove right in to it like it was a bench-clearing brawl. “Of course I’m worried. You’re my mom, and I don’t want him to hurt you any more. I hate that he’s done this to you.”
“It’s more complicated than that. It happened a long time ago. His cheating was definitely a reason for our split, but it wasn’t the only one. Believe me, Ian, he’s changed since then.”
“People don’t change.” He crossed into his bedroom, passing by one of the many bookshelves in his apartment and the framed family photo that was not surprisingly missing dear old Dad. “Once someone picks their path, that’s it.”
He was proof of that. His path had been to prove the naysayers—especially his dad—wrong about his ability to make it to the NHL. And he’d done it. Next, he’d do what his dad couldn’t and make his post-playing career mark in coaching. After that, there was just a big old blank spot, but who cared. He’d figure it out. Eventually.
“We all have more layers than that—even you,” his mom said with a chuckle. “So what are you doing now?”
He stared down at the empty suitcase lying open in the middle of his bed, dread crawling up the back of his neck like a parade of ants wearing ice picks for shoes. “Packing for the team road trip.”
“I thought you weren’t going until after the doctor cleared you?”
“Change of plans.” Yeah, that was one way to put it. As for him, he just called it Grade-A Bullshit. “The team wants to do a whole ‘brothers bonding on the road’ thing, and I’m stuck doing it.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” his mom said without an ounce of sarcasm in her voice. “I think this is a great opportunity for you and Alex.”
“Mom!” he exclaimed, almost dropping his phone. “How can you say that after what happened?”
“Because it wasn’t his choice to be in this situation any more than it was yours.”
The calm understanding in her voice was enough to push him right over the line. Heat blasted up through his body, setting every nerve ending on fire until he swore he could practically smell smoke.
“But. He. Lied,” he said, slowly over-enunciating each word.
His mom made a huh sound. “Did he or did he not get lost in trying to figure out how to tell someone he cared about something that he knew would hurt him—sort of like how your father confessed to that affair and others when he thought coming clean could save our marriage but not to having another son.”
How could his mother, the strongest woman he knew, come at him with questions like that? It made no sense.
“He lied.” God, he hated how his voice broke on that last word. “They both did.”
“Ian, you are so stubborn sometimes that you remind me of your father.”
“God forbid.” There wasn’t a damn thing of his father’s that he wanted. Even if the hockey gods came down and offered to give him every one of his dad’s on-ice skills, he’d turn them down flat.
Fuck David Petrov.
“I know you’re mad,” his mom said. “I was, too—for a very long time—but you know what I learned? It’s not worth it. We are each the determiners of our own destiny, and I refuse to cede that power to someone who hurt me. That is my power. It’s yours, too.”
“I hate him.” From the cowlick on the back of his head in the exact same spot as his dad’s all the way down to the scar on Ian’s ankle from the dog who bit him when he was five because his dad goaded him into petting the snarly poodle.
She let out one of those deep, soul-weary Mom sighs that seemed to go on forever. “Well, I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Take a deep breath and give Alex a chance. We’re all trying to do our best in this world and making the best decisions we can at the time with the information we have.”
If he was 10 percent as good of a person as his mom was, he’d take her
