willing and able || | s. crosby
"oh, we can fight like we used to fight bony-limbed, red-faced, and teary-eyed"
warnings: language. abandonment.
summary: face to face again, and he's determined to fix it when you want nothing more to do with him.
request: yes
song: willing and able - noah kahan
word count: 7.7k
a/n: yay part two!!! most likely one more part but we'll see ;)
previous part | next part (soon)
~
Being in town for possibly the biggest day of the year was incredibly stupid on your part. Like, monumentally stupid. Because local hero bringing the Stanley Cup home was a big deal. Not just a big deal, actually. It was THE big deal. The whole community had been excited about it for weeks. Sidney Crosby, Cole Harbour's golden boy, coming home with the Cup.
And you were right in the thick of it.
You and Beau were back in the neighborhood because your parents had planned this whole “end of summer camping trip” that just so happened to land on the weekend of Sid’s homecoming. Your dad had been talking about it for months, ever since Beau had developed this sudden obsession with camping. One afternoon, your dad had set up this little tent in the backyard, nothing fancy, just a basic dome tent he found in the garage. He'd let Beau crawl inside, given him a flashlight and a sleeping bag, and that was it. Beau was hooked. He talked about camping constantly, asked when you could go camping, drew pictures of tents and campfires and bears at daycare.
"Papa says we're gonna roast marshmallows," he'd told you one night at dinner. "And sleep outside with the stars, Mama. The stars!"
"That sounds fun, buddy."
"Can we go camping? Please? Please, please, please?"
And how were you supposed to say no to him? So your dad had planned this whole trip. Three days at a campground about an hour away from your parents' place, with fishing and hiking and all the marshmallow roasting a 3 year old could handle. But first, you needed supplies. Snacks, dinner ingredients, bug spray, all the essentials. And your dad, ever the planner, had made a list. A very detailed list. Which is how you'd ended up at the grocery store on what was apparently the same day half of Canada had decided to stock up for Sidney Crosby's Cup party.
You should have known better. Should have just driven somewhere you wouldn't run into anyone who might recognize you. But you'd thought that maybe people would be too distracted by the Cup madness to notice you. That you could just slip in, grab what you needed, and slip out.
You'd been pretty careful over the years about keeping Beau away from your old childhood spots. The places where people still talked to your parents, where they'd watched you grow up, where they remembered you as Sid's childhood sweetheart. Because you were sure that the second they saw Beau they'd put the pieces together. It wouldn't even be hard. The kid looked exactly like Sidney. Exactly.
And a part of you didn't want anyone else's image of Sid to be tainted. It was stupid, probably. Definitely stupid. But there was still this part of you that remembered the boy he'd been. The sweet, earnest boy who'd loved you. The part of you that told you there had been love there once. So you avoided those places. Stuck to your new neighborhood, to spaces where nobody knew your history. Where Beau was just Beau, and you were just you, and Sidney Crosby was just some famous hockey player on TV.
But you couldn't escape Beau's curiosity and his need to be by your side whenever he could. He didn't want to wait with your parents anymore, didn’t want to sit in the cart anymore, didn't want to be treated like a baby. He wanted to walk next to you, hold your hand, help you pick out groceries.
"I'm a big boy, Mama," he'd say, puffing out his chest.
And he was. He was getting so big, so fast. So there he was, toddling beside you in the grocery store, refusing to sit in the cart seat like you'd asked.
Mostly, people were just doing their own shopping. It was busy, the aisles crowded with carts and kids and harried looking parents, but nobody was paying attention to you. You'd grabbed bug spray, the marshmallows, a package of hot dogs for roasting. Beau had picked out a bag of gummy bears, holding them up with this hopeful look on his face, and you'd caved immediately.
"Okay, buddy. But only if you're good the whole trip."
"I'm always good, Mama."
"Yeah, you are."
You were heading toward the checkout, mentally adding up how much all of this was going to cost and whether you had enough cash or if you'd need to use your card, when you made eye contact with someone you hadn't seen in years.
Mike.
One of Sidney's oldest friends. You recognized him even though he'd grown up and looked more like a man now than the lanky teenager you remembered. He was pushing a cart that was absolutely loaded with alcohol. Clearly stocking up for some kind of party. The one everyone seemed to be going to. He smiled at you at first, this hey-I-recognize-you-from-somewhere kind of smile. And then his eyes dropped. To Beau. To the little boy beside you, his hand wrapped around two of your fingers, his face turned up toward the shelves.
Mike's smile faltered. His eyes went wide, he saw what everyone who knew Sidney would see. His head full of brown hair, thick and a little too long because you kept forgetting to take him for a haircut. The same chubby cheeks that Sidney had as a kid, the same almost pointy ears that stuck out just a little. The perpetual pout that made him look like he was just a tad grumpy even when he was just staring at the lights. The resemblance was undeniable.
It was like you'd taken a photo of Sid as a baby from his parents' home and hit clone and out came Beau.
Mike's mouth opened slightly, like he was going to say something, and then closed again. He looked at you, then back at Beau, then at you again. Confusion plagued his face. Like he was trying to make sense of something that made no sense to him.
Which didn't make sense to you.
Maybe Mike thought you'd gotten rid of it. That you'd "taken care of it" like Sidney had told you to. Maybe Sidney had assumed that too, and when you never reached out again, never showed up demanding support or whatever, he'd just... moved on. Forgotten about it. Forgotten about you.
Or maybe, Sidney had been too ashamed to tell anyone that he'd knocked someone up and skipped town. Not telling his friends about it probably made sense if you were ashamed about something. If you wanted to protect your image, your reputation. Can't be the golden boy if people know you got your high school girlfriend pregnant and told her to get rid of it, right?
Honestly, it was stupid. The whole thing was stupid. But you weren't gonna be the one to explain it for him. That wasn't your job. You didn't owe Sidney Crosby a goddamn thing.
"Hi, Mike," you said, keeping your voice casual, like your heart wasn't pounding in your chest.
"Hey," he said, and his voice sounded strained. "Wow. It's been... it's been a while."
"Yeah. Few years."
"You look good.”
"Thanks. You too."
There was this awkward silence. Mike's eyes kept darting back to Beau, who was oblivious to the whole interaction. He'd spotted the candy aisle and was tugging on your hand, trying to pull you in that direction.
"Mama, can we get chocolate too? For s'mores?"
"We already have marshmallows, bud."
"But Papa says you need chocolate and marshmallows for s'mores. And those cracker things."
"Graham crackers?"
"Yeah! Those!"
You smiled down at him, ruffling his hair. "Okay, we'll get some. Just give me a second, okay?"
"Okay, Mama."
When you looked back up, Mike was staring at Beau like he'd seen a ghost. And maybe he had, in a way. Because Beau was Sidney. A tiny, three year old version of Sidney, right down to the way he stood with his weird little bowlegged stance.
"Is that..." Mike started, then stopped. Cleared his throat. "Is that your son?"
"Yeah. This is Beau."
"Beau," Mike repeated. "How old is he?"
You knew where this was going. Knew exactly what Mike was doing, the mental math he was running. "Three. He just turned three in April."
April 2006. Which meant you would have gotten pregnant in... July 2005. Right around the time of the draft. Right around the time Sidney had left for Ottawa.
"Does Sid know?"
You clenched your teeth together. "I don't want to talk about this here."
"Does he know?" Mike pressed, and his voice was getting louder now and a couple of people in the checkout lines glanced over.
"Mike, seriously."
"Because that kid looks exactly like him. Exactly. And if Sid doesn't know–"
"He knows," you said cutting him off. "He knows, okay? He made his choice. So just... drop it."
Mike's eyes widened. "What do you mean he made his choice?"
"I mean exactly what I said. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to finish shopping."
You grabbed Beau's hand, maybe a little too tightly, and steered him away from Mike and his cart full of party alcohol. Beau looked up at you, his little face scrunched in confusion.
"Mama? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, sweetheart. Let's just get the chocolate and get out of here, okay?"
"Okay."
You could feel Mike's eyes on you as you walked away. He was probably going to say something to Sidney. Of course he was. They were best friends. And Mike had just seen undeniable proof that Sidney Crosby had a kid. A kid he apparently knew about and had chosen to ignore.
Your hands were shaking as you grabbed a box of graham crackers and a couple of chocolate bars. Beau was chattering beside you, something about how Papa was going to teach him how to make a campfire, but you were only half listening. Your mind was imagining all the ways this could blow up.
What if Mike confronted Sidney at the party? What if he made a scene asking to know why Sidney had abandoned his kid? What if word got out, and then everyone in Cole Harbour knew? What if it made the news and tomorrow there’d be some headline about Sidney Crosby's secret love child?
What if Sidney showed up at your parents' house?
What if he wanted to meet Beau?
That last thought made you panic. Because as much as you'd convinced yourself over the years that you didn't care, that Sidney meant nothing to you, the idea of him meeting Beau terrified you. What if Beau liked him? What if he wanted Sidney in his life, wanted a dad, and you had to be the one to explain that his dad didn't want him? That his dad had told you to get rid of him before he was even born?
You couldn't do that. You couldn't break your son's heart like that.
"Mama, you're squishing my hand," Beau said, and you realized you were gripping his fingers way too tight.
"Sorry, baby. Sorry." You loosened your hold, crouching down to his level. "You okay?"
"I'm okay! You’re okay?"
God, he was so sweet. So perceptive. You forced a smile, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "I'm okay. I just... I'm just tired. It's been a long day."
"We can go home and sleep. And then go camping tomorrow!"
"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good."
You paid for the groceries in a daze, barely listening to the cashier's cheerful small talk. Loaded everything into the car, buckled Beau into his booster seat, and sat in the driver's seat staring at the steering wheel.
This was fine. It was fine. So Mike had seen Beau. So what? That didn't mean anything had to change. You'd been doing this for three years. Three years of raising Beau on your own. You could keep doing it. You would keep doing it.
~
Camping was incredible. Camping was tiring. Camping was everything Beau had dreamed of and couldn't stop talking about. From the moment you'd gotten to the campground, he'd been a ball of excitement, running from the tent to the firepit to the lake and back again, his little legs pumping as fast as they could go. He'd helped your dad set up the tent, or at least he'd thought he was helping, mostly just handing over stakes and getting tangled in the rain fly. He'd roasted marshmallows until his face was covered in sticky white goo, had caught his first fish with your dad's guidance, had fallen asleep under the stars while your mom told stories about when you were little.
It had been perfect. Exactly what he'd wanted. But camping was also three days of worry about what you'd come home to. Three days of wondering if Mike had said something to Sidney. Three days of trying to convince yourself that it didn't matter, that even if Sidney knew you were around, even if Mike had told him about Beau, it wouldn't change anything.
Because what could change? Sidney had made his choice years ago. And you'd made yours.
Now you were back on your way to your parents' place, the car loaded with dirty camping gear and half-empty bags of marshmallows and graham crackers. Beau was passed out in the backseat, his head lolling to the side, his mouth open slightly. He'd spent so much time outside, running around and playing and just being a kid, that he'd basically collapsed the second you'd buckled him in.
You hadn't left the campsite until after six because Beau had made a friend. Another little boy around his age, and the two of them had been inseparable for the last day and a half. They'd played in the lake, built a fort out of sticks, declared themselves blood brothers after Beau had scraped his knee and the other kid had a mosquito bite. Saying goodbye had involved a lot of very serious promises to write letters and be friends forever, even though neither of them could really write yet.
Your parents were way ahead of you. They'd packed up faster, been ready to leave by four, but you'd told them to go on without you. That you'd meet them at their house and then head back to Halifax in the morning. You were exhausted. Three days of sleeping on the ground, of waking up at dawn because Beau was an early riser, of constantly being on alert to make sure he didn't wander off or fall in the lake or eat something he wasn't supposed to. You loved him more than anything, but God, parenting was exhausting.
And of course it happened when you were fucking exhausted and the sun had set and it was getting dark. Of course. Because the universe had a sick sense of humor and apparently hadn't tortured you enough this week.
Your tire blew.
You felt that horrible wobbling and managed to guide the car onto the shoulder without completely freaking out.
"Jesus fucking Christ," you muttered, dropping your forehead against the steering wheel.
This could not be happening. Not now. Not on some dark stretch of road with a sleeping kid in the backseat and no cell service. You really wished you'd gotten yourself a new phone. What had teenage you been thinking when you'd gotten rid of that other one? Well, you knew what you'd been doing. You were your own undoing. Always had been.
You got out of the car, careful not to slam the door and wake Beau, and walked around to inspect the damage. The front passenger tire was completely shredded, rubber hanging off in strips, the rim probably fucked beyond repair. Great. Just great.
You wished you'd learned how to change a tire. Your dad had offered to teach you a hundred times, but you'd always brushed him off, always said you'd get around to it. And now you were standing on the side of the road in the growing darkness completely helpless.
You popped the trunk, hoping maybe there was a spare and some kind of instructions, but even if there were, you wouldn't know what to do with them. You'd never changed a tire in your life. Never even watched someone do it, really.
"Fuck," you said to the empty road. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
~
Sidney was headed home for the night. He was tired. It had been a long few days. Good days, great days even, but long.
It was his first true summer back home, not just a quick visit for the weekend or training camps. And even then, he wasn't really home for the summer. It was August already. His summer was nearly over. In a couple of weeks he'd be back in Pittsburgh for training camp. He really hadn't spent enough time at home, not nearly enough.
But he appreciated everyone wanting to see him; it was good that his cup day landed on his birthday. That way, he could just get it all out of the way at once. He was officially 22. It had been a nice few days, even if his mom thought he was getting a little bit of a big head. She'd pulled him aside yesterday, gave him that look only mothers could give, and told him to remember where he came from. To stay humble. To not let all the attention go to his head.
"You're still my son," she'd said. "Still the kid who used to leave his hockey gear all over the basement. Don't forget that."
He hadn't. He wouldn't. But the attention was a lot, sometimes. Being around his friends and his family had been a really good recharge, even if he was a bit tired. Even if Mike had been dodging his calls and texts for the past few days, which was weird. Really weird, actually. Mike never ignored him. They'd been best friends since they were kids, told each other everything. But ever since the party, Mike had been distant. Wouldn't answer his phone, responded to texts with one word answers, made excuses every time Sidney suggested hanging out.
Sidney wanted to know why. Needed to know why. Because the not knowing was driving him crazy, making him wonder if he'd done something wrong, said something stupid at the party when he'd had a few too many beers.
He was mulling it over, barely paying attention to the road because he knew it so well he could probably drive it with his eyes closed, when he passed a car on the side of the road. He didn't think much of it at first. Cars broke down all the time, and it was getting dark. Stranger danger and all that. Plus, it didn't look like anyone was in the car. Just a dark sedan sitting there, no hazard lights, no sign of life.
But something made him check his rearview mirror. Maybe instinct, maybe habit. And that's when he saw it. A flashlight, bobbing near the car. Movement.
"Oh, fucking shit," he muttered.
He couldn't, in good conscience, just drive away. What if it was someone who needed help? What if they were stranded, alone, in the dark? He'd want someone to stop for him if the roles were reversed. So he slowed down, found a spot to turn around, and headed back. He pulled up behind the car, put on his hazards, and got out.
"Hey," he called out, walking toward the flashlight. "You need help?"
The person turned, and it was you.
You.
Standing there in jeans and a t-shirt, your hair pulled back, the flashlight in your hand casting strange shadows across your face. As beautiful as the day he'd lost you. More beautiful, even, because you'd grown up. Become a woman instead of the girl he remembered. You were there and you were living and breathing and exactly like he remembered but not. Different somehow. And when you looked at him, when your eyes met his and recognition widened your eyes, you didn't look particularly happy. You looked... annoyed. Frustrated. Like running into him was the last thing you needed right now.
"Oh great," you said, and your voice was flat.
He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't that.
"Um," he said, because his brain had apparently stopped working. "Do you... do you need help?"
"No," you said immediately. "I don't need your help."
"Your tire looks like it needs to be changed," he said, glancing at the shredded rubber.
"Yeah? Really? I hadn't noticed."
"I can change it for you. If you want."
"I don't want your help," you repeated, turning away from him.
But he wasn't going to leave you on the side of the road at eight o'clock at night. No matter how much you clearly didn't want him there, he couldn't just drive away. It wasn't in him.
"Do you have tools?" he asked. "A jack? A spare?"
You turned back. "Do you?"
"No."
"Do you have a phone on you?"
"No."
"So then what use are you to me, Sidney?"
Hearing you say his name, after all these years, felt like a punch to the gut. He'd imagined this moment so many times, running into you, talking to you, and in none of those scenarios had you sounded so... done with him.
"I can take you wherever you need to go," he offered. "Give you a ride. You can call someone from there."
You looked at him like you were genuinely considering telling him to fuck off and just walking. He could see it in your eyes. And then your shoulders slumped, and he knew he had you.
"Fine," you said, but you didn't sound happy about it.
You went back to the rear door of your car, and that's when Sidney noticed the car seat. Right. Sure. You had a kid. You had a kid? You opened the door carefully, leaning in, and a moment later you straightened up with a small child in your arms. A little boy, his head resting on your shoulder, clearly asleep. You balanced him on one hip while you reached back in for the car seat, grabbing it with your free hand.
Sidney immediately looked for a wedding ring. He couldn't help it. His eyes went straight to your left hand, searching for that tell-tale band of silver or gold. But there was nothing. No ring. Which didn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe you just didn't wear it. Maybe you were divorced. Maybe–
Your body language could be telling him everything he needed to know. The way you held yourself, like you were expecting him to attack. Like you didn't trust him.
He moved toward you, hands out. "Let me help."
"I've got it," you said, not even looking at him.
"At least let me carry the car seat."
"I said I've got it."
He opened the rear door of his car anyway, standing there uselessly as you maneuvered the car seat into place with one hand, the sleeping kid still balanced on your hip. You were good at it. You buckled the seat in, checked it twice, and then carefully settled the little boy into it. He stirred slightly, made a small noise, but didn't wake up.
Sidney just stood there like an idiot, watching. Feeling completely out of his depth.
You straightened up, brushed your hands on your jeans, and finally looked at him. "Can we go?"
"Yeah. Yeah, of course."
He closed the door for you, walked around to the driver's side, and got in. You slid into the passenger seat but you sat as far from him as you could get.
The car ride was the most awkward of his life.
It was quiet. So quiet he could hear every breath you took, every small shift of your body. You weren't saying anything. He wasn't saying anything. He glanced at the kid in the rearview mirror. He was cute. Really cute. The kind of kid Sidney would have wanted if things had been different. If you'd stayed. If he hadn't lost you.
Sidney tried to make small talk, because the silence was killing him and he needed to hear your voice again, needed some kind of connection to you.
"So," he said, keeping his eyes on the road. "How have you been?"
"Fine," you said, not looking at him.
"Good. That's good. I'm glad."
More silence.
"My parents had a gathering a few days ago," he tried again. "For the Cup. Mike was there. A few of our other friends. I was... I was hoping to see you there, actually."
You finally turned to look at him, your expression unreadable. "I saw Mike at the grocery store the other day."
He wasn't sure why you were telling him that, but he appreciated it more than the silence. "Oh. He, uh, he didn't mention it."
"Good," you said, and turned back to the window.
Sidney frowned. "Why is that good?"
You didn't answer. Just shrugged.
"Where am I taking you?" he asked after another stretch of silence.
"My parents' place."
He was surprised they'd stayed in the same place. He'd half expected them to move, to follow you wherever you ended up. But apparently not. "I know where that is."
Of course he did. He knew it like he knew the way to his own house. How many times had he driven there, picked you up for dates, dropped you off after games? How many nights had he snuck over, tapped on your window, climbed up to your room?
"Did you stay around too?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
"No," you said flatly.
"Where'd you go?"
You hesitated, like you didn't want to tell him, but then relented. "Halifax."
Halifax. So close. Just twenty minutes away. You'd been that close this whole time, and he had no idea.
"What do you do now?" he asked. "Did you end up going to school?"
Another moment of quiet. "I'm a hairdresser."
"That's great," he said, and he meant it. You'd always been good at that stuff. "That's really great. I'm happy for you."
You didn't respond.
"I haven't got the chance to cut mine yet," he said, reaching up to touch his hair. It was getting long, starting to curl at the ends. "It's getting pretty shaggy."
You hummed and didn't bother to look at him. Sid tried not to let the rejection sting. He glanced in the rearview mirror again, at the little boy sleeping peacefully in the backseat.
"Does your son like hockey?" he asked, and then immediately corrected himself. "Is he yours? Sorry, I shouldn't assume."
You finally looked at him and there was something mean in your eyes. "Yes, he's mine. And yes, he likes hockey. Unfortunately."
Unfortunately. Like it was a bad thing. Hockey's great, at least you used to think so.
"Do you guys watch together?" Sidney asked, curious despite himself.
"No," you said shortly. "He just plays."
"Oh. That's cool. How old did you say he was?"
"I didn't say."
"Right. Sorry." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to think of something else to say. "He looks like you."
You let out a short, humorless laugh. "Everyone thinks he looks like his dad."
"No, no, he looks like you."
The little guy didn't, not really. But Sidney didn't know what else to say.
"Sure," you said, clearly not believing him.
The kid stirred in the backseat, making a small whimpering sound. "Mama?"
Your whole demeanor changed instantly. "Go back to sleep, baby," you said gently.
"Papa?" the kid mumbled, still half asleep.
"Papa's at home, sweetheart. We'll see him soon."
Papa. Right. Of course. The kid's dad was waiting at home for you. Waiting for his family to come back from wherever you'd been. Sidney had no right to feel jealous, no right to feel anything, and yet.
"Papa," he said softly, almost to himself.
"My dad," you clarified, glancing at him. "Beau's grandfather."
Beau. Beau… What a great name. French, he thinks? It sounds French.
He shouldn't have asked. He knew he shouldn't. But the words were out before he could stop them. "What about his dad?"
"Don't play dumb Sidney. You don't do it well."
"What? I'm not–"
"Yes, you are," you cut him off, turning to look at him fully now. "You're sitting there acting like you don't know and it's insulting."
Sidney's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I genuinely don't know what you're talking about."
"Right. Sure."
"I'm serious!"
You shook your head, looking away. "Unbelievable."
Sidney didn't know what to say. He felt like he was missing something, like there was some context he didn't have. Was Mike the father? Is that why Mike had been avoiding him? Had something happened between you and Mike after Sidney left, and that's why you hated him now?
He wasn't sure how to say anything without sounding like a jealous asshole. Because whoever the guy was, he was probably the reason Sidney had lost you. There was some guy, someone better than him, someone who'd managed to take you away and turn you against Sidney. Someone who'd been there when Sidney wasn't, who'd swept in and made you forget about everything you'd had together. And then that same guy had left you hurting, left you alone with this little boy to raise by yourself. But you’d been able to move on in ways he’d never been able to, and the proof was in the backseat.
But Sidney would have taken care of him. Would have taken care of both of you, if you'd just let him. If you'd just told him what was going on, if you'd given him a chance. He would've done everything for you.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, because he didn't know what else to say.
"You're not sorry.”
"I am."
"No, you're not."
"Yes, I am!" His voice rose slightly. "I'm sorry that–"
You shook your head, cutting him off mid-sentence like you couldn't even stand to hear him talk.
"What?" he demanded. "What is it?"
"I just don't understand this whole bit you're doing," you said.
"Bit?" Sidney repeated, genuinely confused now. "What bit?"
"This!" you gestured at him, at the car, at the space between you. "This whole innocent act. This 'I don't know what you're talking about' thing. It's beneath you."
"I'm not doing a bit," Sidney said, his voice tight. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You disappeared four years ago and I've spent every day since then wondering what the hell happened."
"I disappeared?" you said. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
"Yes! You disappeared! One day we were fine, we were good, and then you were just gone. Your mom told me not to call, and I tried anyway, and you never picked up. Never looked for me. Never gave me any kind of explanation."
"Because you told me not to!"
"What?"
"You told me not to contact you," you said, and your voice was shaking now. "You made it very fucking clear that you wanted nothing to do with me."
"I never said that," Sidney said, his heart pounding. "I would never say that."
"You did. In your text."
"What text? I have no idea what you’re saying to me right now."
"Then who the fuck texted me back, Sidney?" you demanded, your voice getting louder. "Because someone did. Someone responded to my message and told me–" You stopped, your jaw clenching.
"Told you what?" Sidney pressed. "What did they say?"
You looked away, out the window, your hands balled into fists in your lap. "It doesn't matter."
"It clearly matters!"
"No, it doesn't. Because whether it was you or someone else its all the same. You didn't want me. You didn't want–" Your voice cracked, and you stopped.
Sidney felt like his world was spinning the wrong way. "I always wanted you. Always. I never stopped wanting you."
"Don't," you said sharply. "Do not sit there and lie to me."
"I'm not lying!"
"You are! You have to be, because then–" You stopped again, shaking your head violently. "No. I'm not doing this. I'm not letting you make yourself feel better."
"I'm not trying to do anything," Sidney said desperately. "I'm trying to understand what happened. Because something happened and I need to know what it was."
"What happened," you said slowly, "is that I needed you. And you weren't there. End of story."
"When? When did you need me?"
"During the draft," you said, and there were tears in your eyes now. "I texted you during the draft. I told you it was important. I told you we needed to talk."
Sidney's chest felt tight. "I never got any text from you."
"Someone responded," you insisted. "Someone with your number told me–" You stopped, biting your lip hard enough that Sid worried you'd draw blood.
"Told you what?" he asked again, softer this time.
You took a shaky breath. "Told me to take care of it. Told me you weren't ready. Told me not to contact you again."
"Take care of what?"
You laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. "Are you really going to make me say it?"
"Say what? I don't–" And then it hit him. "Oh my God," he breathed.
Sidney turned in his seat, looking back at Beau. Not just a quick glance, but at everything. The shape of his nose. The shape of his jaw. The way his hair fell across his forehead. And suddenly, he could see it. Could see himself in this little boy's face.
"He's mine," Sidney said.
"Congratulations. Only took you four years to figure it out."
"But I didn't– I never–" Sid couldn't form a complete sentence. His brain was trying to make it make sense. "You said someone texted you back. What did they say exactly?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes! It fucking matters!"
You flinched at his tone, and he immediately felt guilty. But he couldn't stop now, couldn't let this go.
"Tell me what the text said," he said, forcing himself to stay calm. "Please."
You were quiet for a long moment, staring at your hands. When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper. "It said you couldn't do it. That you weren't ready to be a dad. That we were done."
Sidney felt sick like he might throw up right there in the car. "I never said that. I would never say that."
"Someone did."
"But it wasn't me!"
"Then who, Sidney?"
His phone had gone missing in Ottawa. Anyone could have taken it. Anyone could have seen your text and responded. But who would do that? Who would be cruel enough to destroy his relationship, to tell you he didn't want his own child?
"I don't know," he said helplessly. "But I'm going to find out."
"It's been four years, Sidney. What does it matter now?"
"It matters because I have a son," he said, and his voice broke on the last word. "I have a son and I didn't know."
"You told me to get rid of him," you said, and tears had started streaming down your face. "You told me you didn't want him."
"That wasn't me!" Sidney was shouting now, couldn't help it.
"How am I supposed to believe that?" you shot back. "How am I supposed to believe anything you say when all I have is your word against a text message I kept for four fucking years?"
Sidney froze. "You kept it?"
"Of course I kept it."
"Can I see it?" Sid asked. "Please. I need to see it."
"Why? So you can deny it some more? Tell me it's fake?"
"No. So I can figure out who did this to us. Because someone did and I need to know who."
You stared at him like you were trying to decide whether to believe him. Finally, you shook your head. "I don't have it with me. It's at home.”
"Then I'll come with you. Tomorrow. Tonight. Whenever. I just need to see it."
"No," you said firmly. "You're not coming to my home."
"Then bring it to me. Or take a picture of it. Something. Please."
You wished you didn't still feel things about him or about your situation. You wished that the anger you felt was genuine anger and not just you trying to defend yourself from old feelings. But sitting in his car you could feel all of it coming back. The way your heart had raced when he'd smile at you. The way his hand had felt in yours. The way he'd kiss you goodnight on your porch. The way you'd loved him so completely that you'd thought nothing could ever break you apart.
And then something had.
You didn't really care for him trying to save his own ass. That's what this was, right? Some attempt to absolve himself of the guilt he should have been carrying for four years. Because he was the one who missed out. He missed out on the life of one incredible little boy. The first smile, the first laugh, the first time Beau had grabbed your finger with his tiny hand and held on like you were his whole world. The sleepless nights and the early mornings and the million little moments that made up a childhood. He'd missed all of it, and that was his loss. Not yours.
So really, you didn't believe his whole "lost phone" excuse. It was convenient, wasn't it? Blaming it on a missing phone. Like phones just sent messages on their own, typed out cruel words and hit send without anyone's help. Maybe he had some kind of memory issues, some way of compartmentalizing the shitty things he'd done so he could sleep at night. But phones didn't just fucking send messages without being typed out and sent by someone.
He'd sent it. You knew he had. No matter what he said now, no matter how convincing he sounded, you knew.
You just wanted to go to your parents' house and forget about him again. Forget about this conversation, forget about the way he'd looked at Beau, forget about the desperation in his voice. There was nothing more for the two of you. It was done, it was over. It had been over for four years.
But Sid didn't think so.
He'd just found out that there was this whole living, breathing child who was half of him. A child with his eyes and his hair and probably his love for hockey. And the love of his life, the girl he'd never been able to forget, believed that he'd willingly abandoned them both. That he'd told her to get rid of their baby and then cut her out of his life like she'd never mattered.
Despite how much he wanted to just make you feel better, despite how much it killed him to see you in pain, he wasn't going to own up to something he didn't do. He couldn't. Because it would be a lie, and lying to you now would only make everything worse. You could be angry with him about that, could hate him for refusing to give you the closure you thought you needed, but he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't take responsibility for something he hadn't done.
The car finally came to a stop in your parents' driveway, and you could see lights on inside the house. Your mom's silhouette passing by the window, probably waiting up for you. Your dad would be in there too, ready to help with Beau, ready to make sure you were okay. You needed to go. Needed to get Beau inside, needed to put some distance between yourself and Sidney before you said something you'd regret. Or worse, before you started believing him.
But leaving hurt. Because for a few minutes there, sitting in his car, talking to him, it had almost felt like old times. Like you were a teenager again and he was the boy you loved and everything was simple. Except nothing was simple. Nothing had been simple since the day you'd peed on that pregnancy test and watched those two lines appear.
Sidney was so fucking confused. He had all these questions and you had answers. You'd lived through it, survived it, built a life out of what he'd apparently left behind. And despite everything, despite your anger and your hurt and your very justified desire to never speak to him again, a part of you wanted to answer those questions. But only because you felt eighteen again. Eighteen and ready to explain things, ready to make him understand, as long as he stayed. As long as he didn't leave you behind again.
You'd lost so much time too. Time you could have spent with the boy you loved, making the life you'd dreamed about. Instead, you'd spent it alone, raising his child because you were convinced he wanted nothing to do with either of you.
"Can I see you again?" Sidney asked suddenly.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I need to know him. I need to– I need to understand what happened. Please."
"Sidney–"
"I understand if you can't," he continued quickly. "I understand if this is too much. But I just found out I have a son. I can't just walk away from that. I won't."
"We're only staying at my parents' for the night. My dad will probably drive me and Beau home in the morning."
His face fell, but he nodded. "Okay. Okay. Can I– can I just have five minutes? Tomorrow morning, before you leave? Just five minutes to see him. To talk to you. That's all I'm asking."
Five minutes. It sounded so simple but you knew it wouldn't be just five minutes.
"I'm going to figure it all out for you," Sidney said when you didn't respond. "I promise. I'm going to find out who sent that text, and I'm going to prove to you that it wasn't me. I'm going to make it all better."
You stared at him, at the determination in his eyes, and felt like jumping at the opportunity. Because he sounded so sincere, so desperate to fix this, and a part of you wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that maybe there had been some terrible misunderstanding. But you couldn't let yourself go there. Couldn't let yourself hope because hope was a dangerous thing. Hope would destroy you.
You didn't respond to his promise either because what was there to say? That you'd heard it all before? That promises meant nothing to you anymore?
"Do you have a better idea?" Sidney asked like he needed you to give him something, anything, to work with.
You looked at him and for a second there you were back in his car four years ago, sitting in your driveway after a date, not wanting the night to end. He'd asked you then if you had any ideas for what you wanted to do the next day, and you'd suggested driving out to the beach, just the two of you. And he'd smiled and said that sounded perfect, and you'd kissed him goodnight and gone inside feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.
"I did once," you said quietly, and your voice broke on the last word.
That's when you couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't sit in his car with him, couldn't keep having this conversation, couldn't keep feeling things you'd spent four years trying not to feel. You grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. Beau was stirring in the backseat, making small sleepy sounds, and you needed to get him inside. Needed to get away from Sidney and his questions and his promises and his goddamn face.
You got out of the car in shaky legs, and went around to the back door. Beau was blinking sleepily, his hair messy, his cheeks flushed.
"Mama?" he mumbled, reaching for you.
"I've got you, baby," you said, unbuckling him from his car seat. "We're at Nana and Papa's house."
"Papa?" he perked up slightly at that.
"Yeah, Papa's inside. He's probably got cookies waiting for you."
That got a small smile, and you lifted him out of the seat, settling him on your hip. He was getting so big, so heavy, but you held him close anyway. You grabbed the car seat with your free hand and kicked the car door shut with your foot.
Sidney watched you go, the voice in his head screaming at him to follow. To get out of the car and walk up to that house and demand answers. Demand to meet his son properly, to hold him, to know him. Demand that you let him fix this, let him prove that he wasn't the monster you thought he was.
But he stayed in the car. Because he knew if he followed you now, he'd only be hurting you more.
He watched as you reached the porch, as the door opened and light spilled out. Your mom appeared and she reached for Beau immediately. You handed him over, said something Sidney couldn't hear, and then your dad appeared too. He put a hand on your shoulder, gave you a look that was equal parts worry and anger, and Sidney knew that you were telling them.
Your dad's eyes found Sid’s car, narrowed slightly, and Sidney felt himself shrink under that gaze. Your dad had always been protective of you, had always made it clear that Sidney better treat you right or else.
The door closed, and you were gone. Inside with your family, with your son, in a world that didn't include him.
He needed to figure out who did this. He needed to fix this. Had to fix this. Because that little boy deserved to know that his dad did want him, had always wanted him, even if he hadn't known he existed. And you deserved to know the truth. Deserved to know that you hadn't been abandoned, that you hadn't been unloved. That every day for the past four years, Sidney had thought about you, missed you, loved you.
Even if you never believed him. Even if you never forgave him. You deserved to know.
~
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