Chapter 17 Chapter 17

Chapter 17 Chapter 17
Adrian had been staring at his phone for so long that the screen finally dimmed, the black glass reflecting his own tired face back at him.

He didn’t bother tapping it awake immediately. He already knew what he would see.

Nothing. No missed calls. No messages. No sign from Lena.

It had been two days since the incident at the park, two long days filled with silence so heavy it felt like it was pressing down on his chest. At first, he had convinced himself she just needed time. That she was angry, scared, overwhelmed. All things he deserved.

But as the hours turned into days, the silence stopped feeling temporary.

It felt final.

Adrian exhaled slowly and finally tapped the screen awake, scrolling through his call log even though he’d memorized it already. Lena’s name appeared over and over again, a painful reminder of how many times he had tried—and failed—to reach her.

“She won’t even yell at me,” he muttered bitterly. “She won’t even give me that.”

He dropped the phone onto his desk and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling of his office. The room felt suffocating. Too quiet. Too clean. Too far removed from the chaos in his head.

Milo’s laughter echoed in his memory.

The way his son’s eyes had lit up at the park. The way his small fingers had clutched his hand earlier that day, trusting him completely.

And then the bench was suddenly empty.

The memory punched the air from his lungs every time it resurfaced.

Adrian dragged a hand through his hair, gripping it hard as guilt settled deeper into his chest. He had waited years—years—for him to know he had a son, and the moment he was finally given the chance to be a father, he’d failed spectacularly.

“I lost him,” he whispered to the empty room. “I lost my own son.”

The sharp knock of realization followed immediately after.

Sitting here wasn’t helping. Staring at his phone wasn’t fixing anything. And drowning in regret wasn’t going to make Lena trust him again.

He needed air. Movement. Something—anything—to stop his thoughts from eating him alive.

Adrian grabbed his phone again, this time scrolling deliberately through his contacts until his thumb hovered over one familiar name.

His best friend,Mavin.

He hesitated for only a second before hitting the call button.

“Adrian?” Mavin answered, surprise clear in his voice. “You are still alive over there? It’s been a while, man.”

“Barely Alive,” Adrian replied. “Are you busy?”

“That depends. Why?”

“You still skate?”

There was a short pause. “Ice hockey?” Mavin asked.

“Yeah.”

Another pause, followed by a low chuckle. “Are you trying to relive your glory days?”

“No,” Adrian said honestly. “I just need… something.”

Mavin didn’t tease him this time. “Same rink?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

The cold inside the ice rink hit Adrian the moment he stepped in, biting at his skin and fogging his breath. The familiar scent of ice, rubber, and metal wrapped around him, stirring memories he hadn’t touched in years.

Mavin was already on the ice when Adrian arrived, skating effortlessly, as if time hadn’t passed at all. He tossed Adrian a spare set of gear without ceremony.

“Try not to break a hip,” Mavin said.

Adrian almost smiled.

Once he stepped onto the ice, his movements were stiff at first. Rusty. Uncertain. But muscle memory kicked in quickly, and soon he was skating harder, faster, letting the cold air burn his lungs.

He struck the puck across the rink with unnecessary force.

Again and again.

Mavin watched silently for a while, tracking Adrian’s movements, the aggression in his skating impossible to miss. This wasn’t stress relief. This was more like a punishment.

“You’re not here to play,” Mavin said finally, skating up beside him. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Adrian replied, sending the puck slamming into the boards.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Adrian stopped skating abruptly. He bent forward, hands braced on his knees, breathing hard. When he straightened, his expression was tight, jaw clenched.

“I have a son,” he said quietly.

Mavin stared at him. “What?”

“I didn’t know,” Adrian continued. “Lena was pregnant when we divorced. She never told me.”

Mavin’s shock was clear, but he stayed silent.

“He’s five,” Adrian said. “His name is Milo.”

He swallowed hard.

“I finally met him,” Adrian went on. “And the first day I get to spend time with him alone, I lose him.”

Mavin’s face darkened. “Seriously? For how long?”

“A few minutes,” Adrian said. “But it doesn’t matter. It was long enough.”

They stood in silence, the scrape of skates echoing around them.

“She won’t talk to me or let me see my son,” Adrian added. “And I don’t blame her.”

“You don’t get to quit,” Mavin said firmly.

“I’m not trying to.”

“Then stop punishing yourself and do something about it,” Mavin snapped. “Go back. Fight for your place in that kid’s life.”

Adrian nodded slowly. “Thanks. I will.”

Later that evening, Adrian stood outside Lena’s house, his heart pounding as he raised his hand to ring the doorbell.

The moment he pressed it, a small voice drifted from inside.

“Mommy, is that Daddy?”

Adrian froze as the door opened.

Lena stood there, her face tired, guarded, but no longer furious. She hesitated, then stepped aside.

Milo ran toward him without hesitation.

Adrian dropped to his knees just in time, wrapping his arms around his son as Milo hugged him tightly, pressing his small body against Adrian’s chest.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Milo said softly.

“I’m here,” Adrian replied hoarsely. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Lena watched quietly before clearing her throat. “Milo, go to your room for a bit. I need to talk to daddy.”

Once Milo disappeared, the air between them grew heavy.

“I can’t afford another mistake,” Lena said flatly. “I can’t risk my son being with you.”

“I know,” Adrian replied. “And I won’t let that happen again. I swear.”

She studied him for a long moment. “If you want to stay in his life, you’ll have to prove it. Every day.”

Adrian nodded. “I will.”

Lena hesitated, then finally spoke. “I don’t trust you yet.”

“I understand.”

“But,” she added quietly, “I can see that you’re trying.”

That was all she offered. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it wasn’t rejection either.

And for Adrian, it was enough to hold onto—for now.