Chapter 199 One Hundred & Ninety Nine

Chapter 199 One Hundred & Ninety Nine
RYAN POV

Being a father was harder than hockey.

At least with hockey, you knew the rules. You knew what you were supposed to do. Skate. Pass. Score. Defend. It was straightforward.

Fatherhood had no rules.

One minute, Grace was sleeping; the next, she was screaming, and I had no idea why.

One minute Emma was smiling, and the next she was crying because her nipples hurt and she felt like she was failing.

I kept telling her she wasn't failing. I kept telling her she was amazing.

But I wasn't sure she believed me.

I'd gone back to light training a week after Grace was born.

Just skating. Nothing intense. The team wanted to ease me back in before the season started.

But leaving Emma home alone with Grace was hard.

I'd watch her sitting on the couch, exhausted, trying to feed Grace while looking like she was about to fall apart.

And I'd have to leave her.

Because I had a career. Because hockey was still my dream.

But it felt selfish now.

"Go," Emma said, pushing me out the door. "I'm fine. Grace is fine. We're fine."

She wasn't fine. But I went anyway because what else could I do?

The locker room felt different now.

My teammates talked about going out after practice. Hitting up bars. Finding women.

I just wanted to get home to my wife and daughter.

"You're whipped," my teammate Derek said.

"I have a newborn," I said. "That's not whipped. That's called being a parent."

"Same thing," he said.

But it wasn't the same thing.

It was better and worse at the same time.

Better because I had a family. Worse, because I was terrified of messing it up.

I'd messed up so much before Grace came.

My addiction. My violence. My anger at the world.

I couldn't do that anymore.

Not with Emma depending on me. Not with Grace depending on me.

I had to be better.

Two weeks after we brought Grace home, I found a letter in the mail.

From my father.

The envelope was white and official-looking. His name was printed on the return address. But the prison name wasn't there. Just a PO box.

My stomach dropped.

I didn't want to open it.

But I did.

The handwriting was familiar. Sloppy. Rushed.

"Ryan, my boy. I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from. But I need you to listen to what I have to say. I'm writing to you as your father. Not as a businessman. Not as the man who made mistakes. But as your father."

I took a deep breath as I read on

"I heard you had a daughter," he continued. "Congratulations. That's incredible. You're going to understand now what it means to do everything for your child. To want the best for them. To build a legacy."

He didn't know Grace. He'd never met her. He had no right to talk about what being a parent meant.

"I've had a lot of time to think in here," he wrote. "About my mistakes. About what I did to you. About how I failed you as a father. I want you to know that I'm sorry. Truly sorry. I've changed. I'm not the man I was."

He'd changed in prison, hell no, I don't believe it.

"Family is everything, Ryan. I know that now. You need to understand that family is what matters. That's why I'm writing. That's why I'm asking you to come see me. I want to know about your daughter. I want to know about your life. I want to be part of it. Because you're my son. And that's what family does. Family forgives."

I almost threw the letter in the trash right there.

But I kept reading.

"There's something else I need to tell you," he wrote. "And I know this is going to be hard to hear. But I'm dying, son. My kidneys are failing. The doctors say I have maybe a year if I don't get a transplant. And I'm asking you. I'm begging you. I need you to consider donating a kidney."

I stopped reading.

My father was asking me for a kidney.

The same father who'd let me get addicted to drugs. The same father who'd covered up a murder for a business deal. The same father who'd called me a murderer, knowing he was the one acting like one.

"I know this is selfish," he continued. "I know I have no right to ask. But I'm your father. You should do this for me. I made you who you are, Ryan. Everything you have, everything you've become, it's because of me. It's because I provided for you. It's because I gave you everything. Now I'm asking for one thing. I'm asking for my life."

I read that part three times.

"I made you who you are."

It's the audacity for me. That man seemed to always want to pull me down with his chain

. He didn't make me who I was.

Emma made me who I am.

My daughter made me who I am.

My own determination to be better made me who I am.My father made me broken. Made me addicted. Made me angry.

And now he wanted me to give him a piece of my body because he'd given me a roof, food, and money?

That wasn't how family worked.That wasn't how love worked.

Emma came in from the bedroom where she'd been putting Grace down for a nap.

"You okay?" she asked immediately she stepped into the living room after cleaning Grace up, because apparently she could sense when something was wrong.