Chapter 5 - “My Real Father Is Here Tonight”
Mason had always hated public speaking.
At twelve, he once pretended to be sick to avoid presenting a science project about volcanoes.
Now he stood at center ice in front of nearly four thousand people.
He looked terrified.
The microphone shook slightly in his hand.
“I know everybody wants to go celebrate.”
People laughed.
Mason smiled.
“So I’ll try not to make this too long.”
He looked toward his teammates.
“This season was… crazy.”
Another cheer.
He waited.
“I love these guys. I love my coaches. I love this school.”
Then his expression changed.
“I also know people like talking about who helps an athlete get here. Coaches. Teammates. Trainers.”
He swallowed.
“But there’s somebody who never gets his name in the paper.”
A strange pressure built behind my ribs.
Mason turned slowly.
His eyes traveled toward section 113.
David straightened.
My stomach dropped.
Then Mason said it.
“My real father is here tonight.”
The arena went quiet.
Not completely.
There were whispers.
Movement.
But inside me, silence.
I looked at David.
His face had gone white.
Mason’s eyes remained toward his side of the arena.
Of course.
What had I expected?
He had invited David.
They had been talking for three months.
Maybe Mason needed this.
Maybe saying it publicly was part of whatever answer he had been searching for.
I told myself I could handle it.
I had handled worse.
I had handled a four-year-old screaming because he wanted a mother who was never coming home.
I had handled family court.
Emergency rooms.
Broken bones.
Teenage fury.
This was one sentence.
That’s all.
Still hurt.
A lot.
David took a step toward the aisle.
People near him moved aside.
Mason lowered the microphone briefly.
I turned away.
I didn’t want Mason to look at me and see what it had done.
A parent isn’t supposed to make his child choose.
So I stepped backward.
One step.
Then another.
I intended to leave quietly.
Let David have the moment.
Maybe that was fatherhood too.
Knowing when to disappear.
“Dad.”
I stopped.
The microphone made the word enormous.
Dad.
I turned.
Mason wasn’t looking at David.
He was looking at me.
Straight at me.
The arena seemed to tilt.
Mason took a breath.
“I should probably explain.”
A few nervous laughs.
He pointed across the rink.
“My biological father is here tonight.”
Heads turned toward David.
David froze in the aisle.
Mason continued.
“His name is David. He’s the man who gave me life.”
He looked down.
“For a long time, I thought that meant he had to be the most important answer to a question I couldn’t stop asking.”
My throat tightened.
Mason looked toward David.
“I spent the last three months talking to him.”
Then back to me.
“But the truth is… I already knew who my father was.”
My vision blurred.
Mason skated closer to the boards.
“When I was four, my mom died.”
The crowd went still.
“My biological father left.”
David lowered his head.
Mason’s voice cracked.
“And another man showed up.”
I covered my mouth.
“He was twenty-eight. Single. Broke.”
People laughed softly.
Mason smiled through tears.
“He had no idea how to raise a kid.”
“That part is true,” I muttered.
The woman beside me started crying.
Mason continued.
“He burned pancakes.”
More laughter.
“He forgot school picture day once and sent me in wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates shirt with mustard on it.”
I remembered.
God, I remembered.
“He slept on a couch for almost a year so I could have a bedroom.”
The laughter died.
“He sold his motorcycle to pay for lawyers.”
My chest hurt.
“He learned hockey because I loved hockey.”
Mason wiped his face.
“He worked extra shifts because skates are stupid expensive.”
A cheer came from the student section.
“He showed up for every birthday.”
His voice shook harder.
“Every Christmas.”
David stood motionless.
“Every fever.”
I thought of the hallway light.
“Every loss.”
Mason looked at me.
“Every win.”
Tears slid down my face.
“So when I say my real father is here tonight…”
He pushed away from center ice and began skating toward me.
Slowly.
The crowd understood before I did.
Noise started building.
Mason pointed.
“I mean him.”
The arena exploded.
I couldn’t move.
He reached the boards.
A gate opened.
Mason stepped off the ice.
People were standing now.
He walked toward me wearing skates, wobbling slightly on the rubber mat.
I laughed and cried at the same time.
He dropped the microphone hand toward his side and threw the other arm around me.
I grabbed him.
Hard.
My face pressed against his wet hair.
“You idiot,” I whispered.
He laughed into my shoulder.
“You scared me.”
“I know.”
“I thought—”
“I know.”
“You little—”
“I love you.”
That ended the sentence.
I held him tighter.
The microphone was still on.
Mason pulled back enough to look at me.
“You were the one who stayed.”
That sentence broke whatever was left.
I lowered my head.
For several seconds, I could not speak.
People cheered.
Teammates pounded the glass.
Somebody started chanting Mason’s name.
I didn’t hear most of it.
All I could see was the boy.
Four years old.
Cereal bowl.
Dinosaur pajamas.
Where’s my daddy?
Here.
I had been here.
Not perfectly.
Not gracefully.
But here.
Mason hugged me again.
Then his eyes shifted over my shoulder.
The cheering faded slightly.
I turned.
David was walking toward the exit.
His shoulders were bent.
He didn’t look angry.
He looked like a man finally hearing the verdict on something he already knew.
Mason picked up the microphone.
“David.”
David stopped.
Mason’s voice traveled through the arena.
“Wait.”
Every head turned.
David slowly faced us.
Mason stepped away from me.
His eyes were red.
May you like
“I’m not done.”
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