I’M NOT A BIG TEXTER. BUT I TEXT GWEN AS SOON AS I LAND.

Fifteen years ago, I might not have. Now, I’m too fucking old to play mind games. I’m interested. Simple as that.

I don’t know her last name. Or if she lives in Toronto or was just visiting. I only know that she was on her way back from a yoga retreat in Mexico and that I had more fun with her than I have with anyone in a very long time.

And I want to do it again sometime. Hell, we could just meet and hang out in another airport for all I care.

With that thought in my head, I drive the three hours to Rose Hill, trudge through the door of my custom lakefront home, fall face-first into my king-size bed, and drift off into a dead, dreamless sleep.

When I wake up, the first thing I do is reach for my phone. When I see a text notification, I sit up, leaning against the head of my bed frame, and take a deep breath before sliding it open.

West: When are you back? We suck at bowling without you. We need our daddy back.

A disappointed sigh rushes over my lips. Weston Belmont is one of my closest friends, and even though I pretend to be irritated by him, I’m actually pretty attached to the guy.

Despite the fact that he’s taken to jokingly calling me daddy.

I suppose that’s how I ended up on a bowling team with him. Leave it to West to turn a casual night of beers and bowling between a few friends into a recurring event that requires a lot more commitment than I wanted to offer.

But he’s a persuasive motherfucker. So here I am. Committed to what has become a dads’ night out bowling team ever since I told the guys about my surprise son—Tripp Coleman.

Our other member is Clyde or, as everyone refers to him, Crazy Clyde. It’s a nickname he’s embraced with gusto. Sometimes I think he just says wild shit to get people talking, to live up to the name.

Either way, he’s another stray I’ve adopted along the way. A loner with no family who—for as bonkers as he is—has become something of a father figure to me. Or a paradoxical boomer child, depending on the day.

We’re a ragtag crew of three who are constantly on the hunt for a fourth. West brings in random people to try on for size, but they never make the cut. I usually have to tell him afterward how much I hate them and why.

One guy ate hot wings and stuffed his fingers into the bowling ball without washing them and I walked out mid-game to show my displeasure. Another one smiled too much. Like constantly. It was unnatural and creepy, so he had to go.

I’m pretty sure Clyde scared off the others with his zany conspiracy theories.

Aside from those two clowns, my life is simple. Fight fires all summer, pick up contractor jobs in the winter to keep myself busy. Plus, I enjoy working with my hands, so it keeps me sane.

Or at least it keeps me distracted from spending too much time in my head.

Bash: I will be there on Thursday.

West: Cool. How’d it go with Tripp?

How did it go with Tripp?

It went? It was weird? It felt like an out-of-body experience to be faced with a grown man who is supposedly my son. Hell, he looks enough like me that the DNA test is probably entirely unnecessary.

He looks like me, if I were a twenty-four-year-old NHL star who grew up in the lap of luxury. And his mom? She can barely look at me at all.

If I wasn’t so furious with her, I’d feel bad for her.

But I am, in fact, furious. I hate to admit it, but I’m bitter. I’ve spent the better part of my adulthood wanting to be a father. I’m sure I wouldn’t have been a good parent at fifteen, but I’d have shown up the best way I knew how. And considering my dad went to the grocery store when I was nine years old and never came back, there’s no doubt in my mind that I would have been better than nothing.

But Cecilia and her family decided it was better if I wasn’t around at all.

And that stings like hell.

They robbed me of the opportunity. Now I’m left feeling like I missed out on something I never even knew was within reach. And it’s only made worse by the fact that I’ve wanted a family of my own. That yearning cost me my marriage. I wanted something she didn’t. So we parted ways, and I’ve been too shit-scared to try again.

But now I’m faced with what I wanted but not at all in the way I expected it.

So how did it go with Tripp? We met in Vancouver so I could watch him play a game. We had dinner and exchanged contact information. It was nice enough… but the fact remains that I’m just a stranger to him.

Still, I left there with a determination to be more. I missed out on twenty-four years, but I get to be around for the next twenty-four. I told him I could be whatever he wanted me to be but that I’d love to be part of his life. He’d seemed amenable to that, so we shook hands and left it there.

It was equal parts awkward and incredible all at once.

It left me feeling… I don’t know. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel. Deep down, I’m worried. He comes from so much—what could I possibly have to offer him? Especially when he already has a man who’s been a father to him.

The entire week has left me feeling low.

Until Gwen sat her fine ass in the chair across from me and made herself at home.

She made me feel better.

But now, her lack of response gnaws at me, leaving a pit in my stomach and a sour mood I can’t seem to shake.

I don’t feel like hashing this out with West right now. I’m not ready for his brand of unshakable positivity. So I text him back, and I lie.

Bash: It was the best.