“Because I knew you’d think I was choosing him instead of you.”

That landed harder than anything else.

I stood and walked to the refrigerator, although I didn’t need anything from it.

“You’re allowed to talk to him.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re eighteen.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I closed the refrigerator.

“No. I’m not sure.”

He nodded.

At least that was honest.

Then he said:

“I want him at the game.”

“Why?”

“Because I do.”

“After fourteen years?”

“Yes.”

“Caleb, he left you alone in a house when you were four.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t call when you turned five. Or ten. Or sixteen.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know this man.”

Caleb finally looked directly at me.

“I’m not asking you to like him.”

He stepped closer.

“I’m asking you to trust me.”

I wanted to say no.

Instead, I looked at the hockey schedule on the refrigerator.

State championship.

7:30 p.m.

I took it down and folded it once.

“Fine.”

Caleb exhaled.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Then I pointed at him.

“But I’m not getting arrested at a hockey game, so don’t put him too close to me.”

For the first time all afternoon, Caleb smiled.

“Deal.”

He knew something I didn’t.

The Seat Beside Mine

The arena was nearly full the next night.

I arrived early.

I always did.

Walt came twenty minutes later carrying two coffees.

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks.”

“Didn’t sleep?”

“Not much.”

Then somebody stopped beside my row.

I looked up.

Ryan.

Fourteen years changes a man.

His hair was shorter and grayer at the temples. His face was heavier. He wore a navy suit that probably cost more than my first car, polished brown shoes and a watch I recognized from advertisements but could never justify buying.

He looked at the empty seat beside me.

Then at his ticket.

“I think I’m here.”

I looked at my ticket.

Same section.

Same row.

Seats twenty-one and twenty-two.

I nearly laughed.

“Of course you are.”

Ryan sat down.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he said:

“Ben.”

“Ryan.”

He looked toward the ice.

“He left the ticket for me at the entrance.”

“Apparently he enjoys experiments.”

Ryan gave a nervous smile.

I didn’t return it.

Walt leaned toward me.

“Who is this?”

I kept my eyes on the ice.

“Caleb’s biological father.”

Walt slowly turned toward Ryan.

Then back toward me.

He didn’t shake Ryan’s hand.

He just leaned close enough that only I could hear him.

“Don’t let him rewrite the story, Benny.”

Then the players came onto the ice.

Caleb spotted us almost immediately.

He looked at Ryan.

Then at me.

I gave him one small nod.

He tapped his stick twice against the boards.

Game time.

The Best Game He Ever Played

Caleb played like somebody had taken the governor off him.

He scored late in the first period.

Assisted another goal in the second.

Scored again in the third.

With less than four minutes remaining, the game was tied.

Ryan was standing beside me.

So was I.

Neither of us spoke.

Caleb stole the puck near center ice and carried it down the right side. Two defenders collapsed toward him.

Instead of shooting, he sent the puck backward.

His teammate Nolan buried it.

The arena erupted.

I don’t remember deciding to grab Walt.

I just remember Walt yelling:

“That’s our kid!”

Ryan heard him.

He didn’t say anything.

Final score: 4–3.

State champions.

Caleb finished with two goals and two assists.

After the handshakes, the coach brought the team back toward center ice.

A tournament official carried out the championship trophy.

Then another man walked onto the ice with a smaller trophy.

MVP.

Caleb.

I clapped until my hands hurt.

Ryan clapped too.

Then the coach handed Caleb a microphone.

That wasn’t normal.

I looked at Walt.

He was smiling.

Not cheering.

Smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Walt.”

“Watch.”

Caleb stood at center ice with his helmet under one arm.

The arena settled.

“I know everybody wants to get out of here, so I’ll keep this short.”

People laughed.

Then Caleb looked toward our section.

“Tonight, sitting in this arena, is my real father.”

My hands stopped moving.

Beside me, Ryan straightened.

He buttoned his suit jacket.

I saw it.

That tiny movement.

He thought Caleb meant him.

Caleb continued.

“My biological father came tonight. His name is Ryan Mercer.”

People around us started looking over.

Ryan lifted his chin slightly.

“He gave me life. And after fourteen years, he came back and asked for a chance to know me.”

Ryan swallowed.

I stared at Caleb.

“I don’t know what happens with that yet.”

That changed the room.

Ryan’s smile disappeared.

Caleb looked down at the microphone, then back at us.

“But there’s something I do know.”

His eyes moved to me.

“My dad is the guy standing down there in the red flannel shirt.”

I looked down at myself.

The same stupid shirt.

Walt put a hand on my shoulder.

Caleb continued.

“He’s worn that thing to almost every game since I was six.”

A few people laughed.

“He didn’t have to take me home when I was four.”