“I’ll have a lot of angry women on my hands later on if I don’t ask the question everyone wants the answer to, especially since the NHL’s resident serial dater seems to have completely disappeared off the dating scene in recent months,” the reporter says. “So, Mr. Lockwood, everyone wants to know…is there someone special in your life?”
I’m hyperaware of Archie’s stare, ricocheting between me and the video, the way everything around me falls away and slows, until all I can hear is the patter of my heart, the drum of blood in my ears. My hands tremble, and I’m nearly about to shut off the computer when Adam’s eyes come alive, a familiar spark that holds so much love, the grin that comes over his face, splitting his cheeks.
“Yeah, there is someone special. Two someone specials, actually.”
The reporter’s brows jump. “Two ?”
Adam chuckles. “It’s not how it sounds. She’s got a little boy.”
“Stepdaddy Adam !” someone shouts from off camera, followed by a slew of hoots and whistles. His cheeks blaze before he ducks his head to hide his smile.
“You look pretty smitten,” the reporter muses. “It’s nice to see you so happy.”
“I wasn’t sure I’d be this happy again.” Adam rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “They make me want to be the very best version of myself.”
“So, it’s serious then? This woman and her son?”
“The only thing I take as seriously is hockey.”
“Are you planning on following in your captain’s footsteps?”
“I normally strive to do the exact opposite of Carter,” he says with a chuckle. “But I assume you’re referencing him settling down, getting married, starting a family…”
“Exactly.”
Adam’s fingers tap against his knee for a quiet moment, and then he smiles. “I’ve always loved the idea of being married. It’s always been an important part of my life plan, because my parents have been an incredible example of two people who love each other working through the toughest parts of life. They’re proof that you don’t have to do it alone, and I don’t want to. I want to do all the hard stuff with the right person by my side.
“So, do I see myself settling down with her? Yeah, I really do. And starting a family?” Adam looks directly into the camera, and for a moment, it feels like he’s looking right at me. “We already have one, but I can’t wait to keep building it.”
This is the first time I’ve been here on my own in over two months.
I’ve had Adam at my side since I stumbled into him in July. Without him, I haven’t been able to bring myself to come back here.
But this is my space. Before Adam, this was where I felt safe. There’s something so innately comforting in the feel of earth beneath your feet, where everything is so green, so fresh, a sign of life, renewed energy. Where each breath of mountain air makes you feel alive with clarity.
Clarity. It’s been missing for two weeks, and right now, it’s all I need.
“Quit looking at me like that, sassy girl,” I tell Piglet as we trudge through the forest, because it’s about the hundredth time she’s thrown that grumpy look at me over her shoulder. “I get it: everything is way less fun without Adam and Bear. I’m not exciting enough.”
She cocks her head, those beautiful brown eyes blinking at me. Then she trots back to my side, nudging my hand before carrying on beside me. She has a funny way of slowing my racing thoughts, reminding me to go easy on myself. Maybe that’s why we get along so well. We give each other the patience and love we both need.
“I know it’s here somewhere,” I murmur, creeping through the trees. I’d long since given up on finding those thirteen-year-old initials my dad carved into that tree when I was eleven. I must’ve looked a hundred times over my years in Vancouver. It’s silly, but when Adam found them, I thought maybe it was my parents’ way of letting me know they were with us, that they approved of Adam.
And I think that’s part of the reason I haven’t been back here since. Because I know if I don’t find it now, when I really need it, I’ll wonder. My mind will wander to that dangerous what-if territory that I hate, where I second-guess everything. And I’m so damn tired of second-guessing. I just want to be sure. I want to move forward with certainty that I’m making the right decision for me. No matter which way this goes in the end, I want to know that I believed in myself, that I gave myself a true chance at love, at a happy ever after with someone who only lifts me up.
And if I can’t find this tree, if my brain tries to convince my heart it’s a sign…what if I’m not strong enough to battle that voice? What if the voices overwhelm me, and I give in to the pressure to give up?
I tell myself I’m not really looking, that if I find it, I find it. But five minutes turns into ten, and when I’ve been wandering in circles for forty-five minutes, everything in my chest pulls taut.
“It’s here,” I tell Piglet. “I know it’s here. It has to be.”
But the longer I come up empty-handed, the more I doubt myself. And the more I doubt myself, the more I just want to crawl into the arms of my parents, remember how it feels to be surrounded, protected by that kind of unconditional love.
So when my heart grows heavy and those voices try to win, I give myself grace. I pick a tree, just any old one, and I sink to my butt at the base of it. Piglet drapes her head over my lap and licks my fingers as I fix my sight on the blue sky filtering through the trees, focus on pulling in breath after breath of fresh air, clearing my mind.
“I am stronger than the voices in my head that tell me I’m weak,” I remind myself. “I prioritize myself and my family, and I make decisions with my well-being at the core.” I take a deep breath and sink into the moment, the earth beneath my hands. If I listen carefully, I can almost hear it. My laughter ringing through the trees, Mom telling me to stay close, Dad suggesting a splash in the creek. I can hear the slosh of the water as we dance through it, feel its chill kiss my feet, and in this moment, I feel them. Placing my hand over my beating heart, I say with certainty, “Even though I can’t see them, my parents are always with me.”
Piglet and I stay there for a half hour, and when I finally pick myself up again, my head is clear. There are no voices telling me what I can or can’t do. Everything feels steady. Sure. Like I know exactly where I’m going, and the relief that brings, the sense of freedom, it’s staggering.
For the past two weeks, I’ve been battling the overwhelming ache inside me that’s felt so damn hollow. I’ve never been empty, though, and I had to remind myself of that. I have Connor, and our little family is enough. It will always be enough. He’s sunshine seeping through the cracks of shattered glass that’s been glued back together: he fills every empty space with light.
The thing is, when some of those broken pieces came loose and I tried to stuff them back into place, Adam helped me realize it was okay to leave them where they lie, out in the open. He held them in his hands and showed me how much more light shone through when you learned to let go and let things be.
I guess what I’m saying is that even though I have everything I need with the family Connor and I have created with each other, the family I think we both want…well, I think that family includes Adam.