“It took a little work,” he says softly. Though, in this ginormous space, even the quietest words carry an echo. “Your mom told me you were working at a coffee shop. I started there. I met a friend of yours. Duke? Nice kid with blue hair? He told me you were here. After interrogating me, of course.”

“Duke’s got a thing with dads.”

Declan nods solemnly. Something tells me he can relate.

“Well, you found me.”

“I got your text,” he says.

“I wondered. You never responded.”

“That’s because what I had to say shouldn’t be texted. I needed to come and do this in person. And see you and make sure you’re okay,” he adds. “Which, from the looks of things, you are. It’s wonderful to see you on blades again.”

“Even if I’m not performing?”

“Even if,” he agrees. “I’m sorry if you thought differently. I’m happy if you’re happy. That’s how being a parent works.”

“Dad,” I stop him softly. “You haven’t been a parent to me in years. You realize that, right?”

He releases a long breath, and I slip into my sturdy winter boots, wiggling my toes at the toasty feeling as the blood rushes back into them. I feel oddly calm for this conversation. I was so overwrought speaking with my mom that I’d assumed I’d be the same with my dad. But then, things have never been overly emotional with Declan. When I was really little, things were so easy between us, and as I got older, I felt more resigned.

“I’m sorry you believe that. On the outside, maybe I haven’t been there for you, not like I should, but on the inside, I’ve always been your dad.”

I snort derisively (which I’m getting better at; Vada would be proud), turning to face him on the bench. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I didn’t think you needed me.” His jaw clenches momentarily, and I take in the dark circles under his eyes and the sharpened cut of his cheekbones. He’s not taking care of himself.

“That sounds like bullshit.”

His eyes widen, his lips pressing together. He almost looks amused, but in a flash, he’s back to remorseful. “Fine,” he relents. “That’s fair. I can’t believe you just swore in front of me, but you’re an adult.”

“Are you gay?” I ask, before I lose my nerve. “It’s okay if you—”

He lets out a slow, shaky breath and nods. “I … Yes—I am.”

I wait him out, conflicted. I want to congratulate him on finally telling the truth but kick him for everything else.