Read Online Any Man Of Mine by Rachel Gibson - Free Book Online

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    He raised the beer to his lips and tipped his head back. He was an even worse dad than his own. He would never have thought that was even possible, but he’d outshittied Samuel LeClaire Sr. in the father department. Because he knew better. He knew he never wanted to be the guy who treated strangers better than his own family. He never wanted to be the guy whom everyone else in town thought was great. One hell of a guy. A hero, but a hero who had nothing left for his family by the time he got home and took off his uniform.
    Sam knew all too well how that felt. Sam was thirty-five. His old man had been dead for twenty years, but he could still remember waiting for his dad to come home and falling asleep before he arrived. He remembered throwing himself into hockey. Excelling. Standing out. Being a star, thinking that maybe, just maybe if he was good enough, his dad would come and see him play.
    He doesn’t know you’re just a selfish prick unworthy of him, but he’ll figure it out someday . He remembered the night he’d stopped waiting up, stopped caring if his dad came to one of his games. He’d been about ten when he’d realized his dad was never going to do the things he saw other dads do with their sons. His dad was never going to shoot the puck with him or come to one of his games. He was never going to look up and see his dad in the stands, sitting next to his mother and sister.
    He ran his thumb up the cool bottle, collecting dewy droplets that slid to the crease and dripped over his knuckle. It was true that his work schedule was tough. During the season, he spent half his time on the road, but it was equally true that he’d left the responsibility of raising his son to Autumn. Breezing into town, spending some quality time with Conner before breezing back out. Autumn was more responsible than he was. So much so that it was sometimes hard to square her with the girl he’d met in Vegas.
    A cool damp breeze brushed his face and the side of his hot neck. He’d always told himself that quality was more important than quantity. Wasn’t that true? He was pretty sure he’d heard some child psychologist say that on a news program once, and this past summer, he’d had more obligations than usual. Because of the Cup win, he’d been expected at more fan and press events.
    He raised the beer to his mouth and took a long drink. The weekends in Vegas and the blowout parties with his buddies hadn’t been obligations. And yeah, a few times he’d canceled on Conner to party with his friends. And maybe it was more than a few times, but he’d never thought Conner was affected by his absence. Never dreamed his son cried himself to sleep.
    He lowered the bottle and balanced it on the arm of the chair. Out of all the men on the planet, he should have known better. Out of all the men on the planet, he did know better. He also knew that sometimes shit happened, and, when it did, it was too late.
    He remembered the night two Mounties knocked on the front door and told his mother that her husband had been killed during a raid on a farm in Moose Jaw. Constable LeClaire had been the first through the door and the first out of four others to die. He remembered looking at his dad’s casket, one in the line of three others. He remembered seeing him in the red uniform he loved and had chosen over his family. He remembered hearing the cries of all the other kids who’d lost their fathers. He remembered holding his sister, Ella’s hand while she cried and listening to his mother’s quiet sobs. He remembered feeling ashamed. Ashamed because he felt very little for the man everyone else loved and thought was a hero.
    He’d been fourteen when he’d had to step into his father’s shoes. Just a month shy of his fifteenth birthday when he’d assumed the responsibility of man of the house. When it came to his ten-year-old sister, he’d taken the job seriously. He’d always looked out for her, and she’d followed him like a