Consequence

The wind that was blowing through the neck of his jacket made his skin explode with ample amounts of goose bumps, even though he was layered properly and efficiently enough to keep his core-temperature reasonably warm. It was just beginning to warm up around the city, the wind getting that certain, special scent to it that made him think of the summers he spent as a kid, growing up without commitments.

Seasons were disappearing into one another, just like the past two years had. It was like, goddamn, you blink and then it's all gone before you can even catch small glimpses of the moments that you shared with people, the women you loved, the games you played, and the people who were important to you that left, or were born.

It was when the summer was beginning to change the way everyone dressed and thought, lived and breathed, when his mind was most burdened. For some reason, it seemed like his mouth was constantly dry, no amount of liquid could calm the bitterness that made his tongue stick sloppily and disgustingly to the side of his teeth like sweaty skin against leather. May was the month that he dreaded the most, busy with hockey and the playoffs and then the added pressure of commitments to his family members for birthdays and holidays and fuck, it was just too much, even for a professional athlete.

Even a few feet away from the house, the heart inside of his chest began to gallop like a stallion, pounding like a drum and resonating within his ears like cars crashing into one another. Deep breaths couldn't tame that beast, not even slowing it down a fraction of a second; it was this month, this day, when he felt the most burdened.

His eyes took in the appearance of the street around him, looking for something that might have changed since he last walked that beaten path; nothing had changed, nothing except him. The buildings harbored the same scars, stained bricks or chunks of material gone from the steps; even the concrete seemed to be in the exact condition it had been when he last walked upon it. Of all the things there, even the trees that had fallen or been cut, or had shed their darker leaves for ones of more brighter, livelier greens, he was the only thing that was different. That was his constant: change.

Taking a deep breath, he held it within his lungs as he climbed the steps that led to the front door, and he closed his eyes when the feeling of his heart began to slow. Oh, if he could only keep his breath inside of him forever, to keep that feeling of being whole inside his chest; finally opening his eyes, letting the air escape his lungs through his tight-lipped expression, he allowed a finger to touch against the doorbell.

His ears prickled at the sounds of footsteps, and for a moment he felt like running away, but it was too late. The door opened, and he brought his eyes up to gaze upon the face of a woman who held an important part of his heart; her face instantly hardened, eyes turning to nothing but tiny slits, eyelashes lacing together, and her lips were neither tight nor were they loose.

"Hey," Jonathan whispered, clenching his fist within the pocket of his jacket. "How are you?"

The woman shook her head. "You missed her birthday again, Jon, for the second year in a row. I'm not too well, honestly, because I've been thinking of ways to beat your fuckin' ass for doing this to not only her, but me, too."

Jonathan Toews couldn't speak, he had no words trembling on the edge of his lips, and there wasn't a thought inside of his mind. "I was in—"

"No," she said, throwing her hand up. "I checked your schedule, and you're not leaving for an away-game until tomorrow morning. You had the day off yesterday." She pulled the two front-sides of her hoodie together, slipping out of the door and onto the stoop, shaking her head. "I don't understand what can be so fuckin' important that you had to miss her birthday, Jon; your only daughter's birthday, and the party, and just her entire fuckin' life. You've missed it all."

He felt lukewarm bile rise in his throat, blocking any words from immediately coming from his lips. "I was busy."

"Busy doesn't exist when you're a parent," Poppy said, pointing her finger at him. "You wouldn't know that, though, because you sure as hell don't act like a father." She shrugged her shoulders, crossing her arms around her waist. "What, did your girlfriend blow you for too long? Did you spend the entire day fucking her and then realize, "Oh shit", it's your daughter's birthday? We live twenty minutes away from you, it couldn't have been a horrible burden to you, to just come down and see her for five minutes."

"I don't have a girlfriend," Jon whispered, clearing his throat. "I just—"

"You forgot," Poppy said, letting her hands fall at her sides. "Jon, you can't keep making these promises and breaking them. If the court finds out that you're not committing to the arrangements that we've made, you'll be in big trouble."

"I pay you every month."

"Does it not bother you," she said, and Jon could hear tears in her voice, "that she is growing up and learning things without you there by her side? Jesus, Jon, she's getting to that age where she wonders why her friends all have dads but she doesn't. Try explaining this to a child, "Sorry, honey, but your daddy loves hockey and women too much to want to see you, even if it's just for a moment," and witness the look on her face when it all connects."

Jonathan shook his head, finally making eye contact with Poppy. "Can I see her?"

"No," Poppy said. Before he could get frustrated, she raised her hand, instantly shutting him down, "Cooper's at school, she's not here."

God, was she already in school? Had five years really, truly blew past him at neck-breaking speed? It visibly got him, and Poppy could see it on his face that he was trying to remember how old Cooper, their daughter, was; it was sickening that he didn't know just a simple, important number.

"She turned six, Jon," she whispered. "I would expect something like this from Patrick, or even your brother, but you? No, Jon, you really surprised us all with this shit." Poppy wiped at her eyes, looking down at her sweatpants and bare feet. "Your family sees her more than you do, she started calling David 'Dada' when she was three because he would always pick her up and come visit."

"Coop thinks Davey is her dad?" Jonathan asked, looking around as he felt his body flush with hotness, like water pouring over his head. "He never fucking told her that he wasn't?"

Poppy rolled her eyes, zipping up the entire front of her hoodie while her cheeks flushed with a soft, gentle persimmon. "He's the closest thing she's had to a father, Jon," she whispered, more softly than anything else she had said. "She doesn't do it anymore, because I told her that David isn't her father, but she still thinks of him highly. There was a good year, maybe year and a half, that she called him 'Daddy' and we just let her go."

"Where was I?"

"You were winning the cup and celebrating."

A silence fell between them, and it wasn't comfortable in any form; it was hot, dry, electrified with hate and dissatisfaction. Poppy looked away from Jonathan, running her hand through her hair while she tried to calm herself; she was far too upset, Jon could tell, and he watched every move she made. He'd been smacked by her hand, been hit with her fists and kicked with her feet; Poppy knew how to fight, she'd spent her whole life making her way through the hardest of times, and Jon had learned the hard way that you didn't mess with somebody like her.

She sniffled, and then she was crying. Jon shifted uncomfortably, feeling terribly out of place and far beyond his comfort zone, watching as she dabbed at her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie and tried to recover quickly. Poppy had never cried in front of Jonathan, even after the past couple of years when he'd randomly show up and try to see Cooper. She looked at him, took a good, long glance, and then cleared her throat.

"Get out of my face, Jon," she whispered, shaking her head. "I'm so tired of seeing yours."

Jonathan nodded, licking his lips, just enough to moisten them. "I'm sorry, Poppy," he said, but he didn't want to look her in the eye because he knew that she'd be able to tell that he was lying through his goddamn teeth. "I wish that it was easier."

"Don't," she said, already turning to go back inside her door. "You don't get to talk to me about what's easy and what isn't. I'm a single parent, I work two jobs, and I have a daughter who wants to play sports and take piano lessons and know who and where her father is." Poppy turned around, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. "What's so hard for you, Mr. Conn Smythe? Deciding which Prada suit to wear before a game, or which girl you're going to take home tonight?"

He stayed silent, still nodding. "Something like that."

"God," Poppy laughed wryly, bringing her hand up just a little. "I am so glad she doesn't have your personality, Jonathan, because I wouldn't be able to handle having my daughter act like a complete fucking bastard all the time."

Before Poppy could go back inside, Jonathan parted his lips and turned his eyes straight to her. "When can I see her?" He didn't get a reply before the door was shut and he was left standing awkwardly on the steps, sinking his neck down softly to huddle more into the warmth of his jacket.

Jonathan took out the slip of paper in his hand, running his fingers over the crease of the lettering that was embossed onto the envelope; he'd spent at least two hours in Hallmark trying to pick out the perfect birthday card, but since he didn't remember which age she was going to be, he had to go with a card that would be appropriate for all ages. Jon had even asked one of the sales associates to help him, and bought her a stuffed animal, which was also tucked into his pocket.

He had the best of intentions. Jonathan didn't like the idea of having a daughter out in the world, his own flesh and his own blood, and not having anything to do with her; it was almost impossible to convince his manager and representation team that seeing Cooper was the best thing for him. They replaced Cooper with girls, events; Jonathan realized they started planning things on the days when he was supposed to go and spend time with her, and that led to months going by, then eventually years.

Bending down, he sat the stuffed animal and the card down beside the door. It was pushed back into a corner, just in case the wind were to start blowing, and it wouldn't get carried off or stolen because it was hidden well. Jonathan told himself not to cry, because he knew he was a jerk and a sleaze and a bastard, but he felt like it wasn't his fault. Or, more appropriately, it wasn't entirely his fault.

Jonathan was walking back to his truck when he noticed the school bus approach the area carefully, the stop sign pulling out from its side and the doors opening to let some children out; he hadn't realized that it was already so late into the day, and he watched with a smile as they passed him excitedly and ran to their correct houses. He pulled his keys from his pocket, the metal jingling, and took the first step off the curb right before he saw her.

It was Cooper, he knew it was the second that he laid eyes on her. She had his smile, his eyes, his fucking nose; she looked almost exactly like him, as close as a child could ever look like their respective parent, and she was laughing and running toward the exact spot where he had been just moments ago.

His breath was stolen from his chest, eyes instantly swallowed by tears that quickly sprung to life on his cheeks, dripping down the corners of his mouth and down his chin. She was so beautiful, oh, God, she was perfect and he wanted to touch her, just to hold her against his chest and feel her heartbeat against his own. Jonathan fell back against his truck, hitting the front-end so hard that it knocked the keys from his hand and almost what little breath he had left in him; she had his hair, brown and long and she had a mole on her cheek just like he did.

There wasn't anything he could do; it was like he had been knocked into the glass on the ice and was falling, slowly falling and burning and trembling, faint and weak against the cold surface below. Jonathan was breathing fast and heavy, and Cooper was getting closer and closer to him. He doubled-over, completely gone down, and put his hands against his knees as he breathed quickly and shallow; she was right beside him, right in front of him, and she walked right past him like he was a stranger.

Fuck, he was a stranger. Jon didn't exist to Cooper, he was only known by the promises he had broken over the years; that was the lasting impression he left on his angel, that beautiful little soul. He had hurt her in ways that no man ever would, torn her to pieces before she could even understand what pain was, or what a broken heart felt like.

Jonathan looked up just in time to see her pick up the stuffed animal and his card, looking at it oddly. He watched as she sounded out the word, Daddy, on the front, and when the realization crossed along her face, she took off her backpack and stuffed both into it quickly. Not even a moment later, just a nanosecond after she had both items concealed from her mother's sight, the door opened and Cooper was rushed inside by Poppy, talking about school and snacks, and asking if she could please have some juice.

His heart ached beyond any pain he had ever felt in his life. Jon was stunned, shocked, locked into place like a fucking statue; how in the world could he ever think that leaving that beautiful angel to fend for herself was the best thing he could do?

It felt so strange, so untrue, but Jonathan didn't want to waste another minute of his life without Cooper in it. He was getting so old, so tired and broken; Jon didn't care who could find out about his daughter, he didn't care if the NHL frowned at it because his appeal would dissipate to the rest of the world.

Jonathan's appeal to his daughter was already gone, but he'd be damned if it stayed that way. Even if it took twenty years, thirty or fifty, he made a promise to himself that he was going to make Cooper feel the love that he felt for her, even though he had not been aware of such a strong, pure and clean feeling until the second that she appeared to him. Alive, breathing, existing without him; she was him, he was her, and he wanted to be her father.