“I...” My voice trailed off. “No.” I didn’t want to. But we weren’t together. We hardly knew one another. But mindless sex held no interest to me anymore.
He searched my face, his blues taking everything in. “I tried to settle down once, Pink, and it didn’t work out for me the way I wanted. I don’t really date these days.” He looked like he wanted to say more but held himself back.
“Right, I understand.” I pulled away and headed toward the door. “So, I’ll see you when I see you then.” I waited for Beau toprotest, to tell me that he wanted to be with me, or at least to try to see if this thing between us could be more. But when he didn’t, disappointment settled over me. “Thanks.”
Beau grabbed my wrist. “For what?”
“Tonight. Treating me like I was just a normal guy.”
“You are a normal guy, Pink. A normal hot guy.”
I wanted to go back to joking and flirting, but it hurt too much. It wasn’t like I came over to his hotel room thinking this was going to be something, but I liked Beau. And that scared me.
“Yeah, well, thanks for that. I’ll see you around.”
Beau didn’t force me to stay, just gave me a quick nod and let me walk out the door. Without even a kiss or a hug goodbye. I forced myself not to turn around to see if he was watching as I waited for the elevator, and I tried to stop the tears that stung my eyes and slipped down my cheeks.
Chapter Six
Beau
Istepped through the front door of my apartment in Boston and dropped my bag onto the floor.Home sweet home, I thought as I glanced around the room and inhaled the familiar scent of pine. I had a cleaning crew come in once a week to tidy up, since I wasn’t always here. Pictures of Cole hung on the wall. A few of me with his late mother together, but they were mostly of him. The day he came home from the hospital. His first birthday. The Christmas he got his first pair of skates. His eighth-grade graduation. When his high school hockey team won the playoffs last year. I was proud of the young man he had become.
“Cole, I’m home!” I called out to my son and heard the soft sounds of his socked feet as he walked into the living room. “You have a hug for your old man?”
Cole rolled his eyes but stepped into my arms. “How was your flight?”
He didn’t linger long, being a teenager and all, but he hugged me back, which was all I wanted. To feel a brief moment of love for a second from my pride and joy.
“Good.” I ruffled his hair playfully and laughed when he pushed my hand away. “It’s good to be home, though. I missed you. How was your game last night?”
I knew his team had lost, but I wanted to hear it from my son. “We bombed,” Cole muttered and dropped down onto the couch, his dark hair flopping into his eyes.
“There’s always next time,” I reminded him as I eased myself down onto the sofa. “Want to talk about it?”
Cole shook his head. He got like that sometimes after a loss. Closed off and quiet. He was so much like his mother that it was scary. He was built like me, tall and broad shouldered, but he looked like his mother. He had her chestnut brown curls, her soft smile, and the freckles across his nose. But Cole’s blue eyes matched mine. I was thankful he also inherited my love of hockey, although I would have been happy cheering him on if he played basketball, football, or any other sport. He was my son, after all.
“Okay, then, how was everything else while I was gone? Did you have fun with your grandparents?” I leaned back on the couch.
My parents lived in Florida, but Trish’s parents had moved to Boston along with us when I got drafted. They had stayed after she died, grieved with me, and then helped me pick up the pieces. I wasn’t sure I would have been able to raise Cole without their help. Patty and Don were good people. They treated me like family, and I was grateful for that. And most importantly, they helped with Cole whenever I needed.
My son lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “It was fine.”
He glanced over at me, his wayward curls flopping over one eye. He lifted the backwards baseball cap from his head, dragged a hand through his hair and dropped the hat back into place.
“That’s it? Just fine?”
“Dad, they’re old. What else do you expect me to say?”
I snorted. “They’re in their early sixties. That’s hardy old.” Says the man who’s pushing forty.
“They made me watch a Netflix documentary with them about Ted Bundy. That’s messed up, Dad. I should be out having fun with my friends, not learning about serial killers.” Colewrinkled his nose. “It was weird, and then—this is the best part—they tried to talk to me about girls.”
Oh boy. “And what did you tell them?” I tilted my head as Cole’s ears burned red.
My son’s sexuality was no one’s business, and if they’d made him feel bad in any way, I would make sure that was the last time they tried to have that conversation with him.
“The truth. That I wasn’t interested in just girls. That I liked boys, too.”
