Sergio lets Henry down and watches him as he runs over to meet Jeremy. With the aid of Rose’s outstretched hand, he’s brought to a stop before he can barrel into his target. Apparently, preventing Henry’s inevitable collision course with Jeremy is a full-time job around here.
“Hungry?” Holden asks Sergio, clapping him on the shoulder.
Keeping his eyes on Jeremy instead of turning to look at Holden, Sergio says, “I didn’t know Jeremy was coming to lunch.”
“Oh yeah, he’s gonna take Henry back to the house after we eat for a nap so Rose can join us for more skiing.”
“Is he like your babysitter or something?” Sergio isn’t sure if he wants the answer to be yes or no, and he’s half tempted to offer to take Henry home himself and ensure his placement back on the top of Henry’s list of favorites, well above broccoli.
“No,” Holden says. “He helps out when he can. He’s really nice. You should make an effort to get to know him while you’re here. You two would really get along.”
“I have made an effort to get to know him. Years ago. And he rejected me.”
“Is that what this is all about? Your bruised ego?” Holden laughs.
“No,” Sergio mutters, trying to defend himself. Though the truth is, the memory of Jeremy’s rejection has occasionally crossed his mind ever since he’d given Sergio the brush off at the games four years ago. And each time he’s been confronted with the memory without Jeremy around, it has fueled his resentment. It wasn’t until he saw him yesterday on the ice in person at the barn that he’d began to remember how well they’d originally hit it off instead of only remembering the rejection. That the banter between them had been fun and stimulating. That they’d laughed and enjoyed themselves and shared an impassioned kiss tucked away in an alcove beneath the stands of the ski slopes while waiting for Holden to make another aerial run. The same alcove where Jeremy pulled away—his face flushed, his lips chapped, his hair askew—and told Sergio that he couldn’t risk losing his focus. Because he was under so much pressure, and as fun as their flirtation was, he needed to put a pause on it until after the games.
Had Sergio been thinking with more than his dick, he would have seen it: the slight rigidity in the way Jeremy walked that was beginning to encroach on his natural grace, the way Jeremy would intermittently tug at the corner of his eye as if trying to clear something from it, the exhaustion that constantly painted his face. To Sergio, like any other outsider looking in, it appeared to be the symptoms of someone succumbing to the pressure of the world watching their every move. The pressure of being not only America’s darling, but America’s gay darling. A good one, a poster boy, someone who could make little boys on figure skates—as opposed to hockey skates—an admirable thing to see. So much was pinned on Jeremy at the time that of course, Sergioknew who he was. Of course, Sergio wanted to be the bad boy attached to the good boy’s image. Of course, Sergio wanted to add Jeremy’s name to the notches on his bedpost. And of course, when Jeremy turned him down, Sergio switched gears and chased after the entire Norwegian women’s snowboarding team instead.
“I think it’s curious that Jeremy is so firmly planted in your life, is all.”
Holden shrugs. “It’s the least we could do for him.”
Holden’s words eerily echoed the ones Holden’s parents had spoken in regard to Sergio and Adrien over a decade earlier. When asked why they wanted to take the boys in, the answer was simple: “It’s the least we can do for them.” But Jeremy Owens is no orphan; he’s a full-grown man. The circumstances are entirely different.
“Come on. This place has a great turkey burger,” Holden says, breaking Sergio from his thoughts and leading them all inside, where the hostess awaits their arrival and leads them right to a large round table in the middle of the sunlit restaurant that overlooks the mountains. Sergio, wanting to be as far away from Jeremy as possible, sits opposite him with Holden on one side and Allison on the other. He tries not to seethe when he sees Henry climb onto Jeremy’s lap, apparently using him as his chair for lunch.
“How long are you in town?” Allison asks once they’ve placed their orders.
“A week,” Sergio says, curling his lips into his most charming smile, grateful for the distraction. A very pretty distraction. He thought he’d gotten a good look at her the day before while she was on the ice, but now, up close, he sees he missed a few very alluring details. Like her deep, soulful brown eyes with long lashes set above high, sharp cheekbones that would make every emaciated model he photographs green with envy. To go withthat, she has a pleasant voice and a shy laugh that she hides behind her hands when Sergio says, “Plenty of time for us to get to know one another.”
“I thought I warned you about that, Sergio Durand,” Rose says from where she’s seated between Holden and Jeremy. It’s been a long time since anyone used his full name to scold him. Not even Mr. and Mrs. Haring ever used it whenever he caused them trouble.
Sergio brushes her off with his hand without looking her way. “Don’t mind her,” he says to Allison, his lips pulling into a wicked grin. “We’re just two people talking.”
The talking is what keeps Sergio from reaching across the table and yanking Henry out of Jeremy’s lap and placing him onto his own. Even while talking to Allison, he can’t keep himself from listening in on Jeremy and Adrien’s conversation two chairs away.
“Oh! She’s in Paris. How nice,” Jeremy says. “I’ve only been there once. Years ago, for a competition, but I didn’t really get to enjoy it. I got a picture of myself in front of the Eiffel Tower, though. So I guess that’s something.”
“You need to go again,” Adrien says. “In fact, we should plan something. Daphne’s family is always open to having guests. You would only need a plane ticket.”
Jeremy sighs wistfully. “That’d be lovely. I’ll think about it.”
“Have you ever been to Paris?” Allison asks Sergio, apparently picking up on what Sergio has actually been listening to instead of her.
Sergio gives her his attention again. “I have,” he says. “Many times. Would you like to go?”
“She can’t go to Paris with you until after the Olympics, Sergio,” Rose teases, then adds under her breath, “Or ever.”
Holden laughs.
“Can I go to Paris?” Henry asks.
“Yes!” Sergio says, figuring this will help him win his nephew back. “I’ll take you whenever you like.”
Rose raises an eyebrow at him. “I won’t let you abscond with my protégé, you think I’ll let you leave the country with my kid?” Everyone at the table laughs, but something in her voice and raised eyebrow indicates this isn’t a joke at all.
“I’ll take him,” Adrien chimes in.
