Clark clears his throat.
Carson breaks the kiss and draws back.
I blink several times, my lips parted. “Um…”
“I think it’s time for the outdoor activities,” Carson says.
“Right. Right.”
The kids are eager to go tube sledding and things are all ready for them once they’re dressed in outerwear. They run screaming across the snow toward the slope, followed by parents. And Carson and me. I’m still reeling from the kiss.
“I want to do this, too,” Carson says, and my cousin Ashley’s husband laughs and agrees.
“Hell, yeah. This looks fun.”
The kids all get helmets and one of the lodge’s employees shows them what to do.
While Ashley helps her three-year-old, Madison, and her husband helps five-year-old Liam, Carson takes baby Marco.
My heart stops. Carson holding a baby who’s about the age our baby was when he died.
Carson looks down at the tiny being in his arms wearing a puffy navy snowsuit, and his throat works as he swallows. A muscle tics in his jaw and his mouth compresses. Marco gazes back at Carson with a furrowed forehead.
This can’t be the first time Carson’s seen a baby since Kane died. Is it? No, I’m sure he met Ford’s daughter. Ford is one of the goalies for the Storm and a while back discovered he was a father. Long story. I was still struggling when that happened and definitely did not want to meet Ford’s baby.
Carson looks like he might cry. Is he okay? I bite the inside of my bottom lip, anxiety a tight knot in my stomach. Should I go take the baby from him?
Then he looks up at me and meets my eyes.
Oh God. The clenched jaw, the burning eyes…
I swallow, my throat pinched. I take a step toward him. And another.
“Want me to take him?” I ask lightly.
“I’m good.” His voice is gruff. He looks back down at Marco.
“Hi, Marco.” I try to sound normal and not like I’m dying inside for Carson’s misery. “Do you want to go tubing, too?” I tug his knit hat a little lower on his forehead.
“Bah!” He kicks his legs. “Bah aaaaaah da.”
“That’s right, tubing’s only for the big kids. But you’ll do it soon.”
Ashley tramps through the snow toward us. “Thanks for taking him.”
“No worries.” Carson hands him back to his mom and smiles tightly.
I move closer to him, slide my arm into his and ask quietly, “Okay?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sure.”
Uh huh. My chest goes hot and soft and I want to wrap my arms around him and hug him, but he’s stiff and not looking at me.
We watch the kids for a while and I feel some of Carson’s tension ease. When some of the adults want to get in on the fun, Carson’s the first to slide down the snowy slope, laughing the whole way. I blow out a breath. He’s laughing. That’s good.
“Come on, you wanna try it, you know you do!” he calls to me when he’s back up at the top of the hill.
I hesitate, then grin and run over to get a helmet and a tube. I wait my turn, then push off, gripping the handles as tightly as I can. I pick up speed and let out a little scream, the air cold on my face, but I’m laughing because it’s fun.
