Page 33 of Temptation On Ice

“This was before he had any idea I might be gay, mind you. I didn't want to take advantage of him during an emotional moment and moved away. But it might not matter anyway, because he found out I’m gay when you stopped by, and I think it made him uncomfortable. I haven't heard from him since, and that could be the end of it.”

I’m more disappointed in this than I allow him to see, but it’s not worth dwelling on. I can deal with it. Like I told Sebastian, I’m used to friends not wanting to be around me once they find out I’m gay. It sucks, but I’ve learned to adopt the attitude that it’s their loss. This is why I don't see any of the friends I made while on the police force. I wasn’t loud about my sexual preferences at work, so when it did come up later, the few good friends I’d made suddenly were very busy and had much better things to do than hang out with me off-duty.

“His fucking loss if that’s the case,” Callum says, mirroring my thoughts. “But if not, and he sticks around, just protect your heart, okay? Don’t give him everything so freely if he’s not able to love you back. A friend can be supportive and kind, but you’re already past that, if I know you at all, which I do, because I’m amazing.” He draws a finger around his ear like he’s pushing nonexistent hair behind it and gives me a pinched-lip smile that raises his shimmer-dusted cheeks.

“I hear you, you meddling mother hen,” I mumble, ducking my head down and running my finger along the rim of the Coke can. “Now, why don’t I put the dog away and we go check on the renovation progress? I want to see what you’ve gotten started on with the crew since you’ve been slacking off and spending more time out here bothering me than actually working. What’s your job in all this, anyway?” I tease to get us past the serious moment.

“I beg your fucking pardon!” he says in mock offense, his fingertips pressed to his chest. “I am the owner and lead designer of Calamity Jane Interiors. I measured the space, ordered all the materials, hired, and now I'm supervising the crew doing the work to create the space of your dreams, baby boy. My job is invaluable, and you should be so lucky I took you on for the cost of goods and at a quarter of my usual rate because I think you’re hot.”

“Liar. You discounted the rate because you don't actually have to start or finish anything on a specific timeline, it’s a barn renovation creating kennels of all things instead of a house, which is your usual work, and you believe in the Combat Companions' mission.” I give him a side-eyed look, and he has the good grace to look a bit chagrined.

“I do love your doggies,” he admits, patting the table and calling to Ruger, who pops up now that he’s about to get attention and trots over for Callum to pet him.

“Don't spoil the working dogs, you dick.”

“Only if you let me suck yours,” he sing-songs.

“Stop doing that,” I say as I push his shoulder so he falls off the picnic table with a high-pitched yelp.

Fifteen

Sebastian

“Hey buddy, time to get ready for bed,” I say, walking into the playroom and squatting down to Enzo’s level, where he’s putting together a puzzle on the floor. It has dogs on it, of course, because that’s what he wants the theme to be for everything.

“Can I play a little longer?” he asks, hugging Mutt against his chest and kicking his feet.

“You have to take a bath, and then it’s bedtime. You have school tomorrow, so we’re getting up early, and you’ll have skating practice after that. Aren't you excited?” I ask, reminding him of his new lessons, hopefully to ease him into the idea of going to bed now in anticipation of his after-school activities.

He looks up with sad eyes. “I’m not good at skating. It’s hard, and the ice hurts when I fall.” I take his hand and pull him up so we can walk to the bathroom.

“I fell a lot when I first started skating, too. It took me a while to get the hang of it, but eventually, I really loved it, and now it’s my job.” He’s been to enough of my games and knows I play hockey professionally, so maybe this will help him like his lessons.

“I don't want to do it anymore. I hate skating,” he says as I start the bath.

Ouch. That’s a blow to the stomach I wasn’t expecting from my four-year-old. It hurts to hear him say that about something I wanted to share with him. I began skating at his age and started hockey when I was five. I was hooked immediately, and it became my life. It would be amazing if Enzo loved it and followed in my footsteps, but I realize it’s not for everyone, and as much as it’ll suck if he turns it down, I’ll have to be okay with it.

“You agreed to give skating a try, remember?” I remind him. “We have to follow through when we commit to something. You’re signed up for three months of lessons, so let’s get through those and re-evaluate when the session is over. If you still hate it, we can put a pause on skating and maybe try it when you’re older. But we have to keep going to these lessons now so we can show them that when we say we’re going to do something, we do it.”

I put Enzo in the bath, and he pulls in his bath toys, splashing around and barely listening to me. “I have show and tell tomorrow at school,” he says as he scoops up water with a Hydras souvenir cup and pours it over a herd of plastic animals.

“Oh, yeah?” I say.

I didn't get any warning from the school that it was his turn to share. Usually, they’re pretty good about sending an email or a text to parents. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open my email just to check. Sure enough, there’s an email from his school letting me know that he’s up for the honor tomorrow. As I read further, it says they’re providing special permission for him to bring his puppy to school as long as I can bring it in at eleven-thirty and will stay for the duration of the show and tell session, then remove the dog when it finishes, so they don't have an animal on campus all day. I look at Enzo as I put my phone away, and he smiles at me.

“Enzo, did you tell the school you’re bringing a dog to share?” I ask.

“Yeah! I told Miss Julie I’m bringing a puppy.”

What the fuck?

“We don't have a puppy for you to bring for show and tell. What dog are you thinking of bringing?” I ask him slowly, reining in my temper so he doesn't know I’m silently freaking out after reading that email. I have practice until eleven downtown, and his school is thirty minutes away. Even if we had a dog, I wouldn't be able to get home and get it to him by the time the school allows.

“The Hydras’ puppy. He’s so cute. I want to show the whole class.” Enzo goes back to playing with his toys, oblivious to the mental meltdown I’m experiencing.

“Enzo, buddy, we can’t just borrow the Hydras’ puppy. It’s not ours to take, and it’s busy. I don't even know what the puppy does when it’s not at events, but it’s not something you can borrow whenever you want,” I say, rubbing a hand across my face and trying to navigate my way through this disaster.

Enzo’s bottom lip pouts out, and his eyes grow glossy before they close, and big tears slide down his cheeks as he cries. “I just w-wanted to play with the p-puppy again and show the c-class. Miss Julie said it would be o-okay.” He sobs as his idea is crushed, and I’m the one who pulled the carpet out from under him. How do I explain this better to a four-year-old?