13. WADE
WADE
Rules of Engagement
“ Y ou know, I am still mad at you.”
Wylie’s voice cut through the hum of the car like a needle popping a balloon—sharp, quick, and loud enough to rattle me. The familiar static of the speakerphone added just enough distance to make it feel worse. I’d been waiting for this. Ever since I left without a word, my phone had been vibrating like a bomb set to go off, every group chat pulling me back in when I was trying my damnedest to pull away. Whoever invented those damned things should be locked up. If we still lived in the era of handwritten letters, I’d at least have the luxury of a delay—time to lick my wounds and brace myself.
Instead, I’d been left to watch as messages rolled in, rapid-fire. Wylie, Tia, Tanya, and the others—every sibling I loved too much trying to tether me back to the family orbit.
“Yeah, I know,” I sighed, the sound dragging out of me like it had weight.
There was silence on the other end, like Wylie was giving me room to squirm. Then his voice came back, quieter this time, softer in a way that made my chest ache.
“What happened? I knew you got overwhelmed, but… I thought I’d at least get a goodbye. What did I do to make you run like that?”
My grip on the wheel tightened, guilt settling low and deep in my gut. I could picture him—sitting at the kitchen table, hands rubbing over his face, still trying to make sense of me.
“Nothing, bro,” I muttered. “It wasn’t you. Danton showed up, and he—he just hit a nerve.”
A low hum crackled through the line, like he was piecing it together. “So that explains the smashed picture frames.”
I ran a hand through my hair, the mess I’d left behind replaying in my head. Shards of glass, splintered wood—proof of my anger and something darker I didn’t want to name.
“Yeah. I don’t know why Mom couldn’t leave those in storage where I put them,” I muttered, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Had them boxed up for a reason, Wy.”
The breath Wylie took was sharp, like my words had cut him more than I’d meant to. His voice dropped, quieter, raw around the edges. “Don’t go blaming Mom—it was me, you idiot.”
My stomach flipped.
“I wanted you to see…” He hesitated, just long enough to make my heart pound harder. “That love was real, Wade. You loved once. You loved him, and you loved us. And now you avoid it—love, family—like it’s the plague. I’m sorry for just wanting my little brother back.”
The silence that followed stretched long and heavy, like a stone dropped into deep water. I swallowed hard, staring at the rain-slicked road, my vision blurring until the world outside the windshield looked like nothing at all.
“Wylie, I…” My voice caught a whisper that couldn’t make it past the knot in my throat.
I closed my eyes for half a second, inhaling deeply as if that alone could fortify me, could soak up every word Wylie had thrown at me and leave me steady. He wasn’t wrong. I knew that much.
Finally, I found my voice, though it was more of a scrape than a sound. “I know things have been… strained. I’ll try to be better.” My chest tightened as the next words tumbled out before I could stop them. “Cal is, uh… he’s excited to meet you all. And I promise I won’t do a runner for the engagement party. Or the wedding.”
The grin I could hear through the phone nearly bowled me over.
“Oh yeah? I’m excited to meet him, to see the man who managed to crack that hard exterior of yours.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, feigning exasperation. My lips tugged at a half-smile I didn’t quite feel, but I went along with him anyway. That was Wylie—always able to spin warmth out of nothing, even when I felt like nothing.
But as his words settled, something twisted deep in my gut. Cal had said “maybe.” And that was barely a yes. The longer I sat with it, the clearer it became: he’d have every reason to bail once he really thought this through. Who could blame him?
Walls were meant to protect you. We’d both built ours high and thick, and I wasn’t stupid enough to think mine were stronger. If anything, Cal’s might hold.
And where would that leave me?
Days blurred together in a mess of shifts and restless nights, and Cal’s absence hung heavier than it should have. I’d been waiting— expecting —a list of fake dating terms that never came, each empty day twisting the knot of anticipation in my chest tighter and tighter. Eventually, I gave up the waiting game. If Cal wouldn’t come to me, I’d go to him. Again.
This time, though, I came armed. Two cups of coffee—dairy-free, black, a dash of honey. Something about the preparation felt ridiculous, but I shoved that thought aside as I stepped into the familiar chill of the ice rink. I found a spot at the edge of the rink, far enough out of the coach’s line of sight to avoid another confrontation, but perfectly positioned to see him .
The music hit first, reverberating through the cold air with a rhythm that seemed to sink under my skin. And then there was Cal, moving across the ice like he was born on it—fluid, deliberate, every line of him controlled yet somehow effortless.
I’d seen him sick, stumbling, barely able to stand, and now here he was, something untouchable. The way he moved made it hard to look anywhere else.
My eyes caught on his face—focus carved into every sharp line of his jaw, his features set like they’d been etched there, all grit and steadiness. He was so damn beautiful . Not in the delicate, pretty way he sometimes pretended to be, but in a way that demanded to be taken seriously. Strength and grace fused together in every glide, every turn. I couldn’t help but imagine what it might feel like to trace those edges, the smooth skin under my fingers— Jesus, Wade, no.
I exhaled sharply and forced my attention back to the routine, shaking loose thoughts I had no business thinking.
Petra shot forward, and I watched as Cal pivoted like a machine, catching her hands and sweeping her upward into the air. It was like watching physics surrender to them.
She spun above him—once, twice, three times —her blades catching flashes of light as they sliced through space. The danger in it twisted my stomach. If she fell, if he missed— But he didn’t . Cal caught her seamlessly, guiding her back to the ice like he’d never considered another outcome.
I swallowed, my pulse caught somewhere between awe and something I couldn’t quite name. My hands tightened around the coffee cups to keep from applauding, to keep myself still when I wanted to move, to be closer, to say—what? Goddamn, Pretty Boy, you’re incredible ? No. I stayed put, my throat dry, my chest uncomfortably tight.
The music cut out, leaving only the faint hiss of skates slowing against the ice. Cal stood at the center of it all, chest rising and falling just enough to remind me he wasn’t some untouchable statue carved into perfection. Stoic. Unshaken. His gaze locked forward like he was waiting for his next order.
I wondered if anyone else saw it—the quiet weight he carried, the way he held himself as if he were braced for impact, even now. I wondered if that weight ever got to be too much, if anyone was there to catch him when he let go.
He skated off the ice then, breaking the moment as effortlessly as he’d spun through it.
And I stood there, feeling more ridiculous than I had when I’d walked in, two coffees cooling in my hands.
The memory surged like a rogue wave, dragging me back into the heat of a sun-bleached desert, far from this freezing rink but close enough to scrape raw against my edges. I could almost see him—Sam. The one who held everything in, his emotions kept tight and guarded as our commander’s voice thundered through the air. But I knew his tells. The quick twitch of his mouth into a smirk when no one was looking. The flicker of something real before it vanished behind the mask he wore so well.
I could see it so clearly. The two of us side by side, saluting, grabbing our gear. Mission routine, steps practiced into muscle memory. But then there was always that moment—a nudge of his elbow brushing against mine, a move so casual it would’ve meant nothing to anyone watching. Except it wasn’t casual at all. Sam leaned in just close enough for his breath to hit my skin, teasing, low enough that no one but me could hear.
“ You’re going to get us in trouble, Wade Rossler.”
I’d felt it in my bones—the warmth of his breath, the spark that raced under my skin, that made my heart drum louder than any order barked in my direction. I’d turned to him with the smirk I knew he loved, a silent reply to a question neither of us dared to ask. His eyes caught mine, just a second too long, and I saw it—desire, raw and barely restrained, the way his chest rose just a little sharper.
“Not sure what you mean, Sam Eddies.” My voice had come out easy, smooth, like the moment didn’t matter—like it wasn’t everything.
And then, like always, it dissolved. His gaze snapped forward, his face closing down, the soldier settling back into place as though that flicker of vulnerability had never existed. His rucksack swung over his shoulder, his shoulders squared, and Sam was gone again—stoic, unreadable, untouchable.
But I remembered that moment. That second where the lines of his face softened, where the mask cracked just enough for me to see him .
Now, standing there, I swore I saw it again. Not Sam— Cal . Across the ice, clutching the rails, flushed from exertion, his breath visible in little puffs of white. He looked up, and there it was: the tiniest quirk of his lip. Easy, fleeting, but it hit like a punch to the gut. A look that said so much with so little.
The ache twisted in my chest, tangled somewhere between old grief and a new, nameless feeling I didn’t dare examine. My fingers tightened around the coffee cup in my hand—a flimsy offering of peace or connection or something .
Cal’s focus snapped back to his coach, his nods crisp, each one a mask of quiet obedience. The man’s voice cracked through the cold rink air, relentless and sharp, hammering down like a chisel on stone. Criticism poured out in a torrent, not a single drop of encouragement to balance it, and I could see the subtle shifts in Cal’s body—the faint pull of his shoulders, the dart of his gaze flickering my way, as if testing for an escape route.
And then the coach noticed me. His tone sharpened, the critique turning downright venomous. From across the rink, I couldn’t make out the words, but I didn’t need to. The way Cal’s posture stiffened, the clipped movements as he adjusted his gloves—like each word stung but had to be absorbed—said enough. I was the reason for this. Me.
A hot rush of anger seared through me, a slow burn that climbed up my spine. A coach—a mentor—was supposed to push, sure, but not like this. Not to break. My jaw tightened, and I straightened instinctively, my height and size working in my favor even from a distance. The coach’s gaze flickered toward me, but before I could take a single step, Cal shook his head—a small, deliberate movement. Stand down , that look said, as clear as if he’d spoken.
It took everything in me to plant my feet and stay put watching a man who I believed needed praise but instead got a grilling like a new recruit who shot his own captain in a drill. Cal didn’t argue. He didn’t snap. He just absorbed , as though everything about him depended on staying upright, holding steady. His coach finally turned and stalked off, still muttering under his breath, but Cal was already striding toward me, his skates cutting clean lines in the ice.
When he was close enough, the words tumbled out of me, edged with frustration I couldn’t quite bury.
“Seems like I have some competition for worst influence.”
His mouth twitched, a shadow of a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“He’s only trying to make me the best,” he said, voice clipped, but even he didn’t sound convinced.
Up close, it was worse. The flush on his cheeks wasn’t from the cold—it was the kind of pale-pink heat that only came with exhaustion. Dark smudges sat heavy under his eyes, barely hidden despite what I now knew was carefully applied foundation. And sure, the mascara made those lashes pop just enough to soften his edges, but I’d seen cover-ups before, and I knew the truth when I saw it.
He looked like hell, plain and simple. A man burning too bright for too long and acting like the fire didn’t sting.
I handed him the coffee, watching as a flicker of something genuine crossed his face—surprise, maybe even relief. The corner of his mouth lifted, his voice losing its bite as he muttered, “God, I needed this.” He glanced at the cup, brow raised.
“Black, with honey? Interesting choice. Sweet, but not too sweet.”
I shrugged, masking my own irritation with lightness.
“You give me sweet tooth vibes.”
That laugh—short, surprised, but real—caught me off guard.
“Sweet tooth vibes? Maybe once I’m done skating. I figure I’ll go full dessert mode and be fat within a year. Might as well indulge while I can.”
His words were casual, but the way he savored that coffee, the long sip and the slow close of his eyes like it was the best damn thing he’d had in weeks, made my chest twist. I wanted to say something— take care of yourself , you can’t keep running on fumes like this —but I didn’t. He’d never listen. Cal was the kind of man who would run himself into the ground before admitting the ground was even there.
Instead, I watched as he cracked one of those insufferable smirks, half-hidden behind the coffee lid, and stretched out every second like he was savoring the moment.
“I suppose you’re here to finally hear the terms and conditions?” he asked, voice smooth, playful, like this was all some game he’d already won. “Didn’t think you’d be an impatient man, Jack.”
The confidence was back, that polished composure he wielded like a shield. But I’d seen the cracks. For a second, I’d seen something softer—something that made me think maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one pretending to be fine.
I took a step closer, not to intimidate him—well, maybe just a little—but to make my point clear. “Let’s say I need an answer. Because if you say yes, you’re meeting my family. And they’re... selective . They’ll expect you to play the part perfectly.”
Cal hummed, a quiet, teasing sound, the kind that made me want to throw something. His lips curled over the edge of the cup as he took another deliberate sip, drawing out the silence like he was savoring every ounce of my impatience. That smug little smirk of his was impossible. Every fiber in me wanted to grab him by the chin, tilt his face up, and demand he just say yes or no.
Instead, I dug my nails into the warm paper cup, letting the heat ground me, reminding myself to breathe.
Finally, after what felt like years, he gave a long, theatrical sigh, like he was about to bestow me with a favor I didn’t deserve. “Fine. Yes, I’ll do it.” He set his coffee down with the delicate precision of someone placing the final piece in a game he’d already won. Then his eyes locked on mine, bright and sharp as ever.
“But there are rules, Jack.”
I lifted a brow, already bracing for it. I knew better than to think he’d make this easy. “I’m listening.”
His arms crossed—an act of satisfaction more than defense—and his tone turned saccharine, like a teacher laying down classroom expectations. “No sex. Touching only when your family’s around to sell it. You’re allowed to play possessive only if someone tries to take me home, but otherwise? Keep it civil. No showing up at my practices”—he added that pointedly, eyes narrowing—“and absolutely no nice gestures. No coffee. No checking in when I’m sick. We’re just actors. Nothing more. ”
I bit the inside of my cheek, letting the words settle. If he wanted boundaries, he’d get them. Maybe it was better that way. Cleaner. Less messy.
“Sounds reasonable. Anything else?”
His smirk widened, and I regretted asking immediately.
“Yes. You’re still going to treat me like an entitled pretty boy with a nose for trouble, and I’ll keep crossing your boundaries while ensuring that bar of yours is the best damn gay sports bar in Vancouver. Deal?”
There it was again—the way he pushed, challenged, pulled things out of me in a way no one else dared. I held out my hand, locking eyes with him.
“Deal.”
He took it, his grip firm and lingering just a beat too long. For a second, everything felt still—just the two of us, hands joined in something that felt like a truce but hummed with something far more serious underneath. I ignored the way my pulse ticked faster, ignored the weight of his touch as he finally let go.
Before I could think too hard about what I’d just gotten myself into, Cal twinkled his fingers in the air with a little flourish, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Thanks for the coffee, boyfee ,” he said, the nickname dripping with mock sweetness. “I need to shower this fine ass—because, believe me, I may look put together, but under this leotard, I’ve got enough sweat to water the community vegetable garden. Toodles! ”
He started to turn, but not before I caught it—the way he cringed at his own words, his nose scrunching up as if the last bit had slipped out without permission. It took everything in me not to laugh, biting down hard on my lip to stifle the sound.
Cal shot me one last look over his shoulder, catching the hint of amusement I was almost managing to hide. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face as he headed toward the locker rooms, leaving me alone with the fading echo of his ridiculous exit.
I stared down at the empty coffee cup, a smirk tugging at my lips. This was going to be one hell of a long act.