14. CAL
CAL
Rules, Routines, and Ridiculous Gestures
“ T oodles, seriously? Good thing you’re not aiming for him, Cal,” I muttered, tugging the stupid leotard over my head in the locker room. “No way he’s into this Ashley Tisdale knockoff with the delightful scent of sweat and pneumonia as a bonus.” One arm was stuck, wrestling with the clingy fabric like I was in a losing fight. My body shook, the soreness finally catching up now that the post-practice adrenaline had burned off. Every
movement sent a ripple of ache through my chest, my lungs burning in protest.
Pneumonia had been hell. Not the dramatic, stay-in-bed-watching-rom-coms kind of sick—no, the kind that made every breath feel like punishment. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy—or maybe I would. Depends on the day. My coach’s sharp comments still echoed in my head, grating like sandpaper against my pride. Mind over matter, right? I’d missed a week. A week. That might as well have been a year in the skating world. I wasn’t about to let this thing beat me.
The clock caught my eye, and panic jolted through me. I sprinted to the showers, rinsing off so fast I probably still had soap behind my ears. No time to check. I bundled myself into the car, damp hair plastered against my forehead, muttering all the way as I cranked the heat.
“Jesus, it’s freezing,” I hissed, clutching the wheel as if it would magically warm me. The vents groaned to life, spitting out a meager blast of lukewarm air. The irony wasn’t lost on me—years of bouncing from place to place, chasing skating opportunities through blistering summers and endless winters, and I still couldn’t dress for the weather. Maybe it was time to retire the "style over function" mantra and accept that, yeah, the cold actually did bother me.
The dial tone sounded through the car, breaking up my muttering. I braced myself, letting my head fall back against the headrest as her voice picked up—clear, composed, and a little too formal for my liking.
“Hey, Mom, hope you’re well. Sorry I haven’t called all week. Probably feels good to have one less voicemail to empty, huh?” I tried to laugh, forced out a tone lighter than the tightness in my chest deserved. “If you’re wondering what kept me, I caught pneumonia. Bit of a nightmare, to be honest. I’d call it something worse, but I know you’d scold me for being dramatic, so—refraining.”
I trailed off, staring at the snow swirling outside the windshield, soft and endless. It used to feel magical, those slow, steady flakes blanketing the world in quiet. Now, all they did was sink into me, dragging my mood down with them.
“Well, anyway. Hope you’re okay. Hope Bea’s doing well… Tim too.” My voice dropped toward the end, the words slipping out before I could hold them back. “You know my number.”
The call ended with a sharp click that left the car too quiet, my chest hollowed out in its wake. I blinked hard as the snow blurred into soft stars, my throat burning as I clenched my jaw.
“Get a grip, Callum,” I muttered, scrubbing at my face with the heel of my palm. Tears. Again. Idiot. My hand curled into a fist, nails biting into my thigh until the sting took the edge off. By the time I pulled into the condo’s driveway, my eyes were dry, my breaths even again.
I flipped down the sun visor, wrinkling my nose at my blotchy reflection in the mirror.
“You’re fun, you’re bubbly, you’re an absolute hoot, Cal Johnson,” I whispered to myself, dabbing concealer under my eyes with practiced speed. I watched until I looked the part—until the mess that was my face smoothed over, and the reflection looking back at me was together. Or close enough.
The house was buzzing when I walked in, alive with the kind of energy only a full house could manage. Tyler and Hunter were sprawled on the couch, limbs tangled in that easy, careless way couples have. Hockey blared from the TV, the familiar sound of skates carving into ice sending a weird pang through my chest. Fifteen minutes , I thought. But for that moment, I would let myself sink into the familiar chaos, that flimsy shield of normalcy holding steady—just for a while longer.
When they noticed me, they straightened, separating just enough to make room for the air I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Tyler’s gaze, sharp with concern beneath its practiced calm, locked onto me. “How’d the session go?” he asked, his voice light, but the hint of worry slipped through.
“Oh, fantastic.” I threw my arms wide, letting the sarcasm land with a theatrical flourish.
“Just you wait till you see this pretty décolletage draped in gold.” With an exaggerated flick of my wrist, I mimed tossing back a cascade of imaginary hair, my voice dripping with mock grandeur.
It earned a smile—small, soft, and so genuine it threw me off-kilter.
“I wouldn’t doubt it for a second, Cal,” Tyler said, and it was too kind, too much. That sweetness in his expression was a mirror I couldn’t face tonight.
His eyes lingered, like he was weighing the moment, deciding whether to press me or let it slide. I could feel it, the invitation lingering unsaid—Dinner? A movie? Stay and talk like old times? For a beat, I nearly caved. The pull was strong, familiar. But the edges of me were already too frayed. If one of them reached out to tug even the smallest thread, I’d unravel right there in the living room, and I couldn’t have that.
I flashed a grin, hollow around the edges.
“Well, I need another shower—a proper one, not a locker room rinse—and maybe a nap before I tackle my nighttime exercises.” It came out flippant, breezy, like I wasn’t halfway to collapsing right where I stood.
Tyler didn’t move. His eyes scanned me—quick, sharp, like he could see the exhaustion I thought I’d hidden. He opened his mouth, paused, and then nodded once, conceding.
“No worries. I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.” His tone was casual, but he wasn’t done. Not quite. “Or… will you be seeing Jack tonight?”
Smooth. I’d give him that. Tyler had a way of slipping in questions like blades between ribs, so subtle you didn’t feel it until it was already there. I forced my face to stay neutral, refusing to let the flicker of surprise show. Jack. He wasn’t supposed to come up.
I shrugged, aiming for carelessness.
“No, not tonight. I’ve got a full evening of ice packs, stretching, and re-learning how to breathe like a functional adult.”
Tyler’s lips twitched, but his gaze lingered, searching for something—an answer I wasn’t ready to give. I could feel Hunter watching too, silent but present, his concern less subtle but just as heavy. The weight of it scraped at my pride, but I knew better than to stay. Better to let them sit in their happiness, untarnished and glowing, while I slipped back into my carefully constructed distance.
The mention of Jack lingered, though—his name hanging in the air like the faintest whisper of something fragile and dangerous. I shoved the thought away, turning for the hall with a casual wave.
“Save me some leftovers if I don’t resurface before dinner.”
Tyler nodded, his smile kind but tinged with something else, something I didn’t want to look too closely at. “Take it easy, Cal.”
“Always,” I called back, though the word was as hollow as the grin I’d given them moments before.
I slipped into the quiet of the hallway, my footsteps soft but my pulse loud, each beat reminding me why I kept Jack—and everyone else—at a distance. If I let them in, even for a second, they’d see behind the show that was me. And I wasn’t sure what I hated more: the thought of being exposed, or the fact that part of me wanted to be.
Closing my bedroom door behind me, I twisted the lock, the quiet click breaking the stillness. Just in case Tyler decided to knock with a dinner invite. I didn’t want company, didn’t want another concerned look or gentle question I couldn’t answer. Instead of the shower I’d promised, I sank onto the bed, the mattress giving way beneath me like it knew the drill. I stared at the ceiling, blank and unmoving, but the ache still found its way in—familiar as an old wound reopening. It settled deep in my chest, that slow, sinking knot of failure uncoiling until it stretched out heavy as stone.
It felt like falling again, like a tree being chopped at its roots—each swing unseen but inevitable, until the weight of me hit the ground with a silent thud. That’s what I was: a body felled, cold and out of place, cut down from where I used to belong.
My fingers found my arm, pinching hard—hard enough to pull me back, like the sting might center me. The old voice came uninvited, Coach Tancheck’s growl cutting through memory, sharp as steel.
“If you’re ever going to make it, you have to toughen the fuck up.” I could feel the ghost of his grip, his hand bruising, his words sinking in like nails. Weakness wasn’t an option.
I pinched harder, the skin beneath my fingertips burning as if I could silence the voice.
“You have to toughen the fuck up, Johnson,” I whispered, each word a cruel echo, a promise I’d broken every time I let this hurt get the better of me.
The tears came anyway, sliding down my temple before I noticed them, before I could stop them. The hurt flared, furious and raw, fighting against the discipline I tried to force on myself. The harder I pressed, the quieter I hoped it would get.
Once, I’d wondered if more pain—sharper pain—might work better. If a blade could leave a mark strong enough to pull me out. But that was a line I couldn’t cross. A bruise was easier, just another “normal” in my world. Easy to cover, easy to dismiss.
So I stayed there, pinching the skin until it went numb, until the hurt simmered to something manageable and the tears dried somewhere unseen. I stared into the stillness of the room, pulling words out of the silence like a lifeline.
“You’ll win this competition,” I muttered, my voice hoarse but steady, as though saying it made it true. “You’ll get that ticket to the Olympics. And then she’ll notice. She’ll brag about you at parties. You’ll be the son she’s proud of.”
The thought held me there for a moment, like a buoy in deep water, but it wasn’t enough to stop the exhaustion creeping back in. I reached for the bedside table, hand brushing against the small row of bottles lined up perfectly. Labels stared back at me—anti-inflammatories, sleeping pills and antibiotics, a regimen of relief all too familiar.
I tipped the pills into my palm, swallowed them dry. The practiced motion felt like routine, each movement mechanical, each breath slowing as the world grew softer. The weight began pulling me under, dragging the pain with it.
And for a little while, at least, it was quiet.
The insistent buzz of my phone yanked me out of sleep, the early alarm a cruel reminder that it was time for my pre-practice run. I rolled out of bed, quiet and efficient, gathering my things and slipping out like a shadow. The faint sound of my roommates' laughter drifted down the hall, warmth and softness bundled into voices that eventually fell back into a sleepy hush. I shut out the pang in my chest, silencing the thought before it could bloom—what it would feel like to wake up next to someone. That kind of comfort wasn’t for me. I couldn’t crave it. I wouldn’t let myself.
The streets were still asleep when my feet hit the pavement, the rhythmic slap of my soles against concrete the only sound that mattered. The run, the training that followed—it was all mechanical. By the time I was back in my car, the world already felt like it had repeated itself. Another call. Another ring. Another empty voicemail. I didn’t cry this time. I’d spent those tears yesterday, wrung dry until the silence didn’t sting quite as much.
Autopilot carried me to the bar, the familiar scents pulling me in: wood polished with years of hands, whiskey lingering in the air, and a faint undercurrent of someone’s perfume. It all wrapped around me like armor I didn’t know I’d put on. The staff greeted me with smiles, warmth I didn’t quite know how to hold, but I waved back and made for the office to stash my bag.
I stopped short just outside the door, Jack’s low voice rumbling through the crack. He was on the phone, that deep tone steady and soothing in a way I hadn’t heard before. I hovered, just for a moment, the words trickling through.
“Benny, we’ll figure it out. Mom’s got some connections we can call in.”
A groan echoed faintly from the other end.
“Oh god, don’t. Wylie’s already trying to get her to back off. She’s turning this thing into a full-on royal event.”
Jack’s laugh followed, warm and unguarded, the kind of sound that burrowed into you. It was a laugh I’d heard
in glimpses but never quite like this—whole, real. The kind of laugh that made me wonder if this ridiculous fake relationship might give me something to hang on to after all.
And then, like he’d sensed me, his head turned. His steel-gray gaze landed on me, sharp and searching, the edges softening just enough to make my breath hitch. For a split second, it felt like he could see straight through me, past the practiced lines of my “I’m fine” face.
“Hellooo, Earth to Jack!” The voice on the other end was impatient, teasing.
“What’s got you distracted, Best Man?”
“Cal just walked in,” Jack said, not breaking eye contact. There was something else in his tone—something that felt like relief. “Mind if I call you back?”
I shrugged, trying to play it off, even as I watched him. “Don’t stop on my account. If you need help with planning, hit me up. I’m good with logistics.”
“Oh, get your man in your lap so I can see you both!” Benny’s voice crowed through the speaker, smug and gleeful.
I arched a brow, smirking despite myself, as Jack winced and shot me a look somewhere between sorry and please don’t make this worse.
“Uh, no,” Jack said quickly, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “I don’t think Wylie would be thrilled if you met Cal before him.”
“Too late for that,” Benny shot back, unfazed.
“Do you have any idea what your sudden disappearance did to your big brother? I had to defuse that situation, mister! So yeah, ex-dead-man-walking over here deserves to see the guy who’s apparently tamed the untamable.”
My eyebrows shot up, a dozen questions tumbling through my head, but before Jack could even think about squirming out of this, I moved. I strolled around the table and dropped onto his lap, settling in like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jack went rigid, his jaw tightening just enough to make me grin. Oh, I loved setting him on edge.
I slung my arms around his neck, leaning in just close enough to watch the flicker of restraint in his stormy eyes. His hands slid to my hips, a steadying touch that sent heat curling low in my stomach, though I pretended not to notice.
My gaze flicked to the phone screen, where a man grinned back—a tanned, buzz-cut stunner with dark eyes that practically twinkled through the glass. The charm radiating from his expression could’ve lit up the whole bar.
“Well, hello, handsome!” I said, flashing my own grin like we were long-lost friends.
“Oh my god, with a Jawline like that, you could probably cut glass. What’s a drop-dead stunner like you doing with this grump over here?” Ben gasped.
I gestured loosely at Jack, who shifted under me, his hands tightening for just a second before loosening again.
I shrugged, “What can I say? I’ve got a thing for broody types. Plus, he’s got this whole dark Viking in plaid vibe going for him, which, let’s be honest, kinda works.”
Benny barked out a laugh, the sound unrestrained and delighted.
“A vibe, huh? That’s one way to put it. But you wouldn’t say that if you’d seen him a few years ago.”
Curiosity sparked through me, and I turned to Jack, arching an eyebrow. His glare was quick and unmistakable: Don’t ask. I got the hint. For now. Turning back to the phone, I softened my grin.
“Hey, I’m just glad to know this man,” I said, casual but sincere. “Long hair, short hair—whatever. Underneath all that grump, we both know there’s a heart of gold.”
Jack’s fingers flexed against my hips, a subtle squeeze that sent a not-so-subtle flutter through my chest. It was small, barely there, but it shot warmth straight through me. I swallowed down the grin threatening to spread across my face.
“Well, well, who’s this?” a deeper, rougher voice cut in, sliding into the conversation like a needle finding its mark.
I turned back to the screen and froze. Another man appeared—an older, more refined version of Jack. His jaw was sharp, gray eyes holding the same steel-cut intensity, his hair neat, controlled. He had Jack’s face but with years etched into it, faint lines that hinted at good laughter, deep creases between his brows suggesting he carried too much weight for too long.
“Wylie,” Jack muttered with something just shy of sheepishness, “this is Cal.”
A whispered murmur from Benny—too low to catch—had him biting back another burst of laughter, but Jack’s sharp side-eye was enough to shut him up.
“Okay, okay, enough,” Jack said, his voice carrying a note of faux exasperation. “Yeah, I’m punching above my weight here, alright? But Cal’s right—he’s freakishly good at planning and knows everyone. If you need help with the engagement party or wedding, I’m more than happy to share my boyfriend’s time.”
The word boyfriend slid so easily off his tongue that it took a second to register. My lips twitched, fighting back a grin, the absurdity of it lingering in the air. Boyfriend. Ridiculous. And yet... hearing it sparked something warm, something I didn’t dare name.
“Well then,” Benny said smoothly, his smile curling wider. “Why don’t you scoot off to work, and I’ll have a chat with him?”
Jack shot me a look, part warning, part amusement, like he wasn’t entirely sure I wouldn’t say something to blow up the whole charade. I just shrugged, my grin growing cockier.
“Yeah, shoo,” I said, swatting his backside as he stood, savoring the sharp look he shot over his shoulder. I didn’t miss the way my eyes lingered on the broad stretch of his shoulders, the strength in every movement as he left. I pinched the inside of my arm, dragging myself back to reality before I got too far.
Jack paused in the doorway, his gaze catching mine just for a moment, a slow heat creeping up my spine as his eyes held mine. “Be nice, Benny!” he called over his shoulder, then disappeared.
The moment he was gone, the two men on the screen turned their attention to me, matching grins like they’d been waiting for this moment.
“It’s taking everything in me not to grill you with a thousand questions,” Benny started, his tone dangerously bright, “but I’ll restrain myself... for now. We’ve got an engagement party in three weeks, and we’ve basically got nothing planned. Well, unless you count the Rossler Flats barn.”
My heart leapt. “Oh, great choice! I’ve only been there once, but I still remember it like it was yesterday.” I leaned in, letting the conversation pull me in like a current. Questions about lighting, decor, and music poured out of me, each one drawing more detail, more excitement. Before long, the talk shifted—as it always does with family events—to the inevitable politics: opinions from parents, in-laws, and that one cousin who always needs a say.
Somewhere between venue chatter and cake flavors, I’d found a notebook, torn out a few pages, and commandeered Jack’s desk without a second thought. My pen flew across the paper, lists forming as fast as ideas hit me. Every time one of them got excited—faces lighting up like kids on Christmas—I shot off messages to my old connections: florists, decorators, caterers I hadn’t called in ages. The buzz was addictive, their enthusiasm feeding mine as we picked off their wishlist item by item.
Wylie leaned back in his chair, staring at me like I’d just performed a magic trick. “Seriously, are you a wedding planner or something?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Not exactly. My mom was, though—or at least, she used to be.” I twirled the pen between my fingers, the smile on my face faltering just a little. “I spent a lot of time traveling with her, helping her out when I wasn’t skating. Guess I just picked up a few tricks.”
The words came out light, but something in me tightened. Talking about her was like pressing on an old bruise—dull, but still tender if you lingered too long. Wylie noticed. His expression shifted, curiosity flickering behind his gaze, like he was just about to ask more. I cut him off before he could pry, plastering on a grin that felt almost real.
“Well, I better be off. Don’t hesitate to message me if you’ve got more ideas—or, you know, if there’s a wedding crisis that needs a hero,” I teased, flipping the notebook shut and gathering the papers.
“You’re an absolute lifesaver,” Wylie said, relief softening the lines in his face.
“Honestly? You’re saving me,” I admitted with a grin that was probably brighter than it needed to be. “Came here looking for a distraction, and wedding planning? Dopamine central.”
They laughed, and we said our goodbyes, but as I locked Jack’s phone and set it carefully on the desk, I hesitated. His phone. My ‘boyfriend’s’ phone. The thought sent the strangest little thrill zipping through me—ridiculous and fleeting but there nonetheless. God, I needed to get a grip.
With a shake of my head, I slipped out and made my way back to the bar. The moment I walked in, the sound hit me: pots clattering, shouts over orders, the hum of a place alive with purpose. Jack stood at the center of it, sleeves rolled up, hands moving with practiced precision as his staff wove around him like a well-oiled machine.
From my spot by the kitchen door, I lingered for just a second too long, watching him—broad shoulders, a face set in concentration, present in a way that made the chaos around him seem controlled. For someone with the nickname “Grump,” he carried an almost unnerving calm.
I let out a breath and straightened, my steps quick as I slipped inside.
“Hope you’re ready to thank me later, Jack. Your brothers now think I’m a wedding-planning wizard.”
He glanced up, arching a brow at me, but that rare, small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You hijacked my phone, didn’t you?”
“And your desk,” I added smugly, holding up my notebook like a trophy. “You’re welcome.”
The look he gave me—half-annoyed, half-impressed—made my chest flutter, but I ignored it, shoving the feeling down deep where it belonged. I wasn’t here to get caught up in Jack. I was just here to play my part. Stick to the plan, Cal.
I moved to step in and help, but before I could even make it to the kitchen entrance, Jack’s towering frame blocked the doorway. Hands planted firmly on his hips, he looked like some immovable wall carved from pure exasperation.
“No way, Pretty Boy,” he rumbled, voice low and final. “You’re not allowed to work here.”
I froze mid-step, gaping at him as the unfairness of it smacked me right in the chest. “What—why not?” I practically whined, the buzz of energy from planning with his brothers suddenly spiraling into useless frustration. I needed something to do.
“One word: pneumonia.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost tipped over. “I’m over it! I’ve been training all week.”
His expression didn’t budge, though something in it shifted—a tension that had nothing to do with annoyance. He scanned my face, gaze lingering just a little too long. “You don’t look as pretty as you usually do,” he said bluntly. “You look exhausted—and pale.”
I scoffed again, brushing it off like I hadn’t heard the soft note in his voice.
“Fine. I know when I’m not wanted.” I made a show of flicking my hands in the air in a show of dramatism. It was childish, but rejection—no matter how well-intentioned—still stung like hell. Old wounds didn’t fade; they just waited for the chance to reopen.
Before I could disappear, his hand closed around my arm—firm, warm, but careful, like he thought I might break.
“It’s not that you’re not wanted,” he said, quieter this time. “I just don’t want you fainting on me. Have you even eaten today?”
His question threw me off balance, disarming me in a way that made my throat tighten. I blinked at the floor, avoiding the full weight of his gaze. “I had what I needed,” I muttered, only half-lying. I’d kept my weight where it needed to be—stable, within range. That was enough, wasn’t it?
Jack hummed, unconvinced, his hand slipping away as he turned toward the bar. “Sit, Pretty Boy,” he ordered, voice bossy in a way that left no room for argument, but somehow… gentle. He nudged me toward a barstool before I could even think to resist.
“I’ll make you something.”
I opened my mouth to protest, to remind him that he had a million things on his plate already, but he was gone before the words could find footing. I sank onto the barstool, grumbling under my breath, though part of me melted at the small, unexpected kindness. I shifted aimlessly, glancing up at the nearest TV screen to distract myself.
And there it was.
The camera panned across the rink, the Vancouver crowd roaring, the overhead lights glaring against the ice. I blinked, my heart lurching into my throat as my hands flew up to my mouth. There. Hunter. Out on the ice, skating alongside Tyler.
A squeal escaped before I could catch it, my hands clapping against my cheeks as a tear stung my eye. Finally.
Tyler had worked so hard for this, clawing his way up through the ranks to where he stood now. But Hunter—Hunter had dreamed of this moment for years, a dream that was always so close, so achingly far. And now, there he was. Together. On the ice.
I was so wrapped up in it, so caught in the perfect rush of seeing them finally make it, that I didn’t even notice the plate Jack had set in front of me until the smell hit. Warm, rich, and so far above the fried food and chips his bar was known for, it startled me. A salad piled high with roasted chicken, toasted nuts, and caramelized vegetables—a dish that wouldn’t look out of place in some upscale restaurant.
Jack’s voice broke through my haze.
“You okay?”
I blinked, swiping at my cheek with the back of my hand as I let out a shaky laugh. “Hunter’s been trying to get called up all season,” I said, voice still thick with emotion. “They’re inseparable, him and Tyler. This is… huge for both of them.”
Jack didn’t say anything, just watched me with a look I couldn’t quite read. He gave a small nod—acknowledging it, maybe understanding it—before turning back to the kitchen without another word.
Normally, I’d call him out for being rude, but as I picked up my fork and took the first bite, I couldn’t say a damn thing.
The flavors melted together perfectly—sweet, savory, warm—and for a second, it was like my body could finally relax. He’d made this for me. He’d noticed I hadn’t eaten, and without asking, without a lecture, he’d done something about it.
I stared down at the plate, the ache in my chest softening just a little as I took another bite.
Jack might’ve left me alone to watch the game, but in that small, silent gesture, he’d managed to comfort me more than anyone had in a long, long time.