That Time We Faked It (Time On The Ice #3)

17. WADE

WADE

Panic, Pungence, and Pillow Politics

T he house felt too small for my pacing, like the walls were creeping closer with every step. Everything for the engagement party tomorrow was set. I’d seen Cal’s meticulously organized spreadsheet, every task ticked off with a precision that would make a drill sergeant proud. But the one person Cal couldn’t seem to organize was himself.

“He’ll be fine, Wade,” Wylie called from the living room, his tone too casual, too calm for my fraying nerves. He and the rest of my family were tucked by the fire, sipping drinks, their faces alight with quiet amusement at my restlessness. To them, this was probably hilarious—watching me unravel over a man I barely knew but was supposed to be in love with.

My chest tightened at the thought, a traitorous thump from my heart making me clench my fists. Sure, I cared about Cal. Enough to admit that if things were different, if the circumstances weren’t a web of lies and pretense, I might have been interested. But Cal was unpredictable, a whirlwind that could blow through someone’s life and leave everything in disarray. I knew better than to let myself get caught in a storm like that—my past scars were proof of the damage it could do. Well… that’s what I kept telling myself… what could I say—I had apparently donned this year as a proficient liar, even to myself.

I stopped mid-step, frustration clawing at me, my fingers twitching with the need to do something, anything. My phone was useless, my calls unanswered. The roads outside were slick with ice, black and treacherous, and the only thing I could picture was Cal out there somewhere, his phone out of reach, stranded or worse. A part of me tried to reason with the panic—it was late, sure, but that didn’t mean the worst.

A firm hand on my back pulled me from the spiral, grounding me. I turned to find my older brother standing there, his steady gaze mirroring the warmth he gave his kids when they were about to lose it.

“Here,” he said, pressing a glass of wine into my hand. “Take a minute. Sit. I’ll make a few calls, see if I can track anything down.”

I knew he couldn’t do much—not without Cal’s flight number or anything specific. But his calm was contagious, and I let myself sink into the armchair by the fire. The familiar taste of the wine hit my tongue, the same vintage Cal had shared the night we’d met. The flavor did little to ease my nerves, but it steadied me enough to stay seated, watching the flames crackle and twist as my family’s quiet murmurs filled the room.

An hour slipped by. Then another. Each tick of the clock was a taunt, a reminder that Cal still hadn’t shown. My resolve wavered with every passing minute, and I was two blinks away from borrowing a car and combing every icy road between here and the airport. My grip tightened on the glass, every instinct screaming for action, for motion, for something to do other than sit and wait.

And then came a knock at the door.

I was on my feet before the sound finished echoing through the house, the wineglass left forgotten on the side table. My family trailed behind me, their curiosity and concern palpable as I all but threw the door open. Cold air rushed in, sharp and biting, but it was the figure standing in the doorway that stole my breath. Cal. Wet, disheveled, and exhausted, but there. Safe.

Except he wasn’t the Cal I knew… instead he looked like he’d emerged from some apocalyptic garbage heap, a far cry from his usual polished, runway-ready self. His hair clung to his forehead, damp and disheveled, his jacket splattered with unidentifiable stains, and I swear the air around him carried an odor that could only be described as “pungent with a side of despair.”

For a moment, I just stared, my jaw slack. This was not the Cal I knew—the one who could turn heads without trying, who floated through chaos with effortless charm. The confidence he wore like armor was cracked, barely holding. His lip trembled, his usually sharp gaze softened with exhaustion and something raw that he wasn’t quite hiding. Whatever hell he’d been through tonight, I didn’t care. He was here. That was enough.

Without thinking, I pulled him into a hug, holding him tighter than I meant to.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. Where have you been? What happened? And why do you—”

Cal pulled back, cutting me off with a wry, shaky smile, his eyes glistening.

“Smell like a homeless man who lives on garlic bread?” he finished for me, his voice cracking but still managing that signature Cal humor.

Behind me, I heard a few muffled chuckles. I huffed a laugh, brushing off the comment because, really, what else was there to say?

“Yeah. That.”

But then, the dam broke.

“Oh, fuck—damn, sorry, I meant frick—God, here I am swearing in front of people who could be my in-laws one day—oh, fuck, sorry—frick—no, not that either! We’re not even engaged! Oh, craptastic—” The words tumbled out in a chaotic rush, his voice rising with each one until he was practically gasping for breath.

“I wanted to be my beautiful, shining self for you so bad, but everything went terribly wrong, and I think I’m a bad-luck charm, or maybe just a bad omen, and maybe I should just go.”

He started to back away, his whole frame trembling like a leaf caught in a hurricane. His breaths came fast and shallow, panic written across his face, and for a split second, I wasn’t sure how to reach him.

Before I could even try, my mom stepped forward, her hand gentle on his arm.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart,” she said, her voice low and soothing, cutting through the tension with the kind of warmth only she could offer.

“You’ve had a really long day, haven’t you?”

Cal nodded, his sniffles audible now as tears threatened to spill over.

“Okay, well,” she continued, her tone soft but matter-of-fact, “we don’t take first impressions from people on a day that’s been as hard as wood in the morning.”

A groan of collective mortification rippled through the house.

“MOM!” my siblings chorused, their reactions somewhere between scandalized and resigned. My dad just chuckled, clearly unbothered.

But it worked. Cal let out a scoff—a watery, reluctant laugh—and looked up at her, blinking through the shimmer of tears.

“I wouldn’t say morning wood is the bad kind of hard… but I get what you mean.” His eyes widened in immediate regret as the words left his mouth, horror dawning as he realized what he’d just said.

My mom just laughed, winking like it was nothing. “Oh, honey, I didn’t have six kids by not appreciating it myself.”

“ MOM! ” The groan was louder this time, and even Cal joined in, his laugh bubbling up from a mix of mortification and relief. And for the first time since he walked through the door, I saw something familiar in his eyes—the light, the spark that made him who he was. It wasn’t all the way back, but it was enough to remind me that he was still in there.

My mom patted his arm, still holding it like she’d known him his whole life.

“Okay, enough goofing around,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “As excited as I am to finally meet you, I think you need a hot bath, a glass of wine, and some food. How does that sound?”

Cal let out a long sigh, his features softening as a trace of peace settled over him. “Like I just died and went to heaven,” he murmured, his shoulders sinking under the invisible weight he’d been carrying all night. Mom gave him one of her warm, motherly smiles and guided him upstairs, their voices fading into soft, comforting murmurs.

That lasted until she reached the halfway point and turned back, shouting, “Wade! Don’t just stand there! Get your man some wine and food and bring it to him! Didn’t I raise you to be a gentleman? This is why you’ve been single so long, I swear!”

Her words hit harder than they should have, the last bit stinging more than I cared to admit.

She hadn’t meant anything by it—that much I knew—but Mom had a way of dropping those offhand comments that cut deep if you weren’t prepared for them. In her world, life was simple: meet someone, fall in love, build a life, and everything would fall into place. That was her happily-ever-after, and she couldn’t quite grasp why I hadn’t just followed the same blueprint. I’d learned to brush it off over the years, but tonight? It still gnawed at me.

With a deep breath, I moved to the kitchen, ignoring the smug, knowing looks my siblings were tossing my way.

They stayed quiet—for now—but I could feel the teasing brewing, just waiting for the right moment to spill over. I grabbed a bottle of wine, poured a glass and started putting together a tray. Leftover roast, a warm roll, a little butter, and some roasted veggies—simple but comforting. The kind of meal that might help ease the tension coiled in Cal’s tired frame. By the time I finished, my grip on the carving knife had left faint marks on the cutting board.

Calm and composed, right? Yeah, sure.

Balancing the tray, I headed upstairs. Just outside the room, I paused, catching the end of Mom’s warm farewell. “Sleep well, sweetie. I can’t wait to chat more over breakfast.”

Whatever Cal said in response, I didn’t hear, but the way Mom’s gaze lingered on me as she passed said plenty. Be nice, it seemed to warn, as if I had any intention of being anything else. Classic Mom.

Once she was out of sight, I knocked lightly on the ensuite door.

“Uh, hello?”

Cal’s voice drifted through, soft and weary, missing its usual vibrant edge.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me,” I said, keeping my tone low. “I’ve got food and wine.”

There was a pause, then, “Just leave it at the door, please.”

I set the tray down as he’d asked, my chest tightening at the distant, vulnerable note in his voice. This wasn’t the self-assured Cal who could command a room with a single smile; this was someone raw and drained, and it made me ache more than I cared to admit.

I turned back to the room, busied myself pulling back the covers on the bed. My cabin wasn’t far, but there was no way I was leaving him alone tonight—not after the kind of day he’d had. This was supposed to be a “fake boyfriend” situation, sure, but lines had already blurred, and I wasn’t about to let him spiral on his own. The bed was a king anyway; we’d fit, no problem. With my hands fluffing the pillows, I tried to shake off the restless energy buzzing through me, focusing instead on the sound of the bath running and the faint image of Cal on the other side of the door, trying to hold himself together.

The soft click of the bathroom door unlocking jolted me, and I froze mid-breath, my mouth halfway open in some unspoken thought.

Cal stepped out, utterly naked, oblivious to my presence. His fair skin caught the glow of the bedroom lights, practically radiant, and for a second, he didn’t see me. His focus zeroed in on the tray of food like it was a prize, mumbling under his breath, “Come to momma…”

My brain stalled, every coherent thought grinding to a halt. There he was—bare as if about to jump in the bath, hair in loose waves hitting just before his sharp jaw started. The tray barely served as a fig leaf, his lean frame shamelessly on display. When his gaze finally snapped to me, his eyes went wide, and he let out a startled squeak—something between embarrassment and pure mortification.

He spun around so fast I didn’t even have time to react, giving me a fleeting view of everything else. His ass—already impressive under clothes—was somehow more mesmerizing bare, a perfect curve that left me gaping like a complete idiot. My mind raced, burning the image into memory with no shame as he scrambled back into the bathroom, the door slamming shut with a frantic click.

From behind the door came his muffled, mortified plea.

“Please, pretend you didn’t see that. Just… erase it from your memory, okay?”

A laugh bubbled up in my chest, but I swallowed it down, clearing my throat and turning away to spare him the last shred of his dignity.

“Consider it already forgotten,” I said, keeping my tone flat. It wasn’t forgotten, not by a long shot, and the lie came too easily.

No ass—none—could compare to what I’d just seen. My thoughts betrayed me, veering into dangerous territory as I tried to suppress the heat pooling low in my gut. It had been too long since I’d let myself feel anything like that, too long since I’d let the kind of fantasies creeping into my mind play out. I groaned, willing my body to calm down, pushing down the uninvited heat as if it were a puppy jumping up for attention.

How the hell was I supposed to survive an entire weekend with that ass in the same room—let alone the same bed?

Turns out, I didn’t have to. When Cal finally emerged, he was bundled in sweats and a hoodie that covered every inch of that beautiful body. The hood was pulled low over his damp waves, and his face peeked out like he was a knight preparing for battle. He shot me a shy smile, his eyes darting around the room like he was planning his escape route.

Then his gaze landed on the small daybed by the window, and I could see the idea hit him.

“Oh no, pretty boy,” I said, folding my arms. “You’ve had a rough day. You’re not sleeping on a glorified park bench.”

“Oh yes, I am, Wade.” He gestured between us with a dramatic flourish, his tone dripping with faux indignation. “This,” he declared, “is fake. And I’d like to keep it that way. That daybed looks perfectly comfortable.”

The sound of my name caught me off guard more than his ridiculous insistence. But before I could argue, he snagged a pillow from the bed and, without even bothering with a blanket, curled up on the daybed like it was some kind of punishment he deserved. He folded in on himself, small and closed off, and the sight left an odd twist in my chest. He shouldn’t have been so quick to shrink away, to put up that barrier.

I sighed, grabbing a blanket from the bed. Walking over, I draped it over his stubborn frame, letting it fall over his shoulders as he burrowed deeper into the corner.

“At least don’t get pneumonia again, alright?” I muttered.

“Thanks,” came his quiet reply, barely audible as his body stilled under the warmth.

I waited until his breathing slowed, evening out into soft, sleepy murmurs that filled the quiet room. Only then did I move, carefully scooping him up. His body went slack in my arms, his exhaustion palpable. The closeness of him—his head lolling against my shoulder, the faint scent of clean soap mingled with warmth—sent my pulse into overdrive. My chest tightened, but I told myself to get a grip. This wasn’t anything special. He was just tired, and I was being practical.

Gently, I laid him on the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress as he barely stirred. A small sigh escaped his lips, and for a moment, I froze, hovering above him, my heart pounding louder than it had any right to. There was something disarming about him like this—vulnerable, quiet, stripped of the bravado he usually carried like armor.

Shaking my head, I pulled the blanket up to his chin and stepped back, dragging myself toward the daybed. It was hard and unforgiving, the kind of surface that reminded me too much of the military days—those cold, unyielding floors I’d learned to endure. Except now, my joints creaked in protest, and I was far too used to comfort to pretend otherwise.

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the urge to turn my head toward him. But it was pointless.

My eyes found their way to the bed, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest. Something in the rhythm of it steadied me, and before I knew it, my own breaths had synced with his, a quiet, unspoken connection that I couldn’t shake.

With that, the tension in my body began to fade. The hard cushions beneath me didn’t seem quite as unbearable anymore. And finally, lulled by the sound of his peaceful breaths, I let myself drift off, the space between us feeling smaller than it should’ve.