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

20. CAL

CAL

Velvet Dreams and Ghosted Calls

I was in my element, barking commands to the suppliers, weaving through the final touches as the wine tasting house took shape—a masterpiece of dark, moody hues and strategic lighting. Burgundy and navy draped the space like a velvet cloak, fairy lights twinkling between the wooden beams overhead. The budget was a dream, giving me the freedom to create something that felt like a page from my own wildest visions. Everything was running like clockwork; honestly, I didn’t even need to be there.

The suppliers had finished setup, the food was prepped, and I’d managed to pull together a slideshow without anyone noticing. A quiet surprise waiting to roll during the grand entrance and later for the speeches.

Yet, there I was, lingering. Sure, I could have handed off control, let things run themselves. But that meant going back, immersing myself in Jack’s world, his family—the kind of family I knew I could get attached to all too easily. It was a familiar itch, that little voice inside me whispering that maybe, just maybe, I belonged here. But I’d put myself on a strict emotional detox. One event, one weekend, and I’d be gone, no attachments, no lingering threads.

Once the last supplier gave me the thumbs-up, I pulled off my metaphorical control gloves and stepped out into the brisk air, breathing in the crispness that washed away the lingering stress of the setup. Just ahead, I spotted Jack with his nieces and nephews at the front of the house, a lively cluster of shrieks and laughter. Snowballs flew through the air as he ducked and dodged, returning fire with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. I stopped, just for a moment, letting the scene soak in.

Jack looked different with them, carefree in a way that seemed at odds with his usual gruffness. His nieces and nephews adored him, and it was easy to see why. He was entirely present, all laughter and play, the kids clinging to him like he was the sun itself. And as I stood there, watching this whole dynamic, I couldn’t shake that bittersweet pang creeping up on me.

In a quiet bid to escape, to push away the ache that had bloomed inside me from watching Jack with his family, I pulled out my phone and wandered down the path until I found a bench tucked among the vines. From there, I could still see Jack, wrapped up in snow-drenched chaos, a little slice of warmth amid the cold.

With a deep breath, I scrolled down to the contact that always took me longer to find than it should—Mom. My thumb hovered over her name, hesitating, before I finally pressed dial. The phone rang, its tone cutting through the quiet, each chime stretching longer than it should. Part of me expected it to go straight to voicemail. A bigger part hoped it would.

Then her voice came through, clear and clipped, exactly as I remembered.

“Hello?” She didn’t sound like she knew who was calling, and that hit harder than I’d prepared for.

“Hey, Mom. It’s Cal,” I said, the shakiness in my voice betraying the calm I was trying to project.

There was a pause, not long but heavy, before her tone shifted into something mildly apologetic.

“Oh! Sorry, I got a new phone. Must not have transferred the contact over.” The casual explanation twisted something in my chest, the ache sharp and familiar. Would she have answered if she’d known it was me?

I forced a smile into my words, even though I doubted she could hear it.

“I’m in Massachusetts, actually. Here for an engagement party. Thought maybe we could catch up tomorrow, if you’re free?”

Another pause. Her silences always held weight, but this one felt different—calculated.

“Oh, Cal, I’d love to, but Bea has a skating competition, and then we have afternoon tea with the club. It’s all a bit tight.” Another pause, and then the line I knew so well. “Maybe next time?”

Maybe next time. The phrase settled like a stone in my stomach. Years had passed since I’d last seen her, since I’d even dared to try. Fear of rejection had kept me at bay for so long, and yet here I was, proving to myself that it wasn’t unfounded. I stayed quiet, staring at the frost-tipped grass as her words hung in the air.

There had never been a single moment, no defining reason why I’d gone from the son she couldn’t live without to the one she barely seemed to remember. Once, it had been us against the world—her and me, road-tripping to skating competitions, celebrating victories and brushing off defeats together.

Then she’d met someone new, and suddenly I’d been shipped off to boarding school, left with nothing but the sound of her voice over the phone, a distant and diminishing presence.

The call ended without ceremony. I pressed my face into my hands, exhaling a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, letting the frost-dusted ground blur beneath my feet.

When I finally looked up, Jack was watching me from across the yard. His brows were furrowed, concern etched into his features in a way that made my chest tighten all over again. Even at this distance, it felt like he could see everything I was trying to hide.

I gave him an exaggerated wave, grinning too wide, pouring all my effort into looking like the picture of cheer. Fake it till you make it, right? I forced my shoulders to relax, my body to radiate an energy I didn’t have, praying it would drown out the pit of sadness swirling inside. Jack didn’t move, his gaze steady, and I felt the weight of it settle into the corners of my heart.

But some pains, I’d learned, were just permanent fixtures, like an old injury that flares up without warning. Maybe it was silly, but I’d hoped that winning this competition might be the final piece, something to put me back on her radar. Skating had been her true love once—until she’d had me. It was the story she’d spun a hundred times, of how she’d been on the brink of a figure-skating career, only to find herself pregnant at eighteen, dreams shelved before they’d even begun.