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

24. CAL

CAL

Dick Drunk

I was lost in the haze of being thoroughly fucked. It wasn’t the fact that Wade Rossler gave me the best sex I had ever had in my life. The way he sent me writhing with every single touch of his hands, his lips, his tongue—

and I knew I would never for the life of me forget that cock…. Those piercings… the way they hit my prostate over and over again. Ugh. It was a sensation that had me coming without him touching my own aching cock. I knew sex with the lumberjack of a man would be something… but mind blowing was the understatement.

I sipped the wine he’d poured, my favorite vintage, while I sank into a bath that smelled like him—warm sandalwood, a bite of bergamot, and a hint of orange that lingered in the steam, as if he’d wanted me wrapped up in his scent. Like he wanted to make damn sure I couldn’t forget him—not that I’d need the help. I tried to focus on the sensation of the warm water around me, on the heat soaking into every deliciously sore muscle, easing the aches he’d left behind. But I couldn’t shake the quiet thought that had planted itself in my mind: he’d taken care of me after. Like it was as natural as anything. I stayed in that bath until the water turned cold, savoring the last bit of warmth before I finally got out, patting myself dry, lingering over every bruise and ache.

I poked my head out of the bathroom and saw him, sprawled across what looked like freshly made sheets, breathing soft and steady, dead to the world. He was beautiful like that, calm and open in a way that was so unlike the man I usually saw. It took everything in me not to crawl back into bed beside him, to let myself be

wrapped up in that warmth for just a little longer. But I had to stick to my own rules… no matter how badly I wanted him, this was only ever meant to be one night. We’d broken the no-sex rule, but I’d be damned if I was going to break the no-falling-in-love rule.

I could walk away from Wade. I could totally walk away from him.

With silent steps, I changed into fresh clothes, my suitcase by some miracle having found its way here. As I moved through the cabin, I noticed how much the place seemed to scream Wade —warm, rugged, inviting. A place someone could get cozy and lost. And just as I reached the door, a stack of broken frames on the entry table caught my eye. I stopped, fingertips brushing over the cracked glass as I sorted through them, landing on one of him with Danton, his face softened in a way I’d never seen before. He was looking at him with a kind of tenderness that knotted something low in my chest.

Because he’d never look at me like that.

Because you won’t let him , a voice inside whispered. I shoved it away, closing my heart off to that silly, hopeless romantic part of me—the one that still believed in happy endings and thought I might actually deserve one. Not this time.

The last picture I came across was of a younger Wade, beside him a handsome brunette and I sucked in my breath realizing who it was—Sam. The smile Wade had was unlike anything I had seen, there was a youthfulness, a sparkle in his eye. The true love of his life. The photo was badly damaged from the scratched glass, so I took it and put it in my bag before silently slipping out the door.

The hotel room in Boston was suffocatingly quiet, the kind of silence that crawled under your skin and made you feel utterly alone. The impersonal sterility of it only deepened the ache for Wade’s cabin, for the warmth and comfort I’d let myself fall into so easily there. I tried to distract myself, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, checking competition schedules and searching for any updates on Beatrix’s event. She was skating tomorrow, and despite the gnawing nerves about seeing Mom, I couldn’t stay away.

The rink the next morning was alive with energy, the familiar buzz of competition filling the air. I found a seat, letting my gaze sweep across the crowd in search of Bea. This rink had been my world once, every crack in the ice, every echo of a blade ingrained in my memory. It was where I’d grown up, training endlessly, competing, collapsing under the relentless weight of Mom’s expectations. I could still picture myself out there—young, determined, always glancing toward the sidelines for her approval.

But when I finally spotted her, sitting in her usual spot near the front, something inside me twisted.

Gone was the mom in the hoodie and jeans, cheering with raw, unfiltered pride. In her place was someone unrecognizable—a polished woman in a Louis Vuitton jacket, her hair meticulously styled into a sleek blonde sheen. She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover, not at the rink where she used to whoop and clap for every perfect landing.

As if sensing my gaze, she turned and met my eyes. For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw a flicker of surprise, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. She turned back to the ice without so much as a wave, her attention fixed on the skater gliding across the rink. The dismissal hit me hard, a dull ache spreading through my chest.

I thought about leaving—pride bruised, heart heavy—but I reminded myself why I was there. I stayed for Bea.

When she finally took the ice, my breath caught. Bea was radiant, all confidence and grace, a mirror of the mom I used to know—the one who’d beam with pride at every routine I nailed. I could see Mom on the edge of her seat, lips moving as if whispering cues Bea couldn’t possibly hear. My heart twisted painfully, and I told myself that was why she hadn’t come over, why she’d ignored me. Surely, it was her nerves for Bea’s performance, not something darker.

When Bea was announced as the winner, pride swelled in my chest, and I cheered loudly, letting my voice rise above the crowd. But as she stepped off the ice, I saw Mom wrap her up in praise, her smile glowing with pride I hadn’t seen in years. It was like watching a life I didn’t belong to anymore, a family I’d been erased from.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped forward.

“Hi,” I said, my voice unsteady, cracking under the weight of everything I’d been holding back.

Bea turned to me, her face blank with confusion.

Mom stiffened, her eyes narrowing into a warning glare. She leaned in close, her voice low and biting.

“Not now, Cal. We have to get ready for the party. I told you I didn’t have time today.”

Her words hit like a slap, but I forced myself to stand straighter.

“I’m sorry for wanting to see my little sister skate in person.”

Bea’s wide, curious eyes turned up to me, and the realization struck me like a blow—I was a stranger to her. She didn’t know who I was.

I turned to Mom, desperation creeping into my voice.

“Why doesn’t my little sister know I exist?”

Bea’s gaze snapped back to her, questions blooming in her expression like cracks in glass.

Mom’s reply came sharp and cold, her tone like ice.

“Not now, Callum.” She turned to Bea with a soothing smile, brushing aside the tension like it wasn’t there. “Honey, he’s no one. Just…delusional.”

The words sucked the air from my lungs, leaving me standing there, frozen and hollow as she grabbed Bea’s hand and led her away. My feet felt rooted to the ground as I watched them disappear into the changing rooms. A single tear slid down my cheek, and then another, until I couldn’t stop them.

I don’t remember leaving the rink or how I got back to the hotel. The rest of the day blurred together, lost in the haze of realization that I’d been erased—not just from her life but from Bea’s, too.

I was nothing to her. Nothing.

And the weight of that truth left me hollow, barely able to breathe.