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

28. CAL

CAL

Flirting with Disaster (and Winning)

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, unable to summon the energy for even my half-hearted skincare routine. What was the point? Makeup could hide the dark circles, even if it wrecked my skin in the long run. Maybe it was time to stop caring, to just… let myself age. I could totally age gracefully, right? But the thought didn’t stir even the faintest spark in me. My reflection stared back, flat and expressionless, like even my own face had given up.

The ice—that was the only place I still felt a flicker of fire. Out there, I could pretend, push through like maybe I was still worth something, like maybe my mom would finally want to claim the son she’d so easily discarded. But even the thought of her sent anger twisting through my chest, hot and corrosive. I clenched my jaw, forcing it down.

Steam curled around me as I stepped out of the bathroom, thick and heavy like the fog in my head. Tyler would complain about the exhaust fan again, but the last thing I wanted was that obnoxious whir drilling into my skull.

With a towel slung low around my waist, I made my way toward my room, already dreading the hollow silence waiting for me. But then I heard it—that low, familiar voice rumbling through the hallway. My body reacted before my brain could catch up, skin prickling, heart stumbling into a quicker rhythm like it knew something I didn’t.

I hated how my body betrayed me, how it responded to him like he was some lifeline I had no business wanting.

Compelled by that damn voice, I walked past my door, my pulse quickening with every step until I reached the living room. And there he was—Jack. Sitting with my friends, looking as out of place as a wildflower in a snowstorm.

The sight of him hit me harder than I expected, a sharp ache blooming in my chest. My heart, barely holding on these last few weeks, thumped back to life with a vengeance. He looked at me like he was seeing everything—every bruise on my arms and shoulders, the ones from Petra’s tight grip during lifts, and the rest from my own relentless practice. His worry was so clear, so unguarded, that it nearly broke me.

Because I could get attached to a look like that.

To a man like him.

To someone who cared in a way I didn’t think I could handle, not anymore.

“Cal, why don’t you get changed and come back here?” Tyler’s voice was soft, almost coaxing, cutting through the tension.

I blinked, realizing my eyes hadn’t left Jack since I walked in. Tyler’s gaze was steady but filled with worry, and guilt twisted in my gut. I knew him too well. If he thought I was breaking, he’d make it his mission to fix me, no matter how much he had on his plate.

And I couldn’t let him do that. Tyler didn’t need to take on my mess. Not now, not when he had playoffs, not when he needed to be laser-focused.

So I nodded, forcing myself to look away from Jack, even though my heart screamed against it.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I’ll be back.”

And with that, I turned and headed for my room, but not before catching one last glimpse of Jack’s face—of the worry, the frustration, and something else I couldn’t name but felt down to my bones.

I stepped back into the room and froze. Four sets of eyes locked onto me, the weight of their collective attention hitting me like a freight train. Suddenly, Jack faded into the background. My gaze darted between them, and my stomach dropped. I knew that look—the one that screamed intervention.

I’d never been on the receiving end before, but I’d seen it plenty of times from the other side of the couch. Usually, it was for some kid making one too many questionable choices. Now, it was me.

“Cal,” Tyler said, his voice a little too casual, “you want to sit? You’re standing there like you’re waiting for cash to be a statue.”

I tried to channel some semblance of my usual self and quipped back, “If you’re paying, sure, I’ll stay right here.”

He huffed, exasperated.

“Cal, stand or sit—you choose. But we’re all worried.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically, leaning hard into the act.

“Worried about what ? I’m fine. No—better than fine. I’m in my prime, about to compete in the biggest competition there is, outside of the Olympics. So, come back when you’re in the middle of playoffs, and we can compare notes.” My sass level had officially hit Golden Girls , and right then, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Tyler’s lips pressed into a thin line, the calm resolve of someone not willing to let me slip away.

“This is different. And as someone who has a teenage brother who treats deflection like a religion, I know you’re trying to hide the fact that something happened.”

“Oh, so now I’m a teenager?” I snapped, the words sharp and venomous. I hated them the second they left my mouth. I sounded defensive, petty—like someone I didn’t even recognize. But the need to keep everything locked inside made me lash out, striking like a cornered animal.

And the worst part? They all saw right through me.

“Cal,” Tyler said, his voice softening, steady but firm. “Right now, you might as well be acting like one. You’ve been there for every single one of us, and it’s dawning on us that you never let us do the same for you. You came back from Boston… a shadow of yourself. And we’re here to ask why.”

His words hit harder than I wanted to admit, stirring something sharp and painful in my chest. I wanted to roll my eyes again, to brush him off with more sarcasm, but the truth was clawing its way up, too loud and too raw to ignore.

That familiar ache flared in my chest, sharp and insistent, like it had been lying in wait for weeks. This time, it came heavier, more persistent, but I forced it down.

“It’s nothing, okay?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I meant.

“I’ve got this massive pressure to win. Some of it’s on me, sure, but the rest? That’s Coach, Petra... all of it piling on. I’m just more focused than usual. Two weeks out from the competition, and I can’t afford distractions. You’ll just have to deal.”

They exchanged a look—silent, weighted, and utterly damning. It was the kind of look that spoke louder than words, one that stripped away every excuse I tried to throw up. The tension hung between us like a thread about to snap, and I knew they didn’t believe me.

“Cal,” Shane said softly, his voice steady. “Whatever’s got you pushing this hard, harder than normal… we’re here. We always have been.”

The knot in my throat tightened, the ache burrowing deeper as I shook my head. As if denying it could somehow protect me from the concern in their eyes, from the care I didn’t know how to accept. They were looking at me like I was unraveling right in front of them, and maybe I was.

Because if they knew—if they even guessed the truth—that my own mother had shut me out so completely, would they look at me differently? Would they keep their distance too?

I knew better. Deep down, I could see it in their expressions, the warmth that never faltered no matter how much space I tried to put between us. But it was hard to trust that love. My mom had looked at me that way once too. And we all knew how that ended.

I wanted to brush Shane’s words aside, to push them all away—their worry, their love, their gaze that felt too much to bear. But the ache wouldn’t let me. It pressed harder with every breath, and my head shook again, a futile effort to escape the weight of it all.

And then Wade was there, standing in front of me before I even realized he’d moved. His hands came to my face, warm and steady, anchoring me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

“Pretty boy,” he murmured, his voice a soft balm against my frayed nerves. “Nothing you say is going to change how we feel about you. We’re just worried, that’s all.”

His words wrapped around me, gentle and patient, disarming me. My eyes fluttered shut, and the control I’d clung to faltered.

I wanted to deflect, to crack a joke and shift the moment into something easier to handle. But his hands steadied me.

Still, instinct kicked in, and I shook my head again, trying to resist the emotions pushing against the dam. Falling apart wasn’t an option—not here, not with them. I was the one who kept things light, who made everyone laugh. Crumbling didn’t fit my script.

But right then, every part of me felt like that kid left alone on the field, barely holding it together while everyone else moved on.

A firm hand landed gently on my back, guiding me toward the couch with a quiet patience I couldn’t resist. My body, too tired to argue, followed without question. There was no fight left in me, no energy to pretend anymore.

When we reached the couch, it was clear there wasn’t enough space for all of us. Wade didn’t hesitate. He sat first, pulling me down into his lap as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His arm circled my waist, strong and sure, the warmth of his hold melting the tension I’d carried for far too long. Somehow, being there with him was both humbling and comforting—like stepping into a space where I didn’t have to fight, where it was okay to just be.

For once, I let myself lean into him.

“Darling,” Wade murmured, the word rolling off his tongue in that deep, honeyed drawl that sent shivers through me. “What happened on Sunday?”

The way he said it—it should’ve been illegal to sound that good. My breath hitched, and I tried to look anywhere but at him.

“Nothing,” I said, the lie crumbling even as it left my lips.

“Liar.” Wade’s hand moved gently up and down my back, his touch steady and soothing. “I know Saturday had its fair share of drama, but this feels different.”

His words were soft, coaxing, but they carried an undeniable weight. I couldn’t keep it in anymore. If I didn’t let it out now, I knew one of them—maybe even all of them—would find a way to pry it out later. And somehow, that felt more terrifying.

I took a shaky breath, the words catching in my throat. My chest tightened, but Wade’s touch didn’t falter. It was like he was willing me to trust him, to lean into the safety he was offering.

“I… saw her,” I finally whispered, my voice barely audible.

Wade stilled for a moment, his hand pausing mid-stroke before resuming, slower this time.

“Your mom?”

I nodded, staring down at my hands, twisting them together like they might hold the answers I couldn’t seem to find.

I bit down hard on my lip, but it wasn’t enough to hold back the tears that pricked at the corners of my eyes. “She erased me, Wade. Like I don’t exist. Like I was never her son at all.”

The words hung heavy in the air, raw and unfiltered. Tears slipped free, hot and silent, as Wade held me through it, his hand never stopping its soothing motion on my back.

“You exist, Cal,” Wade said, his voice steady and sure. “You’re here, and you’re loved. And whatever your mom couldn’t see in you, the rest of us do. You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

His words wrapped around me, sinking into the scars that had been widening ever since Boston. And as I sat there in his arms, letting the ache pour out, I realized maybe, just maybe, I could let someone else carry some of the weight for once.

I took a breath, but it came out ragged, caught in my throat like tar. The emotions were wedged somewhere between spilling out and staying buried, right where they’d festered for years.

“When I was fourteen,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper, “my mom met my stepdad. We went from ‘just us two against the world’ to… her shipping me off to boarding school.” The words tumbled out in fragments, jagged and unsteady. “It was like she found this new family and forgot I was part of the old one. I called and called, every missed birthday, every holiday…” My voice faltered. “And every time, it was just… silence. Like I was some background noise she could mute.”

The pause that followed was unbearable, my chest tightening as the memories surged.

“I worked my ass off on the ice, trying to earn some kind of recognition. Like maybe if I won enough, she’d notice. She’d be proud of me.” Bitterness crept into my voice, sharp and cutting, and I hated how it tasted.

“But it was like she’d already made up her mind—decided that whatever I did didn’t matter anymore.”

“I always held out hope, you know?” My voice wavered, each word slipping out like a confession I’d been too afraid to admit, even to myself. “That I could get back the love I once knew. I have this little sister I’ve never even gotten the chance to know. All I want, more than anything, is to have that family…” I swallowed hard.

“When I was in Boston, I reached out. Mom got a new phone, so she actually answered,” I said, the bitter laugh escaping before I could stop it. “Which should have been a relief, right? But it wasn’t. She sounded so… disappointed that the call was from me. Like I was interrupting her life, her perfect new world. She didn’t even save my number from her old phone.”

The weight of everyone’s eyes pressed on me—love and concern I didn’t know how to handle, hitting me harder than I could let on.

“I asked if I could see her since I was in town,” I continued, my voice cracking, “but she said she was too busy. And then, on Sunday… I found out where my sister was competing. I thought maybe if I showed up, maybe if I supported her, I could bridge the gap somehow.”

The next part felt like ripping open a wound that had never even started to heal.

“Turns out, she doesn’t even know I exist. My mom pretended I was some stranger—some lunatic pretending to be her son.” The words came out choked, raw and jagged. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve being discarded like that.”

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake.

And then the dam broke.

The sobs I’d swallowed down clawed their way out, unstoppable. Wade held me steady, his own shoulders trembling as he whispered to me, his voice soothing me, pulling me back from the loneliness I’d let consume me.

“You did nothing to deserve that, darling. Nothing.”

The grief poured out of me, years of hurt finally unspooling, raw and unstoppable.

Around us, my friends sat close, their faces etched with an empathy I’d spent years convincing myself I didn’t need. I’d told myself I was fine on my own, that I could carry it all without anyone’s help. But there they were, their love as real and undeniable as the pain I’d been carrying. And for the first time, I let myself acknowledge just how much I’d been starving for this—for them.

Wade didn’t let go. And love detox be damned, I hoped he wouldn’t.