33. WADE
WADE
The Great Wine & Captivity Debate
I knew I was in for a world of grief during Cal’s recovery. My man wasn’t just sassy—he was stubborn with a pain tolerance that rivaled mine. We were different in a lot of ways, but when it came to sheer bullheadedness, we were cut from the same cloth.
The flight back to Vancouver was a restless mess. Looking back, I regretted not taking my parents up on their offer to spring for first-class tickets. Cal was uncomfortable the entire time, even with his leg elevated on my lap. He tried to hide it, to his credit, but I wasn’t fooled. The swelling from flying was brutal on its own—add a newly repaired Achilles to the mix, and it was downright unbearable. His pale, sweaty complexion told me everything I needed to know, even as he kept batting my hand away every time I tried to check his forehead.
“I’m fine, Big Jack,” he muttered irritably, slapping at me again. “Go back to looking out the window.”
The same window I’d offered him countless times, which he’d refused.
The meds weren’t helping either. They dulled the pain but robbed him of his appetite and upset his stomach. Mid-flight, he had no choice but to grab for the puke bag, and my heart clenched watching him struggle. By the time we landed he hadn’t held down a single calorie, and my mind was spiraling with worries—was he dehydrated? Could this turn into an infection?
The moment I walked off the plane, I finally felt like I could breathe again. At least until I saw how pale he still looked as we waited for the wheelchair to get him off the plane first.
Meeting us at arrivals were Cal’s roommates, and though it wasn’t necessary for all of them to come, I secretly hoped their familiar faces might brighten him up.
But when I glanced at Cal, my heart sank.
Shock flickered across his face first, followed by a flash of anger, and then—worst of all—a plastered-on fake smile I decidedly didn’t love.
Tyler reached him first and, to his credit, didn’t bow to Cal’s position in the wheelchair. Instead, he stood his natural height, not pointing out the obvious that Cal wasn’t walking with his normal confident strut.
Hunter moved to tap Cal’s good knee, but Tyler stopped him with a warning look. Smart guy.
Shane and Eli crouched down to give Cal quick hugs. They meant well—of course they did—but I caught the flicker of displeasure in Cal’s eyes, even behind that practice smile.
Still, I wasn’t going anywhere.
Tyler handed over the bags of Cal’s things, and Cal looked up at me with questions in his eyes.
“Darlin’, you’re on bed rest for weeks,” I said firmly. “That foot has to be up and elevated, no weight on it. These guys all work crazy hours, so you’re coming home with me.”
“And what, I don’t get a say in this?” he sassed, crossing his arms.
“No, my pretty prisoner, you do not,” I shot back, keeping my tone light but firm. “Because I know you enough to know that you’ll do everything to sabotage your recovery. You can’t sit still, and your lovely roommates can’t babysit you full-time.”
“And what, you can?” he tested, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes, because my house is above my bar. I can check on you regularly to make sure you don’t leave the bed.”
He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I can’t just sit and do nothing, Wade. I don’t do that.”
I laughed, patting his shoulder and leaning down to kiss his cheek.
“We’ll find a way to keep you entertained.”
“Ugh,” he grumbled, his head lolling to the side. “That only reminds me that I can’t have sex. Fuck this. Take me to the bar, feed me carbs, and pour me a glass of Merlot, and I’ll be fine.”
I kissed him again, softer this time, and gave him a pointed look.
“Carbs, yes. Wine, no. You can’t mix painkillers and alcohol.”
This was met with laughter from his roommates and a very dramatic groan from Cal.
“Oh, great,” he drawled, throwing an arm over his face. “I’m basically in prison with a warden who doesn’t even let me drink.”
I grinned, smoothing a hand over his hair.
“Welcome to rehab, Pretty Boy. It’s all for your own good.”
He glared at me, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. And for the first time since the fall, I felt like maybe—just maybe—things would be okay.
The warm welcome from the bar staff gave Cal a fleeting burst of energy, though it didn’t last long. If I hadn’t known him so well, I might have bought into the act. But the tightness of his smile and the dullness in his eyes betrayed the truth. Cal was exhausted—bone-deep tired in a way no amount of cheerful banter could disguise.
When Cal was genuinely happy, he flowed effortlessly, like a figure skater gliding across the ice. Ironically, I wasn’t entirely sure the ice had ever made him his happiest.
“Okay,” I announced, cutting through the chatter, “Mr. Pretty Boy here is officially moving into the upstairs apartment, which means you’ll see him plenty. But for now, he needs rest.”
Cal let out a dramatic whine.
“You promised me carbs. And Rossler Merlot.”
I grinned, shaking my head.
“Darling, I promised carbs, and carbs you shall have. But only when you’re in bed, leg elevated, and with whatever trash TV your heart desires. As for the wine? Nice try.”
“Did he just say darling ?” Sadie gasped, eyes wide.
“Pay up! Told you!” Taron crowed, grinning triumphantly.
Cal’s mouth fell open in mock outrage.
“You had bets?”
“Of course we did,” Taron replied, smug as ever. “When does fake dating ever stay fake? It always turns into true love.”
Cal leveled them with a deadpan glare.
“Now’s your chance to save me because he’s already proving tyrannical. He won’t let me have Merlot, and it’s tradition! End of skating season calls for wine and a cheese platter. And considering I’m done skating for the rest of my life, this clearly warrants a charcuterie board worthy of an angel himself. Maybe I’ll finally get a little tummy pooch. Never had one before.”
Sadie gasped mockingly, clutching her chest.
“Not the tummy pooch!”
Rolling my eyes at their antics, I crouched down and scooped Cal up in one swift, bridal-style motion.
“What the—Wade!” he sputtered, caught completely off guard. “You lumberjack! If I could walk up those stairs, I’d—”
“Uh-huh,” I cut him off with a hum of disbelief. “I don’t think so.”
“Put me down, you caveman!”
“Nope,” I said breezily, carrying him toward the stairs as the bar staff howled with laughter behind us.
Catching Cal by surprise was quickly becoming my favorite sport.