Chapter 13
I Wasn’t Swooning
Mia
I hated that look of excitement on Arne’s face, when it was about hockey. Hockey that I couldn’t afford in time or money. Because disappointing him made me feel like shit. I was trying to take the easy out by avoiding the topic so I didn’t have to see his sad face.
How had I thought that I could get through the day without Arne finding out Justin was a hockey player? Not even a guy playing in a beer league, which would have made his day, but a professional. Any Canadian kid would be excited to spend time with an NHL player.
The cat was out of the bag now. I’d ask Tonya tonight if the hockey camp was full and hope like hell it was. Because even if I could swing that, there was no way I could do hockey throughout the school year.
Justin gave me a wary look. I must have my bitch face on. “Um, maybe that’s not a good idea?”
“Why not?” Arne asked, surprised.
Justin looked at me. Yeah, he didn’t know why I was upset.
“Because, well, Justin doesn’t want a lot of people coming here and asking him for autographs.” I looked at Justin, so he could chime in.
He nodded and held up his cast. “I can’t sign anything right now, so people might get upset if they asked and I had to say no.”
Arne let out a long sigh, as if he carried the weight of the world on his skinny shoulders. Then his face brightened. “I won’t tell. But you said I could sign your cast. You don’t have to do anything for that. That’s okay, right, Mommy?”
I agreed, because that seemed harmless enough. I didn’t want to deny him everything. I’d rather say yes all the time, but that wasn’t how life worked. As far as I was concerned, it was the hardest part of parenting.
“Did you bring my markers? I want to make it pretty.”
I looked at Justin again, not sure what he was willing to have on that cast for anyone to see. He smiled at Arne. Something inside me squeezed. I hadn’t seen a proper Justin smile in a long time, but Arne could charm anyone. And for him to be smiling at Arne? No, I wasn’t swooning. I was not.
“I don’t even care if you cover up some of the other names.”
Arne’s eyes opened wide. “Really?”
Justin shrugged. “I see those guys all the time.”
Arne considered the cast. “I could do a duck over the Duck guy’s name. But I don’t know what an Oppy is.”
Justin stared at the cast, where apparently Oppy had signed. “Do you have a friend who’s really loud, and says the things he shouldn’t?”
Arne nodded. “Norman is like that.”
“Oppy is short for Oppedisano. A lot of hockey nicknames are just shortened last names. I think Oppy is like Norman. But you can’t make a picture for that.”
Arne tapped his lip, mimicking a thinking pose. “Maybe he’s like Tigger? We read that in class. Tigger is bouncy and knocks things over.”
Justin shot me a look. “If you have orange, you could do that.”
“Do I, Mommy?”
“You should. Your markers are in your bag. Why don’t you go get them?” He stood up and ran out of the room. Not knowing how things were going to go, I’d brought a lot of stuff to distract him. I hoped Justin knew he could say no if he wanted to. “Are you sure you’re good with this?”
He lifted one broad shoulder. “It was my idea.”
“Okay, then. I’ll finish cleaning up in here and maybe start on some lunch. What would you like?” I could see his lips tighten, like when we’d discussed making eggs. “I work for you, remember?”
He still looked uncomfortable, but he answered. “Sandwiches would be great. Easy to eat one-handed. I think everything we need for that is in the fridge. And you and Arne should help yourselves.”
“Sandwiches?” Really? That had to be the easiest thing to throw together. We were going to have problems over the next few weeks if he wouldn’t let me do my job because he kept thinking of me as someone he used to date, instead of someone he’d hired.
He huffed. “I can microwave a lot of things, but try making a sandwich one-handed. It’s the stupidest things that trip me up. Sandwiches should be easy, but the people who stocked the place got whole wheat bread that hasn’t been sliced.”
Looking at his hand, I nodded.
“It was a bread knife that caused this—” He held up his left hand, where a long red stripe crossed his wrist.
Arne rushed back in with his markers and the notepad he liked to draw in. While he did his drawing, I checked the fridge for contents. Justin didn’t just have bread, he had sub buns, which would make excellent sandwiches as well.
I took some chicken out to thaw so I could make a stew to leave for him. It was something I could cook on the stovetop, in case he struggled taking something out of the oven without burning himself or dropping it on the floor. I had to do something to earn the money Justin was paying.
I kept one ear on the conversation between the two while I cooked, in case Arne got to be too much for Justin.
Arne chattered away while he drew on the cast, but Justin didn’t appear frustrated or impatient.
Justin had always been a quiet guy, happy to listen more than talk. Guess that hadn’t changed.
“Mommy, come look!”
Arne had been working hard. I could tell, because there were dabs of the colors he’d used on his hands, and even on his chin. I’d realized early that this kid could cover almost anything with food, crayons, Play-Doh—everything he touched seemed to magically spread over himself and his surroundings.
Yep. There was a spot of orange on Justin’s forearm too.
“That’s wonderful, sweetie.” He’d pointed to a vaguely duck-shaped yellow blob on one side of the cast. Then he started to twist Justin’s hand over and I had to stop him. “Careful. We don’t want to break any more bones.”
There was an orange blob with black stripes, and across Justin’s palm, Arne in purple letters. They were big, since he hadn’t mastered fine motor skills yet.
“Very good.” I kept my face straight, but Justin looked like he hadn’t realized just what he was getting into. “Why don’t you put away your markers and grab a book.”
Arne took another look at the colorful cast. “Take a picture, Mommy. So I can show Grandma.”
“We can’t take a picture of Mr. Johnson without his permission,” I warned.
Arne turned his big blue eyes to Justin, and I could see the resistance crumble. “It’s okay.”
“But only the cast, not his face.”
Arne frowned but agreed with a long-suffering sigh. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and Justin laid his cast on the table. A couple of shots of each side, with three of his own name, and then Arne ran off happily.
Justin was still looking at the cast, turning it from side to side.
“You can say no to him. Or tell me, and I’ll keep him in another room.”
Justin looked up. He wasn’t smiling, but almost. “No, I like this. Next time someone sees the cast they’ll be more interested in the artwork than asking me why I have it.”
“I’d like to look at your hand now. Make sure there aren’t any problems.”
He held it up. “Go for it. I had a long list of things to watch for from the team doctor.”
“I’m sure you did. But I’m supposed to report in on you, remember?”
I took careful hold of the plaster. I checked the skin and fingernail color.
No blue, so it looked like the circulation was good.
I ran my fingers over the ends of his fingers where they escaped the cast, making sure the skin was healthy to touch.
He stilled beneath me, and I found it difficult to breathe.
The air felt thick and heavy. His callused fingertips brought back memories.
Erik’s hands had been smooth and manicured. Justin’s were rough. He used to apologize to me when he ran his fingers over my skin, as if I’d be hurt by his touch. Those hands had been the first to hold my hand, to caress my face, glide over my body, and bring my skin to life.
I’d frozen, holding his hand while memories washed over me. I blinked and set his hand back on the table.
“That looks good.” My voice was raspy. I cleared my throat. “So, what are you doing before lunchtime? Is there anything I can help with?”
Justin pushed his chair back and stood to his feet. “I was going to use the treadmill.”
I stood up to go with him. “Okay. Maybe I should spot you.” I wasn’t going to just sit and drink tea.
“I’ve used the treadmill with one hand before. But I need help with my shoelaces.”
Arne jumped into the kitchen. “I can help! I learned how. Some of the kids in my class have Velcro shoes, but I can tie up laces. I can tie up my soccer shoes.”
I smirked at Justin. “I guess your shoes are covered.”
Justin went upstairs to change. I did not offer assistance, and fortunately my son didn’t either.
Justin came back down in sock feet, carrying running shoes.
I recognized the make and had seen an advertisement for the brand with Justin and his teammate Cooper.
Not that I looked for reminders of him, but he was news here.
Justin sat on the bottom step and Arne rushed over to help. Justin’s legs were muscled, more than I remembered… I closed my eyes. Not appropriate, Mia.
It turned out that Arne was good at tying up his own laces, but not as good at tying up someone else’s. He tried several times, getting frustrated.
“Hey.” My son looked at me. “You can practice on your own shoes, doing them from the other side. But right now Justin needs to get going, so how about I finish up?” His lower lip started to show. “Then you can tie my shoes for me.”
A long sigh. “Okay. But I’ll do it next time, Mr. Justin, don’t worry.”
Justin shot me a glance. Arne was pretty determined for a six-year-old, so he’d soon get the hang of it, even if there wasn’t a next time with Justin.
I squatted down at Justin’s feet and focused on his shoes.
His legs were spread apart on the low step.
I did my best to ignore the fact that I was almost face-to-face with his dick, a position I’d been in before for very different reasons.
I tied the shoes up quickly and got back to my feet, blaming my flushed cheeks on that.