Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
They got a bit of a routine going. JP would wake up and grab the walker, moving around the house. After breakfast he’d play with the kids for a bit before napping. There was still a lot of napping.
Ian usually made sandwiches for lunch, and they’d eat all together, the kids on the bed with him, Ian in the big chair. He’d do another couple circuits with the walker, and his exercises with the elastic band. More napping.
He’d read to the kids in evening, and Ian would put them to bed before coming to sit with him while they put something on the TV and cuddled together.
It was good. But he wanted more. He wanted to kiss Ian. He wanted to kiss him bad. But he was scared of disrupting the balance they had right now. And did he have a right to expect that from Ian? Was that fair? Did he care if it was or wasn’t?
He couldn’t believe that Ian had just…waited for him to come home.
He knew his husband had been busy with the kids, had been staying at home a lot, but…
Of course he hadn’t exactly been playing the field either, had he? But he’d had hockey. Training, playing, watching, thinking, hell, he’d dreamed about hockey.
Now… now he dreamed about. Well, hockey. But not just hockey, and the other thing he dreamed about was right here.
Right here and loving him.
He knew Ian loved him, wanted him. And he wanted Ian, loved him, too. He just wasn’t sure how to… reconnect.
“I’m going to make bacon sandwiches, JP. You want one?” Ian smiled at him from the doorway.
“For real? That’s the best offer I’ve had in… a very long time.” He rubbed his tummy and licked his lips.
“Yeah, I had a craving. You want cheese? You want toast and butter? Mayo? Tomato?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Do not sully my bacon with cheese or tomato.”
Ian chuckled softly. “Spinach? Pesto? A little hummus?”
“Stop it. Seriously don’t even mention those in the same sentence as bacon.”
“Poor, poor delicate flower.” Ian winked at him. “All right, I’ll be back in a bit.”
“You’ll be telling me next you like pineapple on your pizza,” he called out as Ian disappeared.
“Broccoli and brussels sprouts!” Ian called back.
Well, that was worse than pineapple. He made gagging noises as loudly as he could.
Ian’s laughter filled the air, and he sat up. He wanted to watch his husband cook bacon.
If he sat and leaned over he could watch that ass as Ian moved around the kitchen, getting the bacon and the pan, the bread. It was awkward, though, so he got up and made his way over to sit on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Look at you, coming to sit. You’re moving easier, I think.” Ian’s smile was warm, almost gentle.
“I am. It’s feeling better.” He was limpy as hell, but in far less pain.
“That’s amazing. I’m glad to hear it.” Ian leaned against the counter with a happy sigh.
“That bacon smells amazing. And I believe you’re not going to serve it like you used to. Extra crispy.” That’s what they’d called it, but truth was it had been burnt. After the first few attempts, they’d stopped trying to make it at home and it would be a treat when they went out for brunch.
“I’ve really worked hard to be able to feed the kids good food, you know? I wanted them to be proud.”
“Well, you haven’t served me a bad meal yet.” Everything had been yummy, from simple sandwiches to soups, burgers and everything else.
“Thanks. I worked hard.” Ian shrugged. “I mean, I’m not a team nutritionist feeding your six-thousand calories a day.”
He snorted. “If I ate like that right now I’d turn into the Bonhomme.”
“You still need calories to heal, though, right? So bacon sandwiches and omelets.”
“I can definitely still eat. You don’t need to go to the trouble of making me extra, though. I’m good with just the bacon sandwiches.”
“Yeah. I may make omelets in the morning, though. The kids won’t eat them, but we can.”
“I thought the kids liked eggs. Or eggies as they call them.” Surely he’d seen them eat eggs.
“Oh, yeah, and I’ll make them eggs, but not omelets, you know? Those are ‘weird’.” Ian rolled his eyes.
JP snorted. Some of the things the kids came up with were strange. He wondered what went on in their heads at times like this. “But omelets are eggs. I mean, that’s the main ingredient even.”
“Yes. And tacos are meat and cheese, but Peter only wants the ‘flying saucer’ ones.” Ian rolled his eyes. “And Tori wants the shells, the meat, and the cheese separate.”
“There are flying saucer tacos? And so Tori eats everything on its own?” He grinned. “Like she’s having a deconstructed taco at a fancy restaurant or something.”
“Tostadas. Flying saucer tacos.” Ian rolled his eyes. “He gets frustrated when they break, so that was my compromise.”
“Oh I get it – because they’re shaped like flying saucers.” Yep, weird. But they were his kids, so he still loved them.
Ian nodded and chuckled. “They’re so imaginative. I love how their minds work. We’re working on our letters right now.”
“That’s neat. Do they go to kindergarten in September?”
“They do.” Ian shrugged and shook his head. “I guess I’ll have to go get a job then. It’s wild. It’s gone so fast.”
“You don’t need to work, Chou. It’s my job to take care of you.” And his agent was working on a big settlement. They’d be okay.
Ian’s eyes went wide. “You…you’ve been taking care of me for years.”
“And I don’t see why that has to change.” He didn’t want to argue about it, this was how it worked.
“But do you want to? I mean…do you still want…me?”
So much. “I do. You’re mon p’tit Chou.”
Ian’s cheeks went pink. “I missed you. I…I can’t believe you didn’t see me for so long.”
“Same. I thought for sure you’d phone and tell me you were coming.” He’d been convinced it would just be a matter of time.
“I didn’t know how to raise the babies so far away from home. I felt…unimportant.”
“You were always important to me. I’m sorry you didn’t know that.” And maybe he didn’t realize how important until Ian wasn’t there anymore.
“I didn’t, but I wouldn’t have my babies without you, so…the loneliness was worth it.”
He hauled himself out of the chair and limped over to Ian so he could hug him tight.
He didn’t want Ian to ever feel like that.
And he’d left him for three years. He’d let the hurt of their last words keep him away, keep him from reaching out, waiting for Ian to make the first move.
He wasn’t a dumb jock — he was a stupid man.
Ian blinked at him, eyes wide. “Are you okay, love?”
“I’m fine, Chou. Are you?”
“I—Yes?” Ian leaned into him, just the slightest bit.
He kept holding on, enjoying the closeness. Ian smelled good.
Ian breathed nice and slow, and he loved how Ian felt in his arms, so lean, so close.
His.
So maybe there was a silver lining to this injury thing. A pretty damn big silver lining at that.
“I still love you,” Ian whispered. “I know I’m a fool, but I do.”
“Then I must be a fool, too.” He tilted Ian’s face up, staring into the lovely green eyes.
This was his husband.
The father of his children.
The man he’d loved from the minute they’d met.
He bent, pressing his lips to Ian’s.
Ian gasped, his eyes fastened to his, a tiny whimper filling the air.
He stayed right there for a long moment, just touching their lips together, hung in the moment. Then he groaned and pressed harder, kissing Ian with passion.
Ian opened up, clinging to him, a wild noise pushed into his lips.
Need crawled along his spine and he pushed with his tongue, demanding Ian let him in. Or maybe he was begging for it. Either way, he wanted the sweet taste of Ian on his tongue.
Ian opened for him, hands on his hips, stabilizing him, holding him steady.
Nothing had tasted as good as Ian, not in three years.
The timer beeped for the bacon, and Ian eased him back, helping him prop.
“Let me…” Ian licked his lips. “Let me make sandwiches.”
He nodded, eyes on those lips. “Right. Sandwiches.”
“Uh-huh. Bacon. Sit.”
“Bossy.” He sat though, didn’t he?
“Yep. You need food. You need to sit. All that stuff.”
“Like I said, bossy.” Still, the bacon smelled amazing. It wasn’t going to taste as good as Ian had, but he would eat it.
“Yep. I’m the daddy. Just ask the hooligans.” Ian winked at him and started assembling sandwiches. “Where do you want to sit?”
“On the couch in the living room?” It was easier on his ass than this hard kitchen chair, and he didn’t want to go back to bed yet. He’d spent too much time there.
“Sure. Do you need help getting there?” Ian’s smile was warm as hell.
“If you can bring the sandwiches, I think I’ll manage.”
“I can bring the sandwiches. Do you want a Coke?”
No, he wanted Ian, but that would come in time.
“Sure, thank you, Chou.” He watched Ian move around, admiring him.
Ian balanced the plates and cans, managing to get to the couch without a disaster.
“Look at you,” he murmured, still watching, taking everything about Ian in.
“Me? I’m just…me. Dork.” Ian handed him his plate and put his Coke on the coffee table.
“If thinking you’re hot makes me a dork, then I am one for sure.”
“I worry, you know? I feel like…I feel like just a dad.”
“You’re more than just a dad to me, Chou.” He made sure to look, to admire for a moment so hopefully Ian could see it in his eyes.
Ian went bright pink, ducked his chin. “Be good, you.”
“I’m being good to you, aren’t I?”
“You’re making me blush. That’s not bad. It’s been a long time.”
“I know. For both of us, yeah?” He touched Ian’s hand, squeezed it. He wanted another kiss.
Instead, he grabbed his sandwich and took a bite.
Oh good.
Ian had this down.
Crispy, crunchy, rich and right — this was a perfect sandwich.
He hummed and took another bite. He pointed at the sandwich. “So good,” he said around the food.
“Yeah. I can make some bacon now.” Ian was chuckling at him, he could tell.
“It is a big turnaround to the last time you tried to make it for me.”
“I know. I learned a lot about patience, about taking my time and trusting the process.”
That was almost like sports philosophy.
He kept eating his sandwich, kept watching Ian, too. He could be patient as well. Take his time and trust the process.