Ethan

“I’ve already told you—I’ll look at flights when I’m done with team stuff,” I grumble. I’m trying not to lose my patience because it’s not my mom’s fault I’m dragging my feet over booking my flights to England.

Every time I tried to sort it out, I ended up balking and slamming my laptop closed. I want to go because it’s been nearly six months since I’ve seen my mom, but I know the second the airplane lands in Heathrow, my stomach is going to be churning at the thought of seeing him, and nobody likes nausea.

“Ethan, stop being such an idiot and just book them already. You’re coming to Samantha’s wedding whether you come on your own or I have to fly to Chicago and drag you by the hair,” she threatens in her stern mother tone, like I’m a petulant child instead of an adult nearing their forties. “I know you don’t want to see him, sweetie, but it’s been ten years. You should count yourself lucky you’ve not bumped into him before now.”

Fuck. I know she’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Every time I allow myself to think about it, my blood boils with anger.

Am I over Ian? Yeah, a million percent, but I never had closure. I don’t know why he left so abruptly, without rhyme or reason, and that’s what makes me so fucking mad. It’s like a wound that hasn’t fully healed, which also pisses me off.

Taking a sip of my coffee, I kick my feet up against the opposite chair and gaze at the lake from my balcony. The sun bounces off the water, causing it to sparkle like glass. It’s calm. Tranquil. The polar opposite of how my muscles are currently vibrating from the anger bubbling away in my veins, like they do every time he crosses my mind. I fucking hate it.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose, focusing on the summer sun warming my skin and soothing away the tension.

“When are you going to be done with team stuff?” she asks again for the fifth time since she called.

“In a week or so.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. We’re going to be finished in the next few days, but I need to give myself a bit more time.

“Okay, well, you better make sure you book your flight as soon as you can. I want to see my boy. I miss you.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose as guilt ripples through me, settling in my chest. I don’t mean to be an asshole, especially not to my mom. She means everything to me. She’s the only family I have aside from my teammates, and I know she’s doing this out of love.

She is the only reason why I agreed to go to this goddamn wedding and come face-to-face with my past.

“I miss you too, Mom. I’ll sort out my travel soon, I promise.”

There’s a beat of silence before her voice turns soft. I don’t miss how her words are hinted with sadness. “I hope you find your person one day. Someone you can open up to. Who loves you, and adores you, and appreciates you for who you are.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“There’s nothing wrong with having feelings, Ethan, whether they’re happy or sad. It’s what makes us human, and you, my son, are my favorite human.”

Fuck. Squeezing my eyes closed, I’m at a loss for words for the second time in days. I simply grunt before we say our goodbyes.

Ever since my dad left, I’ve struggled to deal with my emotions. He used to get so angry at me, telling me I was “too emotional”. Even with him gone, his words would play like a broken record in my head, and I didn’t know how to handle everything I was feeling. So, I squashed it all down and poured all my energy into being the best hockey player I could be. Whenever the weight of it all became too heavy to carry, I bottled it up and channeled every ounce of it onto the ice.

That hasn’t changed, and these days, when it becomes too much to bear, I find an excuse to get into a brawl on the ice.

I’ve sacrificed so much of my life to the sport. I didn’t get to play outside on my bike, or go to sleepovers, or attend birthday parties at Pizza Hut. I didn’t get to go to prom or the drive-in theater to make out with the boy I had a crush on.

Hell, I didn’t even have time to develop a crush.

I was the kid who was on the ice every waking minute that I wasn’t in class perfecting my craft. That hasn’t changed much either, which means relationships—both romantic and platonic—aren’t easy for me.

I’m not like Blaine or Elliot, who can spill their hearts out about whatever is on their minds. I’m always consciously aware that I could open the door just a fraction too far and allow someone to slip through my defenses, only for them to tear me up and leave me in a broken mess.

I can’t allow that to happen.

Not again.

It’s safer not to let them in. To just give them enough to know that I care, but not enough to risk getting hurt.

A loud pounding against the door snaps me out of my dark mental cloud. I slowly get to my feet, stretching out my back before making my way to it, only to be greeted by Elliot’s Cheshire Cat grin when I open it.

“Hello, Mr. Grouchy Pants,” he says as he pokes me in the pec with his finger before pouting comically. “You’ve been ignoring us and me no likey.”

I bat his hand away.

“Yeah, man. Where have you been?” Blaine peers over his brother’s shoulder.

“We thought you might have left for England without saying goodbye.” Zach frowns from behind both of them.

I rub my palm over my chest. The sight of their stupid faces thaws the ice that surrounds my heart. “You know I wouldn’t leave without saying bye. I just needed a few days.”

To feel sorry for myself. To mope around.

“Well, you’ve had a few days, my delightful ray of sunshine, and you’re not allowed any more.” Elliot pushes past me and heads into the kitchen. “I’m hungry, have you got any snacks?”

I roll my eyes, stepping aside to let the other two through.

“Do you guys want a drink?” I ask, turning the corner to see Elliot already raiding the fridge.

“He’s got water, soda, wine, and some weird green juice stuff.” He brings the bottle of kale, spinach, and celery juice to his nose and sniffs it. Gagging, he quickly puts the bottle back and looks at me, his face screwed up in disgust. “Dude, that’s vile. How can you drink that? It smells like grass.”

“It’s good for you.” I roll my eyes again and nudge him out of the way.

“It’s a big nope from me.” He quickly grabs a bowl of fruit and some cheese and moves to the pantry to grab the potato chips I only buy for him. I don’t know what he’s planning to make with the random mix of food, but I’ve learned not to question him. Elliot tends to march to the beat of his own drum.

“So, what’s going on? Why have you been ghosting us?” Blaine presses, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zach’s face falls. “You’re not retiring, are you?”

I sigh, closing the fridge door with my elbow, and pass them both a bottle of water. “No, but I’m not going to deny that it’s been on my mind a lot recently. I’ve probably got at least one more season in me, maybe two if my knee doesn’t act up again, but this loss hurt a bit more than normal.”

My jaw clenches at the pity in their eyes. It makes me want to tell them to get out. It’s fine for them. They’re still in the prime of their careers.

But I don’t, because I know they care.

They don’t want me to stop playing any more than I do.

“Let’s go sit outside,” I suggest, needing to break away from their pointed stares.

We take a seat on the balcony. Blaine is still looking at me with concerned eyes like he’s trying to find the right words to say. I feel like a bug under a microscope with their inquisitive eyes boring into me.

“Your bad mood isn’t just about the game, though, is it?” Zach asks once he folds himself into the chair beside me. “We’ve had losses before. When we lost in the final two seasons ago, you didn’t retreat like this, so there’s got to be something else bothering you.” He pauses for a moment. “Is it something to do with you going to visit your mom?”

I’ve never told the guys about Ian.

It was before most of them joined the team anyway. The only ones who know are Adam Kendrick and Jonathan Peyton, and I didn’t think it was necessary to rehash my humiliation for these guys. I didn’t want the additional wave of sympathy from being jilted.

At the time, Ian didn’t really make an effort to get to know my teammates. We didn’t have a boys’ night like we do now, but he always made an excuse for not attending team events or going to the Kendricks’ for dinner with me.

I wasn’t sure if it just wasn’t his thing or if he was ashamed of me. He didn’t give me anything. In retrospect, I should have asked. I should have made him tell me.

I’ve kept that bit of my history under lock and key for ten years, and I don’t plan on sharing it now.

“Do you remember me mentioning my cousin’s wedding?”

The three of them nod.

“Well, I don’t want to go. There’s going to be a lot of people there asking questions about my relationship status, and I’m dreading it.”

Which is only somewhat true.

Yes, people will be questioning why I’m still single when I’m a professional athlete and have a lot of money. They never seem to fathom that sometimes being in the limelight and having wealth can be one of the loneliest places of all because people rarely want you for you. But there will also be a lot of people waiting to see how I react around Ian.

“Can’t you take a fake boyfriend?” Blaine suggests.

Elliot snaps his fingers. “Yes! That’s a genius idea!”

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s a ridiculous idea. Plus, who would I take? It’s not like I can just find someone to take with me across the Atlantic for a couple of weeks.”

“Take Jacob,” Blaine quips, grinning, his gray eyes gleaming.

Uh… What?

“Think about it. He needs a break, right? You know him. I’m sure you somewhat trust him because you fucking paid off his debt, and you go and see him in the bakery all the time.”

My eyebrows shoot up, surprised. How does he⁠—

“Oh yeah, Alex tells me how you drop in without even buying anything.” He lifts a brow in amusement.

“How can you leave without buying anything?” Zach gasps. “That’s like⁠—”

“Blasphemy to the bakery gods, is what that is. Is there a god of cake? I’m gonna google it,” Elliot says before getting his phone and typing away as he throws some chips into his mouth.

“But you guys are leaving for California soon. Who will take care of the shop?”

I’m grasping at straws here because his point is valid. It is a great idea.

We’ve only gotten to know each other in the last few months, mostly by exchanging texts and my weekly visits to the shop. We know each other enough for him to understand my need for privacy. He doesn’t seem phased by me being guarded, and when I think about the kind of person I see myself with in the future, he’s it.

He’s independent, he’s caring, and he’s fucking gorgeous.

Dark blond hair, cornflower-blue eyes, delicate features, and a lithe body.

He’s like my filthiest fantasies come to life.

And the business agreement we have in place will ensure that no lines can be blurred, making it the perfect arrangement.

Blaine waves me off. “None of your concern. Just think about it—Jacob would be perfect. You get your fake boyfriend, so people don’t ask questions, and he gets a vacation. It’s a win-win for both of you.”

Now that he’s planted the idea in my head, I can’t stop thinking about it.

I’m a strong guy. I can intimidate people with just one look. Guys often fear me on the ice, but having Jacob at my side at the wedding will bring me a sense of security. Because while I don’t need him to protect me in a literal sense, I need him to ground me. I need the wave of calm being around him always gives me.

Now all I have to do is convince him to go along with it and come to England with me.

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