Page 20 of Shattered On Ice

“I’m projecting,” I sigh out wearily, swirling the purple gin in my glass. “If we were in my office, it would be textbook countertransference. I logically know I’m letting my past dictate my present, but I can’t seem to turn on the necessary clinical distance with him.”

I know full well I’m taking my unresolved trauma with closeted athletes in the past and superimposing it on Westin because they play the same sport and the situation feels eerily similar, but I will save that info dump for later. Poor Callum is already dealing with enough of my baggage.

“Ah, honey,” he says, sympathy thickening his Southern drawl. “Don't hesitate to reach out anytime. Your—what did you call me? Fairy godbrother? Yes! I’m here for you. I might not know what countertransference is, or be able to magic a pumpkin into a carriage for you, but I could make you a fabulous dress out of curtains, à la Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind. I could also redecorate your house so you had fabulous curtains to begin with, and I’m fully versed in power tools and carpentry, so you’d have the most beautiful built-ins you could ever want. Scarlett would eat her heart out.” He gestures animatedly as he speaks, finally resting his hands on his heart and sighing dramatically.

“Are you a contractor or a historic movie buff?” I ask, not sure how to take all of his references. He’s a bouncing ball of energy that’s all over the place.

“I’m a designer, Knight. I do custom interior design, which includes building what I can’t buy either from budget or out of necessity. But I’m also a movie fanatic and love classic Hollywood. God, all the queer male stars were so beautiful and lived such interesting lives, with their open secrets and lavender marriages. Can you even imagine?” He sighs dreamily.

Considering Westin isn’t out, I can, in fact, imagine it. “You know my big jock is closeted?” Look at me, claiming Westin as mine when he's currently running for the hills after my last text. Get it together.

“Shut up! Girl, for real?” Callum whisper-shouts, leaning in and grasping my forearm with both hands. “He did know he was at a gay club and he was all up on you in front of a ton of people, so that closet door was kicked wide open, right?”

I nod solemnly. “He’s in a pretty conservative line of work that’s public-facing, so there’s a ton of scrutiny. He hasn't said as much, but I think he has some history that doesn't sit well with him, so he keeps it on the down low.”

“What, is he a politician or something? I don't recognize him, so he can't be in anything local. Maybe behind the scenes?” Callum muses, one of his polished fingers tapping out a rhythm on my arm.

“I can't say. That’s his thing. All I know is that our connection is insane." I drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper and lean toward Callum. "He nearly kissed me in his kitchen the first time we met, but we were interrupted. He either felt safe enough to be himself with me or knew I was queer, and his advances were directed correctly." Callum squeals quietly as I sit back in my chair and continue in my normal volume. "There’s some magnetic attraction between us that snapped into place instantly, and there’s no denying it. I just have to decide if I want to break my brother’s trust and mess up our relationship again by seeing where that attraction leads, or if it’s better to treat him like a hot surface that will burn if I get too close,” I muse, resting my chin on my balled fists.

“I vote you live in the moment. See where it leads, but quietly. Why make a big fuss if you’re just going to get your bussy stuffed a few times on the down low and then decide that was good enough?"

I snort out a laugh and almost shoot gin and tonic out of my nose. "I can almost assure you it would be good."

"He really does give big dick energy," Callum muses the a wide grin before shaking the thought from his head. "So try it out. If it ends up being more, then future Knight gets to decide what happens next. But I’ll tell you one thing,” he says seriously. “You might be willing to do a whole lot more if it’s good and things progress well. It might not be as difficult a decision to make later.” Callum sits back, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders before picking up his drink and holding it out to cheers with me.

I clink glasses with him, mulling over that idea. Keep it quiet. Be his secret. It sounds so simple the way Callum presents it, but I’ve seen just how fast casual can turn into collateral damage. But…if this gets him out of my system without Rook having to know, maybe the risk is worth it.

“That could work,” I say slowly. “Enjoy a dalliance on the down low until we get it out of our systems.”

“For real, for real,” Callum says solemnly. “And if that doesn't get it out of your system but makes you fall in love, then you have a real leg to stand on when it comes to telling your brother. He wouldn't stand in the way of love, would he?”

I can't be sure, but I hope not.

“This is all speculative until I know what Westin actually wants. Maybe he’s decided I’m not worth the headache of hiding things behind his friend’s back. We could be making plans while he’s deciding that he’s never going to talk to me again,” I ruminate, my thoughts coming out of my mouth as I grow loose from the booze and the attentive company. It’s been far too long since I’ve had someone who listened to me like this. I should start up my own therapy sessions again.

My phone chimes from the table, and we both look down at it.

“You owe me a plate of coconut shrimp if that’s Westin,” Callum says, pointing an accusing finger at the phone.

I flip the phone over and read the text.

Westin: It’s a problem that requires me to see you again. I’m home from Québec tomorrow. Come over. I need you.

I signal for the server. “We’ll take two plates of the coconut shrimp,” I tell her when she stops in front of our table. “And another round of drinks, please.”

Callum screeches in delight. “I knew it!

Seven

Westin

Iglance around my house, ensuring that everything is in its proper place and the kitchen is clean-ish. I don't want Knight to think I’m a mess because of my environment. Now it just looks like a generic hotel with its sterile white walls, requisite random piece of art that means nothing to me hanging on the wall, and the most basic light gray accents—couch, chairs, curtains. I didn't put any effort into furnishing the place when I moved in last summer, thinking I would stay a season or two and be traded, as usual. But now I wish I had, and there was something of interest to show that this is my place. Something of me in here. Instead, it’s just another house that’s not a home.

That’s depressing as fuck.

I jump at a knock at the door. Heat flashes across my face at my own anxious reaction, sweat beading at my hairline. I scowl and wipe my damp palms against my pants, my legendary on-ice confidence completely abandoning me the moment I decided I needed this particular man. I take a tight breath, pull the door open, and immediately freeze.

Knight stands there, looking beautiful as usual, his cologne swirling around me with the breeze that comes in behind him. I forget all about the sweat and wet hands now that I’m fucking drooling over how amazing he smells.