Page 38 of Shattered On Ice

I tentatively drink more, knowing it’s spiked this time, and it’s not nearly as bad as the first. “I can actually taste the lemonade now.”

“See? It helps, trust me. Now, tell me all about it.” Callum lifts his glass and delicately sips. I realize he’s not wearing jewelry when the action is noiseless, and when I take a second look at his face, his skin is bare of any adornment. It surprises me. I’ve come to associate Callum with accessories and glam, but I guess he doesn't have to be fully done up while at home.

I glance around the room and take in the built-ins full of antique books, art, brass candlesticks, and collected treasures that tell me he’s put in a lot of work to fill them with treasures from his thrift store and estate sale adventures. The thick rug covering most of the dark wood floor features a vintage pattern of greens, beiges, and blacks that tie in the eclectic assortment of furniture and accessories.

Aside from the collected treasures, there are also piles on every flat surface. A stack of mail on the marble-topped table by the entry. A haphazard tower of design books and magazines on the carved wooden coffee table. A heap of shoes in the hallway, like he steps out of them as soon as he gets home, and never gets around to putting them away. His house is like looking inside his brain, and I marvel at the creativity and clutter. There’s definitely some ADHD going on here along with the maximalism.

“So, we agree this casual hookup situationship is bullshit, right?” Callum asks when I don't speak right away. It brings my attention back to the man sitting next to me, his long legs tucked under him.

“What?” I ask, trying to process.

“Honey, look at you. You’re absolutely miserable. You wanted things to stay casual with Westin, but you have to realize that’s no longer the case.”

“It has to be. There’s no future for us with Rook around. I can't ask for more.” I let my sad truth out and bury my face in my hands.

“Girl, you’re desperate for the man, and no situationship can exist with one or more parties in that state. You have to be flippant and uncaring to keep it casual, and you care so very deeply. Just look at you,” he responds, floating his hand out in front of him with a flick as I look at him.

“Westin is stuck in the closet. He doesn't want to come out for whatever reason, and we can't force someone to before they're ready. There’s a lot of pressure on him, so this is how it has to be,” I defend. I would love to share the public nature of his profession and all the people who look up to him that keep him under a magnifying glass. It only adds to his reticence to come out, but I’ve carefully kept Callum in the dark about what my brother and Westin do for work, and it seems to be working fine so far.

“So, let me get this straight,” Callum says, his tone deadpan. “You played house. You were his dedicated boyfriend and his personal therapist. But the second his bestie walks in, you're shoved back into the closet without so much as a thank you? Honey, you're burning yourself out to keep him warm.”

I gape at him, but don't respond. Instead, I sit with the truth and let it really sink in. I don't know why Westin hides parts of himself and won't come out because he doesn't trust me enough to let me into that part of his life. I’m not guaranteed anything, not even him, when everything is said and done. I’ve shared all of my trauma and history with him. He knows what I’ve had to overcome to allow myself to be with him the way we are now. But the way he held my face and called me his next to that lake after our motorcycle ride, or all the times he looked at me with the deepest affection burning in his eyes, went well past a hookup. Yet, all I can hope for is the physical release we get together, even though I know we want more. Am I okay with that?

I have to be.

“He has his reasons, and I’m not entitled to them,” I finally answer. “If I want more, that’s my own fault for catching feelings when I’m the one who put the casual title on things to begin with to try to keep Rook from getting hurt.”

“You're such a dumb dumb, despite being an incredibly intelligent man,” Callum sighs.

“I beg your pardon,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at him as I lean my elbows on my thighs. Callum waves my indignant mutterings away.

“Okay, so you're sticking with this on the DL thing despite knowing you want it to be something more. Zero out of ten, I do not recommend, by the way.” He rolls his eyes. “How are you going to deal with seeing your big hot jock in all his bro-dude glory when he’s around your brother, effectively ignoring you? Because that’s why you're here right now, crashing out over the man.”

He’s right. That’s the problem right there. I wasn't able to lay the bestie persona over the possessive and caring Westin I know. It threw me so badly, I had to get away from him. I push my thoughts aside.

“He’s suffocating under that mask,” I tell Callum, my voice hardening. “If what he can give me right now is only in the shadows, then I’ll take it. I’m choosing this, Callum. Even if it’s less than I deserve, I’m not walking away.”

Callum looks concerned, but he doesn't press. He takes a sip of his lemonade and nods. “And I’m here for you if things go off the rails.”

I pull into the driveway, the heavy August humidity clinging to my skin as I get out of the car. The house is dark and completely quiet. The game controllers are laid out on the coffee table, and the guys are nowhere to be found. I peek up the stairs to see Rook’s door firmly closed at the end of the hall.

My therapist armor is cracked, my emotional reserves empty, and all I want is to collapse face-first into my bed and sleep for days. But I need something other than Callum’s heartbreak lemonade in my stomach before doing that. I walk into the kitchen and find a note stuck to the fridge with a new magnet showing the Amalfi Coast.

Thanks for dinner. Took a sleeping pill and went to bed. This jet lag SUCKS. Don't wake me tomorrow.

—R

Sure, Rook, I’ll take care of your dog another day while you sleep off your Italian adventure, thanks for asking. I shake the unpleasant thought from my head. I love Indiana and consider her my dog too, but I’m obviously feeling a bit resentful towards my brother.

I drink one of his protein shakes before heading to my bedroom. I push the door open, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light filtering through the blinds. I freeze, heart racing, when I realize I’m not alone. A massive shadow reclines on my bed, propped against the headboard with Indiana curled in a traitorous, happy little ball at his hip.

“It’s me,” Westin whispers.

I step inside, closing and locking my door behind me. “What are you still doing here?” I hiss, my voice cracking in the quiet room.

“Rook crashed an hour ago,” Westin says, his voice a low, rough rumble that sends a shiver dancing down my spine. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, crossing the room before I can even turn on a light. “I saw the way you looked before you left. I couldn't go home knowing I’d done that to you.”

He meets me in the middle of the room, but he doesn't pull me in by the waist or lean in to kiss me. His big hands gently cup my face with reverence. His thumbs sweep over my cheekbones, brushing away the tension radiating through my jaw.