Him (Him #1)(73)

“I’ve got it all figured out,” my dad announces. “Jamie’s team plays Anaheim in November...”

My stomach drops, because there’s almost no chance he would see me play in that game.

“Which means we could all go to a Niners game together!” my father finishes.

Typical. At least if I do give up on the NHL, nobody will be too upset.

We tease Tammy about her round belly. And we tease Joe about his thinning hair. And when it’s my turn to be teased, I hardly even hear it.

The day flies by in a whirl of gossip and taunts. Now the dishes are done and the peach pie is eaten up. Most of the clan has gone home, and it’s down to me, my parents, Brady, and Scotty, who is staying here right now.

We’re on the deck again, feet up on the railing, watching the sun go down as Scotty tells me his tale of woe. “She said, ‘I don’t want to be married to a cop.’ And—

honest to God—I tried to figure out how not to be one. I have a degree in criminal justice and seven years of work experience. And I seriously thought of chucking it.”

My brother’s voice is rough, and I feel a hell of a lot more than a simple pang of sympathy.

“But then I realized that it probably wouldn’t matter. If she loved me, the job wouldn’t matter. But she didn’t. Not enough anyway.”

Okay, check, please. There’s a small but statistically significant chance I’m going to be crying into my beer in a minute. And won’t that be fun to explain?

“At least I know I did everything I could,” he adds. “I told her that I loved her, that I wanted the real deal. I made my case, and I made it strong. So I have no regrets.”

Fuck. It’s not like I can say the same thing. Wes pushed me away, and what did I do? I went for a run. I let him sneak off like a thief in the night. I didn’t say, “I love you.” I did not say it. Instead, I just choked it back.

I am a moron.

“Jamie?” my mother says gently.

“What?” I croak.

“You okay over there?”

Where do mothers get that ability? It’s so f*cking inconvenient. “I’m fine,” I mutter, convincing nobody.

“Whoever she is, honey… If she matters to you, I hope you’ll tell her.”

Argh. I guess there’s someone else I’ll need to see after that interview in Toronto.





35





Wes





I approach the floor-to-ceiling windows of my potential apartment’s living room, gazing at the panoramic view of Toronto’s waterfront. It’s definitely the best view of all the other apartments I’ve looked at today, but the calm water of Lake Ontario reminds me too much of Lake Placid. Of Jamie.

But who am I kidding? Everything reminds me of Jamie. Last night I couldn’t even sit at the hotel bar without remembering the roadside place back at camp, where we shared our first kiss. This morning I walked past a candy shop and thought of the purple Skittles he’d bought me. At the last apartment I toured, I spent ten minutes staring at the futon bed on the floor remembering the two mattresses we slid together at the dorm.

I can’t escape Jamie Canning, no matter how hard I try.

“You’re not going to find a better deal in this neighborhood,” the realtor chirps. She waltzes over and stands next to me, admiring the view. “Rent this low for a two-bedroom Harbourfront condo? It’s unheard of.”

I turn away from the window to study the huge open-concept room. The apartment isn’t furnished, but I can already imagine how it would look with furniture. Leather couch and massive flat screen in the living area. A dining room table. Some tall stools for the eat-in breakfast counter.

I can picture myself living here, no doubt about it. And I have to admit, I’m a lot less likely to break my self-imposed celibacy rule in this neighborhood. The gay scene isn’t as prominent here compared to the other areas I visited. One apartment was down the street from not one, but three gay bars.

Not that I’m looking to hit up any bars and sample the meat market. The idea of being with anyone other than Jamie absolutely kills me.

“And I’m not sure if this is a plus or a minus for you,” the realtor continues, “but the owners told me they’re planning on selling in a year or two. If you’re already living here and looking to invest in real estate in the city, you’d be in a great position to buy this place.”

I frown. “What if they decide to sell earlier and I’m not interesting in buying? Will I have to pick up and move?”

She shakes her head. “You’ll be signing a one-year lease. You’re guaranteed the place until the lease is up.”

Fuck it. “I’ll take it,” I tell her. Because honestly? I’m tired of apartment hunting. I just need a place to sleep. Doesn’t matter where.

Either way, my heart won’t be in it. My heart is back in Lake Placid. Or maybe it’s in California. It goes wherever Jamie Canning goes.

I feel like such a shit for walking out on him like that. But I’ve never been good with goodbyes. Which just proves I’m as immature and thoughtless now as I was four years ago. I cut him out of my life back then too. I guess that’s my “thing”.

I really am an *.