Page 97 of Wrap Around
My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“You’re expected to report to the Wrangler’s practice facility next month, and they’re expecting you to be ready to hit the ice for training camp in September. I imagine you’ll need to keep up with physical therapy and do what it takes to get strong.”
I keep nodding like a bobble head. How did he manage this? Because you can’t convince me that this doesn’t reek of his influence. How else would I just so happen to end up on the AHL affiliate team for the Calgary Flames?
I’m not sure how Coach knew this was what we needed, or how he pulled it off. I’m grateful, even if I’m not entirely certain that I deserve it.
“Thank you, Coach,” I say, emotion clogging my throat.
He smirks. “Don’t fuck it up.”
You know what else I love about Canada? It’s the middle of freaking August, and I’m walking Addy to daycare without melting into a damn puddle. It’s a breezy fifty-six degrees this morning, and we’re expecting a high of sixty-five and sunny. Perfect weather for yard work.
Just a few blocks down from our new neighborhood here in Calgary, there’s a small colorful building that sits at the end of a very convenient shopping center. I’ve taken to walking everywhere since we moved in a month ago. I know it won’t be like this come winter, so I’m enjoying the warm, but not too warm, weather. I’ve been doing some landscaping on the new yard, and enjoying playing house husband.
Silas is doing press stuff for the Flames today, and Lily has campus orientation. So it’s just me and the little tornado in pink overalls.
“Bye, M’Uncle Gid-On!” She runs ahead, waving at all her tiny friends and chattering excitedly. When her teacher takes her hand and sends me a wave, I linger for a second, watching.
We’ve come so far, and a lot has changed in just a few months.
Silas was welcomed to the team with open arms. All the friends he’d made during his short tenure with them this past spring rallied together and threw him a welcome party. When I was introduced as his partner, or boyfriend, we’re still working on what we want to call each other, no one flinched.
Canada’s different than Tennessee, that’s for sure. When we visited in June to look at houses, there were pride flags all over the city. Maybe it’s just this city. This team. This family. This life.
Once Lily and Silas' divorce is finalized, things will be even easier. Both of our teams know and support us, and while we don’t plan on making a big announcement, we don’t plan on hiding. I’m sure there will be some backlash or annoying press, but none of that matters to me anymore. We’re together, and we’re happy.
I stop for an over-sugared iced coffee on the walk back, knowing I have plenty of work ahead of me to work off the extra calories. Not that I’m as strict with myself anymore, but I try to stay balanced.
The house Silas bought is huge. Too big, maybe. But the layout is perfect. It’s separated into two wings, so Lily has her own space separate from us. For now, Addy’s room is closer to her. It makes more sense considering her nights will be a lot more consistent come the beginning of hockey season.
We’ve found a good balance between the three of us, and I love being an equal third in the parenting unit. I might be M’Uncle Gid-On, but she’s mine, too. We take care of her together, love her together, and support each other for the little bumps along the road.
Right now, I have the least going on in my day-to-day, so I’ve been taking on more of the household tasks. Lily and Silas like to poke fun at me for my newfound love of landscaping, but I’m a competitive fucker and I’ll be damned if the old biddy next door has a better yard than we do.
When I make it home, I put my earbuds in and throw on an old hat backwards to keep the hair out of my eyes and sun off the back of my neck and spray myself down with sunblock. In a pair of old khaki cargo shorts, a threadbare tanktop, and my most comfortable boots I use for yardwork, I get to work.
I’m drenched in sweat by the time I finish mowing. I’m pushing the mower back into the garage to get the edger when the garage door starts to close. Silas sneaks up behind me.
I jump and smack him on the shoulder when he snickers at me and wraps his arms around me from the back.
“Dude, I’m all gross and sweaty.”
“I don’t care,” Silas mumbles, kissing a path from my shoulder to my neck, where he licks up a little of the sweat dripping down the back of my neck to make a point.
“You’re going to mess up your makeup,” I joke. The Flames had a team photoshoot today for some promotional brand, so everyone’s hair had to be neat, and sometimes they’ll dab a bit of foundation or color corrector on the players for the camera. I don’t know that Silas is actually wearing any, I’m just teasing him for being so damn pretty.
He smirks. “You think they dolled me up?”
“Maybe. Your cheekbones are looking suspiciously sharp.”
Silas’ hands push up my tank top, dragging his fingers up my abs and chest. My arms raise instinctively to let him slip the shirt over my head. He kisses across my back, around to my chest.
“I fucking love it when you’re all sweaty and hot from yardwork,” he says. “You smell like fresh cut grass and man. Your skin’s all warm from the sun.” He nips my bottom lip. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
I’d like to say something sassy or playful, but it’s all I can do to swallow the drool that’s filled my mouth.
Silas reaches for my belt buckle, unfastening it while he takes my mouth. His kiss is deep, needy, and filthy. “Keep the boots and the backwards hat on,” he says against my neck, trailing his tongue down to my collarbone and back up to my earlobe. “I’m going to get on my knees and lick the sweat from your cock, and then you’re going to bend me over your work bench and fuck me.”
