Page 42 of A Loser by Christmas
“Now.”
“Before Christmas?” I knew this would come sooner or later. Tell that to my body. I fist a handful of his coat like that will moor him in London for longer.
Calum reacts too. His hand finds mine, covering it where anyone could see us touching. His jaw clenches. “I’m not leaving yet.”
“They can’t make you?”
“Not unless I give the club a reason to insist.” Calum stares down at his hand covering mine. He instantly drops it. Just as instantly, he looks to regret it. “I can’t, Valentin. I can’t give them that reason by...”
Outing himself.
His hand curls into a fist, clenching. “All they can do is ask. That’s written into my contract the same way that me picking where I spend my recovery time is. And me having the right to get my own second?—”
His mouth snaps closed, soft lips pressed tight for a long beat until he continues.
“I’m keeping my side of the deal by promoting the game here.” He gets to his feet. “Like now.” Calum opens his calendar. Taps on a block to reveal a busy few days away from the city. “I agreed to wining and dining potential sponsors. The club can keep its side of that bargain by not cutting short the rest of my time. I’ve still got things to see.” His gaze lands on me. “Still got plenty left on my personal to-do list.”
I’ve got plenty to keep me busy as well, like editing a contest entry before the deadline and before I time out of ever being eligible to enter.
Calum asks, “Want to work through my list with me when I get back? It would mean spending more time together.”
It doesn’t matter that both of my cutoffs loom close.
I’ve never nodded faster.
13
Calum wasn’t kiddingabout having things left to see. Once he’s back in London, he meets me early in the morning on Tower Bridge where he shows me his to-do list.
“Sightseeing?” I look up from the calendar on his phone. “That’s what you’ve been doing every morning after your torture sessions?”
“No one tortures me.” His hand brushes mine on the way across the bridge where he pauses to take in the view. “But yeah. I’ve been sightseeing with Pat ever since I got here. It’s a Trelawney tradition each December. Or it was when we were kids. The whole fam would come up to town and pick one place each to visit.”
That doesn’t explain why he’s doing the same now. I’d ask, only he laughs, happy for a reason that I catch with my camera.
“The year that Pat picked Tower Bridge was when we found out that Dad isn’t great with heights.” He points up at tourists who walk fifty feet above us. “He managed a few steps on the glass walkway before he couldn’t go any further. Dad had to close his eyes.” His grin doesn’t exactly fade. Somehow itcondenses. “I told him I’d do all the seeing for him. All he had to do was hold on to me. I’d get him to safety.”
Today, he doesn’t hold on to me like he once did to his father, but he does lead me along the far side of the river where we pass the same door I’ve watched him exit from across the water.
“Wait. You aren’t going in?”
“Nope. I’m finished with that.” He hustles me past. “Unless they call me back.”
Considering how grey those visits left him, his glance back at the doorway looks hopeful. Perhaps that’s because hockey players are masochistic. It seems that way when he steers me to a nearby gym, where his brother tests Calum’s endurance in private. For someone who is meant to be all heart, Patrick sure cracks a mean whip. Whatever weight Calum lifts, his brother asks for one more rep, and I can’t help thinking that if anyone saw him crush each and every target, his GM and head coach would summon him back in a heartbeat.
I usually chase after the truth. Today I stand in a weights room and cover the lens of my own camera. “You sure you want me to document this?” Calum is as sweaty now as when he shared my bed. This footage could leave him as naked.
He towels his face. “Will it help you?”
To win my contest? It might. This luxe fitness facilityisone hell of a contrast to where Reece gets physical on French beaches.
“Go ahead and keep recording.” Calum reminds me of a contest rule he hasn’t forgotten. “Because you need unique footage, right? Content that hasn’t ever been seen. Will the judges come to a final decision before the New Year?”
I shake my head.
“Then by the time anyone else gets to watch me doing this, I’ll be back in the States.” That sounds like he really has given up trying to slip his golden handcuffs. “Might as well face it.Nothing will stop that happening after Christmas. I should have shut the idea down as soon as Jack had it.” His voice drops. “But then none of this would have happened. I can’t regret it.”
That feels private. Gentle. So are his fingers peeling my hand from my camera.
