“So you’ve always liked hockey, then.”
Laughter interrupts the conversations around us. “He was obsessed with it from the first time he saw the neighborhoodkids playing on the pond,” Claes says fondly. “He was barely big enough to hold even the smallest stick we could find, but that didn’t stop him.”
“There were worse things he could have been obsessed with,” Shayla concedes with a shrug. “Though back then, I wished more than once that his favorite hobby didn’t always involve early practices and weekend tournaments. I wouldn’t have minded the occasional sleep-in or day off.” She turns the page again, revealing more Felix hockey photos—him practicing, alone and with teammates, actual games, team pictures with gap-toothed children lined up in identical jerseys. A few of Shayla and Claes at a rink with other parents, takeout coffee cups in their hands and tired eyes evident even in the faded photos.
Maybe they didn’t love having to take Felix to tournaments, but they did it. I can’t imagine my parents ever doing the same, especially…
I swallow hard. “Did you… You’re both professional scientists. Didn’t you want Felix to go into the sciences too?” It’s the least contentious way I can think to phrase it, but Felix still stiffens beside me.
Shayla turns her head to meet my eyes, and in her gaze, I see knowledge I’m not comfortable with her having.
“Do you mean, were we disappointed that our son chose his own path instead of following ours?”
I think about what my father would have said if I’d expressed interest in a career that didn’t suit him. I think about what he did say right before I left for the last time. “Yes.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m so sorry, Ari. You didn’t deserve that.”
My breath freezes in my chest, but she just turns back to the album and says, “No, we always wanted our children to be independent, even if that meant making different decisions towhat we would have,” as though she hasn’t just smashed through thousands of years’ worth of carefully built defenses.
Before I can decide what to do—whether to make an excuse and leave—Felix shifts into his cat form and drapes himself over my lap, head nudging my hand. I’m trapped under a hundred and sixty pounds of cat.
So I forget any thought of running and rub between his ears instead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Felix
So…I kinda thought that when Ari said he was fucked up, it was because of his world being destroyed and so many loved ones dying. And I’m sure that’s a big part of it. But after hearing what he asked my mom—and remembering that he asked me a very similar question—I think the fucking-up started before the world ended. I’m inclined to think it was his parents who did it. Which is shit, because aren’t your parents supposed to be the ones you go to when someone else fucks you over? Mine are. I knew I was lucky to have my family, but I never really considered how lucky I might be.
The thing is, now that I know his parents weren’t the most supportive, there’s a little voice in the back of my mind that’s wondering if the reasons he can’t make me promises are things I can… fix.
Not that he needs me to “fix” him. He’s fine exactly as he is. But we all have baggage, and maybe his is the kind that I can help him with.
And then he’ll change his mind about wanting a boyfriend, fall into my arms with fervent ardor, and we’ll live together happily ever after.
I blow out a long breath. My romantic side has a lot to answer for.
The truth of this situation is, I can gently raise the subject of Ari’s past and see if he wants to share anything, but I can’t make him. Even if he does share, that doesn’t mean I have the right to put expectations in place. Maybe he gave me the impression that he’d be into a serious relationship, but the whole “I can’t make promises” thing puts a limit on that.
Becauseyes, I want to try a serious relationship with Ari. It’s been three days since we had dinner at my parents’ place, and the only time we’ve been apart was while we were working. Maybe a cynic would say that’s because he offered himself up as my supplier of regular orgasms—and that’s true—but it doesn’t explain why he sleeps over. Or why we go out for dinner. Why we watch TV together. Why he brings me a mug of hot tea to wake me up in the morning. Those aren’t things you consistently do when you’re just hooking up with someone.
Or I could be reading too much into this.
Either way, staring blankly at the microwave isn’t going to get me any answers.
“Fe?”
A shiver goes down my spine at the sound of my nickname rolling off Ari’s tongue. I can’t even count how many people have called me Fe in my life, and it’s not like he’s trying to be sexy with it, but it still does it for me. Maybe it’s the contrast of his officious formality when we met to now. Back then, he never would have addressed me so casually or fondly.
“Yeah?” I turn around as he appears in the doorway, a smile breaking over his face when he sees me. That smile doesn’t help my conscience’s argument that I shouldn’t push him.
“Eoin just texted. We’re invited to eat at his majesty’s penthouse, if you want to go.”
It takes my brain a second to work through the reason Eoin would be issuing an invitation to the king’s home, but then I remember Jared telling Dáithí that he should come over when Eoin’s on overnight duty.
“Dáithí will be there too,” Ari says, confirming my train of thought and giving rise to a new set of suspicions.
“I’m good for it, but only if you’re prepared for a bunch of nosy questions.”
