Page 4 of Temptation On Ice

“Ma, I’m not interested in dating. Eliana’s only been gone four years, and we were together for five years before that. I can’t disrespect what we had by moving on like it’s nothing.” Fuck, she’s been gone almost as long as we were together. Soon, more time will have passed since she’s been gone than having her in my life. My heart aches with the realization, but Ma doesn't seem to notice and continues.

“Four years is long enough, Sebastian,” she says gently. “You can’t live in your grief forever, and you need to move on to live your life. You’ve taken the time to mourn, and you can put it behind you now. She was sweet and beautiful, and it’s tragic how you lost her, but you deserve happiness, too.” Her tone is pleading.

I hate every word that comes out of her mouth. But the worst part is I’ve thought them myself and loathed the very idea that I could’ve had them. The truth is, I’m lonely, and I hate it. But no woman has been good enough to slot into my chaotic life as a single dad with a career in professional sports, and it hasn't been worth trying, honestly.

“Enough, Ma,” I rasp, the words coming out through clenched teeth as I try to keep my anger and sadness in check.

“Fine, fine. But I want plenty of time with my grandson. God knows your sister won’t be giving me any grandbabies, so he’s the only one I have to dote on if you won't find another wife to settle down with and make more.”

I cringe at her double whammy comment and try not to rise in defense of my little sister. Mom…isn’t wrong.

Bianca is staunchly against kids for herself, even though she loves Enzo. She just loves her life in the city as a career-focused twenty-something woman and isn’t willing to sacrifice what she enjoys about her life to have children. Mom says she’s made peace with Bianca’s choices, but with how often she brings it up, I know she’ll never forgive the choice, which is a shame. Bianca’s amazing and has a life that’s really fucking cool. She has a job she loves, travels often, and is in a committed relationship that satisfies her. She’s not missing out on anything despite what our mother insists would make it more fulfilling.

“Yeah, Ma, of course. I’ll be sure to bring Enzo over soon, or you can come here. We’ll make some plans once we get settled.”

Whatever it takes to get her off the phone now so I can get to my first training camp practice. As captain, I need to set an example and arrive early to welcome the returning players and meet the rookies who will be joining us this season. It’s the beginning of September, and early to start practicing, but losing the Stanley Cup to Edmonton in our first season gave us even more motivation to come back stronger this year. It was unbelievable that we made it as far as we did in our inaugural season, so with a few roster tweaks and tightening up our training, we can have an even better shot now.

“Give Enzo kisses for me.” Mom makes loud kissing noises that have me pulling my phone away from my ear. “Bye, Sebastian. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, Ma.”

I hang up and turn as I hear running feet. I catch Enzo in my arms just as he runs in with his favorite stuffy, a worn-out black dog that he drags everywhere. The dog hits me in the head, activating the voice recording inside it.

“I love you, my darling boy,” Eliana’s disembodied voice says.

Hearing her, even the mechanized version of her, brings an acute sadness that tightens my throat and pricks the back of my eyes. I try not to stiffen up or give Enzo any indication I’m upset.

“Daddy, can we watch Paw Patrol?” he asks in his cute, high-pitched voice.

I smile through my pain. If it’s not Paw Patrol, it’s some other dog-focused show, movie, or game. The kid is obsessed with dogs. I don't know where he got it from. It’s not like we’ve ever had dogs of our own, not with my schedule being as crazy as it is.

But his mother loved them.

It’s weird what traits pass through biology instead of from modeling. He never got to see his mother’s love of dogs that mirrors his own, yet he’s the carbon copy of her in so many ways, including this one.

“Yeah, buddy, we sure can.” I clear my throat and blink back any remaining sadness so I can focus on my kid. “I have to go to practice soon, so Miss Sally will be hanging out with you, okay?” I walk with him into the living room to set him up with the show he wants to watch.

“You can’t stay? We just got home, and you have to go back to hockey already?” he whines, looking up at me with big hazel eyes that look so much like Eliana’s. His dark hair and facial features are remarkably like mine, but those eyes will always remind me of the mother he’ll never know.

A pang of remorse hits me square in the gut. Goddamn, I can’t seem to do anything right today. There’s so much riding on me, at all times. I’m struggling with this single dad thing, and I’m always messing that up despite my best attempts. My teammates look to me as their captain to be a leader, but my focus is so split they’re rarely getting my best. I have to be a perfect son to parents who can't seem to be happy with my choices, no matter how hard I try. All those roles come with so many expectations that pull me in every direction.

But Enzo is my priority, despite the things that require my time and attention. I have to ensure he knows he’s important, even with my need to do the rest.

“Hey, bud, you’re always my favorite person to spend time with, and I hate being away from you. You know I have to lead the team and get the guys to do their jobs on the ice. Just like you have to take care of Mutt and be my amazing boy with the best hugs. I could really use one right now. Think you have it in you to share one with me?” I hold my arms out in invitation, hoping he’ll be in a forgiving mood and indulge me.

Enzo chews on his lip and looks at me with drawn brows, his pouty face strong with how much he doesn't like this development. Finally, he releases his lip and opens his arms, throwing them around my neck and smacking me again with the stuffed dog. I’m grateful it doesn’t activate the voice recording this time.

“I’m too little to hug you big,” he says, pulling back to look at me. “Can we go to the aquarium or the park after hockey?” he asks once he’s crawled out of my lap and resettled to watch his show.

“Of course, kiddo. We can do the aquarium and dinner tonight. Just you and me, okay?”

The smile he gives me lights up his little face, and I finally feel like I’ve done something right.

“Looking good, Cap,” Westin Dumont, or Westy to most of us, says as he bursts into the dressing room with a wide grin already in place.

I look up and take him in with surprise. “Wow, look at you! You’re not quite as pale. Did you actually see the sun and go somewhere tropical for your break?” I ask. Westy is from Québec originally. He’s really white during the season, but he looks good now.

“Damn, Monty,” he mutters as he passes, using the nickname the team has settled on, which is just the shortened form of my last name—Montenegro. “Way to give out backhanded compliments right out of the gate when I was being sincere. Ostie de trou de cul.”