The Wall of Winnipeg and Me (36 page)

And he’d done it for me.

What a fucking idiot. He could have just given me the money and that would have been enough to make me forgot about that weasel trying to shove his tongue down my throat while attempting to grab my butt over a year ago.

But as much as I thought of how dumb it was to lose a game check, this burst of something special and warm filled my heart before quickly being replaced by guilt.

I ran upstairs, grabbed the stinky bruise salve that worked like a miracle, and headed back down, knowing what I needed to do to help ease the responsibility I felt for what happened. I grabbed a few things out of the freezer and the pantry and turned on the oven to make a quick meal for my off-white knight in shining armor.

When he came down the stairs a little later, the quinoa had just finished cooking and I’d turned off the stove.

“Smells good,” he commented, going around to grab a glass from the cabinet and filling it up with water. “What are you making?”

“
Chana masala
,” I told him, knowing he’d be well aware of what it was.

I wasn’t surprised when he made a hungry noise as he leaned a hip against the counter and watched as I lined one of the big mixing bowls I used to always put his meals in with bagged spinach. I peeped at him out of the corner of my eye and took in the coloring along the solid lines of his face.

It pissed me off.

“What’s that face for?” the man I’d once assumed didn’t know much about me asked as I measured two cups of the grain and dumped it into the bowl.

Shrugging a shoulder, I put three cups of the chickpea mixture over everything. “Your face is making me mad.”

He snickered and I groaned, realizing just how that came out. “I didn’t mean it like that. You have a fine face. Very good-looking.”
Shut up, stupid. Just shut the hell up.
“It’s your bruises. I feel bad. I should have done something about it when it happened instead of making you deal with it.”

Passing the giant bowl over, he held it between us, catching my eyes. His face was pensive and as open as it got, but what I realized was there wasn’t a trace of residual anger left on him. He really wasn’t bothered by what happened, not at all. “Don’t worry about it. I did what I wanted to do.”

He always did what he wanted to do. What was new? “Yeah, but it happened a long time ago.”

“And that makes me feel even more responsible, Van.”

I frowned. “For what?”

“For everything. For not noticing. For not caring. For not making you feel like you could tell me things.” His voice was hoarse and just a little ragged.

My heart hurt.

I really hurt in that split second following his admission.

Realistically, it wasn’t like I hadn’t known that we hadn’t been BFFs when I worked for him. I’d known, damn it.
I’d known
. But to hear him say it….

It felt like an ultra-fresh burn to a delicately skinned place. That place being right between my breasts. The most important place of all.

It took every single ounce of emotional maturity I had in me not to… well, I wasn’t sure how I could have reacted. But I did realize, the more I suppressed the hurt, that I couldn’t—shouldn’t—hold him being honest against him. It wasn’t news. He hadn’t cared about me, and he’d taken me for granted. At least he realized it now, right?

Yeah, telling myself that wasn’t helping much. My eyes really wanted to get teary, and I wasn’t going to let them. It wasn’t his fault.

I made sure to meet his eyes. “It’s all right. You did something now.” I took a step back. “Enjoy your food. I started putting up the tree this morning, but I stopped to return some e-mails. I’m going to go ahead and finish it.”

Those chocolate-colored eyes roamed my face for a second and I knew, though he didn’t say anything, that I’d been caught.

Whether he didn’t want to deal with me being a softie or if he understood my need to lick my wounds in private, he kept his words to himself and let me walk out of the kitchen with my heart a little burned around the edges.

I’d left a huge mess in the living room that morning. A bomb seemed to have gone off in a pile of tissues, and boxes were strewn everywhere. I’d gone shopping the day before to buy Christmas ornaments and decorations, and spent so much money, but I hadn’t minded because this was the first year I’d really have a tree of my own. I hadn’t bothered putting one up at my apartment because I was gone so much and there really hadn’t been room. Instead, I’d put up a three-foot pre-lit tree with glued on ornaments. This year though, the little tree was now in my bedroom.

Here, at Aiden and Zac’s, I scored a seven-foot Douglas pine that Zac had helped me carry and set up the night before. In a house full of tall men, there wasn’t a single step ladder in the vicinity, so I’d resorted to dragging a stool into the living room to help me reach the places I couldn’t on my own. The lights had gone on this morning, and I’d squeezed in some ornaments too.

I usually loved putting up a Christmas tree. We’d had one at my mom’s house a few times, but it wasn’t until I was with my foster parents that putting up a tree and decorating became a big deal. It had started to mean something to me. Climbing onto the stool, I couldn’t ignore the thought circling back around in my head.

He hadn’t given a shit about me.

Or at least, he hadn’t appreciated me.

That second idea was just as bitter as the first one.

I worked in silence for a little while, wrapping a beautiful red ribbon around the branches then stepping back to adjust it. I had just started opening up more boxes of ornaments when I sensed the other presence in the room.

Aiden was standing between the hallway and the living room, and his gaze was sweeping through the room, taking in the rest of the decorations I’d put up. The reindeer candles, a sparkly red Christmas tree made of wires, the wreath on the mantel, and finally, the three hanging stockings.

The three hanging stockings that I’d stitched sequins onto the night before, spelling out the first letters of each of our names. Black for Aiden, green for Zac, and gold for me.

Eventually, he tore his gaze away from the stockings and asked, “Need help?”

I’m not going to take this personally
, I told myself. “Sure.” I held out the box I’d just opened in his direction.

Aiden took it, glancing from the decorations to the tree and back at me. “Where do you want them to go?”

“Wherever.”

Taking a step closer to the object of our decorative talents, he shot me a look. “Where do you want them to go, Van? I’m sure you had it planned out.”

I did, but I wasn’t going to give my help any shit. “Anywhere as long as they aren’t too close together…. Really. I just don’t want them close together…. And maybe keep them toward the top since those are small. Big ornaments go closer to the bottom.”

The sides of his mouth twitched, but he nodded seriously and went to work.

We stood there in front of the tree for the next hour, side by side. His arm brushed mine, my hip brushed his, and more than a couple of times, he caught me trying to climb up on the stool before he plucked whatever ornament I had in my hand and put it up himself. Neither one of us said much.

But once we were done, we took a couple steps back and took the seven feet of gloriousness all in.

I had to say, it was beautiful even if it looked a lot smaller with Aiden next to it. Red and gold with hints of green here and there, glass ornaments hanging from long branches, ribbon circling it—it was the kind of tree I’d dreamed about as a kid. I glanced at Aiden. His face was clean and thoughtful, and I wondered what he was thinking about. Instead though, I went with a safer question. “What do you think?”

His nostrils flared just a little and a soft, soft, soft smile perked up the corners of his mouth. “It looks like something from a department store.”

I rubbed at my arm and smiled. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

The firm man nodded. “It’s nice.”

It’s nice? From Aiden? I’d take it as ‘it’s amazing’ from just about anyone else. The more I looked at it, the more I liked it, the happier it made me, and the more grateful I was for all I had to be thankful for.

Thanks to Aiden, I was living in a wonderful house. Thanks to Aiden, I had money to buy the decorations, ornaments, and the tree. And thanks to Aiden, I had managed to save up enough money to pursue my dreams.

Maybe we hadn’t been soul mates, and maybe he really hadn’t cared about what I added to his life until I was gone, but I had so much because of him. And I would continue to have so much because of him too. That knowledge softened the hurt from an hour ago enough for me to clear my throat and say, “Ai—”

He interrupted me. “Are you putting up lights outside?”

“
Y
ou did it all today
?”

“Yep.” We’d done it all in a matter of hours.

After having to visit two different stores to buy enough Christmas lights to decorate the house, the trips had definitely ended up being worth it. Round, blue LED lights outlined the roof and garage. Two different individual packages of lights had to be used to wrap around the pillar by the front door. Another box was used to go around the big window, and I’d twined more lights through the branches of the tree in the front yard.

“You and Aiden did this?” Zac then asked, his arms crossed over his chest. I’d been outside putting up the last of the lights when he’d pulled his truck into the garage.

“Uh-huh. He even got on the roof with me even though I kept telling him to get back in the house before he fell off or one of the neighbors called the team and told them what he was doing.” There were specific things in his contract he was prohibited from doing: riding anything with wheels, including but not limited to motorcycles, scooters, mopeds, Segways, hoverboards, and skateboards. He couldn’t do anything that required a waiver, i.e. skydiving. And there was also a specific note in his contract that said he wasn’t allowed anywhere near fireworks.

I’d read his contract one day when I found it in a saved folder on his computer and I’d been bored.

Aiden’s exact response to me trying to shoo him off had been: “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Sometimes, I really wanted to choke him out for being so stubborn. Then again, he’d been the one to bring up putting Christmas lights up when I hadn’t prepared for it, simply because I didn’t want to do it all alone.

Zac snickered, his hands in his pockets. “I’m not surprised. How long did it take?”

“Three hours.”

He glanced at his watch and frowned. “How early did he get home?”

Anddddd that reminded me what he’d done, what he’d said. I frowned and muttered, “Right after twelve,” knowing that was going to reel him in.

Hook, line, and sinker. “How come? Those Monday mornin’ defense meetings usually last ‘til two.”

I punched him in the arm. “You tell me, big mouth.”

Nosey McNoserson immediately perked up. “What I do?” He’d barely asked the question when his eyes went a little wide and that chin went right back down, his ears seeming to perk up.

“You told him about Christian, you snitch. You know what happens to snitches?”

“They get stitches?”

I punched him again. “Yes! He got into a fight with him today.”

Zac’s lip dropped, and he gaped. Honestly, I loved Zac. I really did. “No!”

Okay, he got on my nerves for telling Aiden what had happened, but he was still so funny it was unreal. “Yes! He got into a fight with him!” Zac’s mouth went even wider, his blue eyes darting from one side to the other like he couldn’t handle what I was telling him. “He got—”

“Aiden?”

“Yes.”

“Our Aiden?”

I nodded solemnly.

Zac still didn’t believe me. “You sure?”

“He told me. He has the bruises to prove it.”

“No. He wouldn’t.” He looked away and then looked back at me. “
Aiden?”

“Yes.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it. “I don’t know…” His lips moved but nothing came out. “He doesn’t…“

“I know.
I know
he doesn’t.”

“What the hell took him so long? I told him a week ago,” he suddenly noted in exasperation.

Good gracious. He was making faces because Aiden had taken too long. Uh. “Because when I went to the Thanksgiving Day game, Christian called me honey or something, and was just being a creeper in general—wait. It doesn’t matter. Why did you say anything to him anyway? I told you that as friends. Circle of trust.”

Zac huffed and gave me a look that resembled one of Aiden’s a little too closely. “Why wouldn’t I tell him?”

“Because it didn’t matter.”

Yeah, he was definitely giving me one of Aiden’s faces. “If I was the one you were married to, I’d want him to tell me.”

“Traitor.” That made sense, but I wasn’t going to admit it.

The blond snorted. “Van, think about it for a second
.
Aiden’s not—he’s not going to give you a hug, tell you you’re pretty, and call you his best friend, but I know him, and he cares about you.”

Now he does
, I thought. “If I die, he can’t get his papers fixed so easily.”

His blue eyes narrowed and he gestured toward the front door. “If you die, who else would he have that gives a shit about him?”

What was that supposed to mean?

“C’mon. Let’s go inside. I’m starvin’,” he finished up.

I took one more peek at the bright blue lights and followed him in. We had barely opened the door when the persistent beeping of Aiden’s ringtone started going off from somewhere in the kitchen. I ignored it and headed toward the fridge, pulling out leftovers from the day before.

“What do you have?” Zac asked, peeking over my shoulder as I scooped food onto a plate.

“Pasta.” I just handed it over. There wasn’t a point in asking him if he wanted it. Of course he’d want it.

“Yum,” he said, without even tasting it.

Aiden’s phone began to ring again just as I set my plate into the microwave to warm up. By the time it was done, the phone had stopped ringing and started up all over again. I sat down to eat, and it started beeping.
Again.