Grady jumped to his feet. “Sounds good. Let’s do it.”

  Always ready to leap into action. Jack shook his head at his friend. “Easy, there, cowboy. I have to do some shopping and then a bunch of shit around the house first.”

  “Can you use help with the rest of it?”

  The truth was, he’d lost an hour already to the morning snuggles they were absolutely pretending did not happen, but that seemed to have broken Jack’s brain, so he would need help if he was going to get everything he wanted done that day, but…“You don’t want to spend your morning off mowing my mother’s lawn.”

  “Maybe I do,” Grady threw over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom.

  Jack was weak. And stupid. But he’d be goddamned if he could come up with another argument.

  When Grady didn’t close the door and picked up his toothbrush, Jack followed him in, reaching around to grab his own. He propped a hip against the counter, mere inches from Grady, and registered how weird this was.

  He’d never had anyone spend the night, let alone brush their teeth with him, shoulder-to-shoulder, in his en suite bathroom. It felt both mundane and intimate.

  Grady winked at him in the mirror before bending over the sink and spitting out a gob of toothpaste. The perfectly practical and not-at-all sexy act was great for helping Jack get his feet back under him.

  He snorted a laugh and shook his head.

  When Grady stood again, his mouth clear of toothpaste and water clinging to his stubble where he’d splashed his face, he met Jack’s eyes in the mirror.

  “Let me help. Please. You had a crappy day yesterday and I know you want to get this done before turning your attention to the clinic.”

  Jack hesitated, his better instincts warring with what he wanted. Desire won out. “Okay. Thank you. That would be great.”

  Grady smiled brightly, which confirmed this was still a terrible idea.

  But Jack was doing it anyway.

  * * *

  The moment Jack closed the bathroom door, Grady threw off his borrowed sleep clothes and yanked on his jeans, taking the moment of privacy to talk his dick down.

  His dick refused to listen.

  The good news was that his jeans were snug enough to hold that particular problem in check. The bad news was that his body was interpreting signals all wrong after waking up plastered to Jack. He was embarrassed that he’d apparently spooned the poor man in his sleep. Jack must have rolled away from him at some point, and he’d followed, his subconscious doing what he was constantly consciously battling the urge to do—follow Jack anywhere.

  At least Jack didn’t seem upset and was willing to let Grady ride along this morning. Of course, Grady had pushed a little, which wasn’t like him. Usually he gave Jack space—for his own sanity, if nothing else—but after last night, after hearing Jack’s story and then holding him, just walking out the door this morning hadn’t felt right.

  Also, he was wildly curious about Jack’s mom. Jack never talked about her or anyone else in his family.

  He paused before pulling on his shirt, frowning at the fitted button-up. While the jeans would work, his date shirt wasn’t ideal for mowing lawns and lifting heavy stuff.

  The bathroom door popped open and Jack took two steps into the room. Then froze.

  Grady suppressed the urge to cover his chest like a prudish co-ed in a cheesy nineties rom-com.

  “Sorry, uh…” Jack said, his eyes darting from Grady’s chest to the floor and back again like he couldn’t resist another look. His throat clicked when he swallowed.

  Grady absolutely did not flex anything. Much.

  “No, I’m sorry. I was just thinking this shirt will suck for what we have planned today. Can I borrow a t-shirt?”

  “Sure. Yeah. Of course,” Jack said, almost babbling as he spun back to his dresser. He yanked out yet another Ice Cats shirt and offered it to Grady.

  “You have an unlimited supply of these, don’t you?” Grady asked as he pulled it on over his head.

  Jack appeared dazed, staring at Grady’s mid-section. “Mm-hmm,” he murmured absently.

  “You do?” Grady asked. He’d been kidding.

  “What? Oh, no. I mean, I get a discount.” Jack turned back toward the dresser. “Let me get changed and we can head out.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then.” Grady grabbed his date shirt and went to wait in the living room. Jack came out, ready to go, a few minutes later.

  They grabbed breakfast sandwiches and coffee from Timmy’s on the way to the garden center to purchase a couple of flats of petunias, then hit the grocery store and bought everything on a list Jack kept on his phone. A final two stops for a case of wine and a carton of Virginia Slims Menthol 100s and they were on their way to Jack’s mother’s house.

  They pulled up in front of a small, pristine, white clapboard single-story home, a pretty wreath of spring flowers on the front door offering a pop of color. The lawn was vibrant green and the short driveway had recently been resurfaced. Similar homes lined the street, though none so meticulously maintained. Then again, it would be hard to keep up with Jack’s mother. The flower beds looked like they’d been edged with a laser.

  Once they’d parked, they opened the back of the truck where they’d stored the purchases alongside the unbelievable amount of stuff Jack carted around. Grady had teased Jack, more than once, about how he didn’t go anywhere without enough tools and supplies to open his own hardware store, and unlike Jack’s tidy and clutter-free apartment, it was all jammed into random boxes and toolkits that made no sense to anyone but Jack.

  Grady tucked a large, lightweight box under one arm, grabbed a grocery sack in the other hand, and followed Jack to the front door. They barely fit together on the small stoop while Jack rang the bell and waited, a frown on his face.

  The door popped open and let out a puff of cigarette smoke, revealing a tall, beautiful, older woman with a scowl so fierce it made Jack’s frown seem friendly. “I was about to call around to the hospitals, see if you were dead.”

  “Hello, Mother. Sorry I’m late,” Jack said with almost no inflection in his voice.

  She dismissed Jack with a wave of the hand holding a long cigarette, a curlicue of smoke rising above her shoulder. Eyes in a familiar shade of cobalt blue narrowed on Grady. “And you are?”

  “This is Grady,” Jack said. “He’s going to help with the couch. Grady, this is my mother, Margaret Chevalier.”

  She harrumphed and disappeared back into the house, a trail of smoke and her caustic voice trailing behind her. “It’s about time. I was going to put down a rug in the garage and start calling it the den, it’s been so long.” The way her elegant silver-handled cane thumped across the floor spoke of her displeasure.

  Neat trick.

  Jack let out a long-suffering sigh and stepped into the house. “Sorry about this,” he murmured. “We won’t stay long.”

  Grady gave Jack a reassuring smile. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  “Short of discovering a cure for rheumatoid arthritis and terminal crankiness, you can start by swapping out the wreaths. Just pack the old one in the same box.” Jack tapped the big box under Grady’s arm once and took the grocery sack from his other hand.

  Grady nodded and set to work taking down the circle of silk spring flowers and replacing it with one made of fake sunflowers and woven rattan. Recalling the precision flower beds out front, he took an extra moment to make sure the wreath hung perfectly straight.

  Margaret Chevalier eyed Grady the whole time.

  Jack made a couple more trips to the truck, bringing in more of the purchases and a toolbox. During one pass he took the old wreath from Grady and handed him a bottle of Windex and some paper towels. Grady cleaned the glass panes of the front door, then tackled the back door while Jack ferried trash and recyclables to the curb. Jack’s mother remained perched on the couch, vaguely annoyed by everything and distinctly suspicious of Grady.

  Jack ignored her as he cleared old containers of food from the fridge and restocked it with the groceries he’d purchased, then oiled a squeaky hinge on the back door. Grady made sure to make eye contact and nod politely any time he passed through the living room.

  When he was taking the toolbox out to the truck for Jack, she finally spoke.

  “You two boinking?”

  Grady’s step hitched, causing a wrench to slip from the top tray of the open toolbox and land on the carpet with a thump.

  Jack didn’t blink at his mother’s antics. “Did you get an appointment to talk to the doctor about your knee?”

  Grady retrieved the wrench from the floor and made for the exit, telling himself not to be nosy while listening avidly.

  His mother growled something, then said, “Yes, next Thursday at nine.”

  Jack grimaced. “I have a work thing next Thursday, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You told me any time was fine,” she accused.

  “It is fine. I’ll figure it out,” Jack assured her as Grady stepped outside.

  Grady could hear Jack’s mother’s raised voice all the way out at the truck. He sucked in a lungful of fresh air and listened for Jack’s reply, but his deeper, quieter responses didn’t carry as far. Grady now understood why Jack hesitated to ask for help with his mother. At the same time, no one should have to face Margaret Chevalier alone.

  Grady figured the best thing he could do for Jack was help get everything done and stay out of his arguments with his mother. With another deep breath, Grady went back inside. Jack’s shoulders were so tight, Grady had to fight the urge to reach out and…what? Give the man a back rub in his mother’s kitchen?

  “What can I do next?”

  “Let’s head out to the garage,” Jack said, forcing a smile.

  Grady could tell Jack was embarrassed by his mother’s muttering, still audible through the screen door once they were outside. He wished he could come up with something to say that might help, but sorry your mom is a ball-buster probably wasn’t it.

  Jack entered the detached garage through a side door and gestured grandly. “Welcome to the den.”

  Grady chuckled and surveyed the tidy space containing mostly gardening equipment. “It’s nice. No car?”

  “My mother never liked to drive, then the arthritis got worse and she gave it up all together.” Jack grimaced. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. She loves an audience.”

  Grady’s heart ached. “You didn’t drag me. I practically invited myself. And I’m the one who’s sorry if my presence makes this harder.”

  “No, I appreciate your help. You just shouldn’t have to take the abuse.”

  “You know what I do for a living, right? Your mother doesn’t scare me.”

  Jack let out an amused snort.

  “I mean it,” Grady said. “If you ever need help around here, just ask. Even if it makes her worse. If it makes it easier on you, I’m in.”

  Jack looked a bit bewildered. Maybe Grady shouldn’t have made it so obvious he stood ready to fling himself between Jack and anything that would hurt him.

  “You two going to actually mow the lawn or just fuck around in my garage all day?” Jack’s mother shouted out the living room window.

  Jack tipped his head back, as if searching the rafters for patience.

  Grady chuckled. “How about I mow and you work on whatever else needs to be done?”

  Jack sighed. “Thank you. Both for mowing and for the offer to help in the future.”

  Grady doubted Jack would take him up on it, but he did seem to believe Grady was sincere, at least. “You’re welcome. Now, stop fucking around in the garage and get to work.”

  Jack laughed as he lifted the single garage door. “Asshole.”

  They loaded the beast of a couch into the truck first, then Grady got to work on the lawn. He’d lived in apartments his entire adult life, and he was out of practice, but mowing had been one of his childhood chores, so he managed to avoid leaving Jack’s mother’s lawn looking like it had been shorn by drunk goats on a rampage.

  Meanwhile, Jack mulched and watered a new cherry tree in the corner of the yard and prepped flower beds in the front of the house. Once Grady put away the mower and loaded the empty gas can into Jack’s truck, he took over planting the flowers—only teasing Jack a little about the detailed instructions on where each type and color should go—while Jack went to investigate a leaky kitchen sink.

  Grady was just finishing up when he heard raised voices from inside the house. He quickly put away his tools and went to the back door.

  “I’m happy to take care of you, Mom,” Jack said, clearly exasperated.

  “No, you said you have to work. Don’t make yourself a martyr on my account,” Jack’s mother shot back.

  Grady stepped inside and found Margaret still perched on her new couch, another cigarette in hand, while Jack leaned against the kitchen counter, looking frustrated and tired.

  Jack’s mother’s eyes narrowed on Grady. “Why are you here again?”

  Jack closed his eyes as if to gather his strength. “That’s enough, Mom.”

  “I’m here to help Jack,” Grady answered.

  “And he’s only here because he feels guilty,” Jack’s mother informed him. “The day I die will be the best day of his life.”

  “Come on, Mom,” Jack said, visibly upset.

  Grady’s hackles rose, his determination to stay out of their argument sorely tested.

  “It’s true,” she continued, as if she couldn’t see her son’s face. Or just didn’t care. “I’ve been a burden to you since you got out. Since your father died.”

  Jack tried to hide his wince. “Can we not do this? Please?”

  Jack’s mother’s eyebrows went up. “Does he not know you were in prison?” she asked mildly, like she might not be throwing fat on the proverbial fire.

  “He knows,” Grady said.

  Jack winced again.

  She eyed Grady speculatively. “And do you know why?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Grady said, keeping his voice calm to the point of bland and meeting her gaze directly. “According to all witness statements and the security footage, your husband marched into a liquor store carrying an illegal and unregistered gun and helped himself to the cash from the till and a six-pack of beer before fleeing, at which time Jack learned what his father had done, panicked, and drove away with your husband in the car.”

  Jack’s mother rose slowly to her considerable height—which was still most of a foot shorter than Grady. “Who are you to tell me what my husband did?” she asked, looking Grady up and down.

  “Sergeant Grady McDonnough, Royal Canadian Mounted Police Codiac detachment, at your service. I’ve read the full case file, spoken to the detectives who worked on the case, and reviewed the court transcript.”

  Her mouth fell open and hung there. The only motion was the white smoke curling in the air above the cigarette in her hand.

  “Also,” he continued, because in for a penny, in for a pound, “I’m free next Thursday and can drive you to your appointment for your knee.”

  Her mouth snapped closed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m completely serious,” he said with a winning smile. “As long as it’s okay with Jack.”

  Jack looked almost as stunned as his mother, but he gestured as if to say she’s all yours.

  Grady bit back a laugh and turned back to Jack’s mother.

  “Margaret? Can I call you Margaret?”

  She scowled at him. “No.”

  “Maggie?”

  “Never.”

  “Peggy?”

  “Not if you want to live.”

  “Do you have a suggestion, then?” Grady asked, forcing himself to keep a serious expression—which wasn’t easy when Jack had to press a hand over his mouth to smother his laughter.

  “Mrs. Emile Chevalier,” she said in the tone one might use to introduce The Queen of England.

  Jack snorted into his palm.

  Grady grinned. “All right, Mom it is.”

  Jack’s mother growled. Jack’s eyes danced over the top of his hand.

  “Now, Mom, Jack and I have to get going, but I’d be happy to come back with him later in the week. Is there anything in particular I can bring you?”

  “No,” she said with a sniff.

  “Not even a coffee or tea from the Dipsy Doodle Dangle?”

  That got her attention. “Maybe.”

  “I’ll give you my number and if you want something, you can text either one of us. And, of course, if you ever need help and you can’t reach Jack, or he’s at work, you should feel free to contact me instead. Okay?”

  She blinked, clearly surprised by the offer. And maybe not totally opposed.

  Grady would take it as a win, though it had nothing on Jack’s happy smile.

  4

  Jack stood on the center dot of Moncton Arena’s ice sheet and bit his tongue in a bid not to burst into laughter.

  Barnaby was a beautiful and talented man, but he was not a naturally graceful athlete.

  “You’re doing great!” Jack called heartily as Barnaby slowly made his way around the perimeter of the ice from the Zamboni door to the benches.

  Fortunately, none of the campers were around to witness Barnaby’s obscene hand gesture.

  Jack snorted but didn’t offer to help Barnaby, who’d slapped his hands away when he’d dared to offer assistance a few minutes earlier. In a way, he was delighted that Barnaby was legitimately terrible on skates. It was possible that some of the kids would be, too, and putting them through skating lessons alongside Barnaby might help them feel more at ease.

  The radio on Jack’s hip had reported the arrival of the bus from Pathways ten minutes ago. Gabriel Santangelo, the Pathways director, and the other volunteers on the bus had taken the kids to the visitor locker room, where they were being outfitted with equipment donated by the Ice Cats. Jack had originally asked his friends to donate whatever they had, but of course team management—specifically the manager, Rupert Smythe-Morrison, and his husband, Callum Smythe-Morrison, one of the team owners—hadn’t been able to leave it at that.