Page 22

TWENTY

SANTA

My hand twitches at the memory of how warm Charlie’s thigh felt against my palm.

Why did I do that??

Who the fuck knows. I sure as hell don’t.

I’ve never been a super introspective person. I’m more about doing what feels right and moving on to the next thing when the time comes.

And in that moment it felt right to touch Charlie, to try and comfort him.

I’m not sure if I managed it, but I tried, that has to be a good thing, right? Trying to help someone has never been a bad thing as far as I know.

“Can we go to the family room?” I ask tentatively, not sure exactly how I should act after the hand-thigh thing. I’m the one who said we have to put the team first, so I need to back it up now .

“Okay,” he says with a shrug, looking forlorn enough that I find myself wanting to explain myself. It’s not that I don’t want to continue our conversation about the game and our spots on the team, or that I don’t want to be alone with him, and I need him to understand that. Maybe if he does then he’ll lose the sullen look.

“I just want to go say hi to the munchkins.” I’m not proud of the urgency in my words, but like I said, doing what feels right and then moving on. This is me moving on.

Charlie nods, not saying anything or meeting my eyes. We walk in silence out of the suite and straight to the elevator banks. Even though the game ended more than half an hour ago, there are still people around and I catch a few snapping photos of us.

Pirates fans know my reputation. After fifteen years serving them on the ice, I’ve made it very clear by now that I don’t like to be approached as if they know me. Because they don’t.

The only people who truly know me are those who work in this building.

Butcher—my agent, who’s an ex-hockey player and still goes by his nickname—has told me millions of times over the years that I’m lucky they don’t hate me, and I know I am. The most I’ve ever given them outside the ice is a wave like we did before the game, and if I get my way, that’s all I’ll ever have to give.

Charlie doesn’t have the same reputation as me, but thankfully no one approaches him either, so we’re walking into the surprisingly full family room in no time.

“Now everyone’s here.” I hear Jamie’s voice over the crowd, though I can’t see her until some of the guys make way. They all look like they got out of the showers two seconds ago.

“What’s going on?” I hear Charlie ask in a mumble from behind me.

“We have an announcement to make,” Jake Barlow says as he reaches for Jamie’s hand. Jules and Sterling are standing next to them, with Ava in Jules’s arms and Adam in Sterling’s.

A smile stretches over my face when I look at them, I can’t believe Barlow convinced Jamie to lower her standards for him. I mean, she wouldn’t go out on a date with me way back when I met her, and I’m fucking delightful.

“We’re pregnant.”

The manic-sounding announcement doesn’t come from the happy couple but instead from Sterling. Jamie swats him on the arm, and even when he winces at it, he can’t hide the huge fucking smile on his face. Yeah, I know Sterling loves being a dad. Jules is smiling just as big, and Jake, well... he looks like he just won the fucking lottery.

He did, and I’m gonna make sure he knows it.

I don’t care if he’s my boss’s boss or whatever.

Jamie’s my girl and he’s gonna get the shovel talk for sure. I realize it’s especially urgent when Jamie raises her left hand in front of her chest and we all get blinded by the rock on her ring finger.

Applause and cheers ring out over the room, everyone is understandably excited by the news, me included.

I rush forward, willing to fight anyone who gets in my way for the right to the first hug.

“My gorgeous girl,” I cry as I throw my arms around her and squeeze her gently. “Are you happy?” I murmur against her ear when I hear her rattling breath.

“Yeah,” she tells me, tears clear in her voice. “I’m really happy.”

“Then I’m happy for you.” I kiss her cheek noisily and turn to see Jake shaking Charlie’s hand.

“Congratulations,” Charlie says with a smile that seems just a smidge forced. Does he not like Jake?

I go over, when I feel people crowding behind me wanting to hug Jamie too, and clap Jake on the shoulder. Maybe it’s a tad harder than necessary, but it fits the mood.

“You are a lucky man,” I tell him. He smiles and opens his mouth, probably to thank me, but I let my eyes go deadly cold and drop the smile so suddenly he freezes. “Remember that if you ever make her cry, I will come for you.”

“He knows, Santa,” I hear Picard from behind me but don’t drop the eye contact with Jake. “He also knows I’m going to be right there with you.”

“Yeah, all of you will be,” Jake says with a seriousness I appreciate. Especially when the emotion that fills his eyes is gratitude and respect.

“Good.” I nod at him.

I feel Charlie shift beside me so I turn to see him looking more uncomfortable than he has since the first day he walked into the Pirates’ locker room.

“We have to go now. You know we old men need our sleep.”

I steer Charlie to Jamie so he can congratulate her as well, then we say a few quick goodbyes before we’re walking out of the arena again.

Charlie drives this time, and unlike on our way over, I don’t fill the silence with anything I can think to say. I don’t know what I could even say.

I want to ask about his reaction to Jake. I want to know why he was so uncomfortable he looked constipated. I want to know he believed me when I told him we’ll get back on the ice.

But I can’t seem to find the words—or the courage—to ask. Not tonight.

So we ride in silence, and though I can tell something’s bothering him when we arrive at his house, I don’t ask him about it. I just follow him up the stairs and walk into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. We have an early-ish flight all the way over to Miami tomorrow, so some sleep is definitely necessary.

I’m down in the kitchen before Charlie the next day. Wanting to get this show on the road quicker means making breakfast for us.

I don’t mind, in fact I realize how much I missed having a kitchen to cook in.

A proper kitchen, I mean, because the kitchenette in my suite, while perfectly functional, doesn’t have the feel of a homey kitchen.

I’m humming an unrecognizable tune to myself when my phone starts ringing. I turn down the heat on the hash browns and go over to the foyer where my suitcase and my backpack are. On top of the pile sits my phone, and I see Butcher’s calling me.

I wince, knowing I should’ve given him a heads-up about the whole benched thing. He deserves more respect from me. After all, he’s been the most awesome agent for fifteen years.

“Butcher, my man,” I answer jovially, then turn to walk back to the kitchen and put the call on speakerphone. I decide that getting ahead of the scolding is the way to go. “I am sorry I did not tell you about getting benched, I?—”

“Don’t even worry about it. I mean, we’ll talk about it but I have to tell you some news.”

My stomach turns into knots immediately. Did Gab or Jake call him? Did they tell him they’re not renewing my contract? Are they gonna force me to retire? Did Gab give up on her weird plan?

“What is it? ”

“Pirates fans are going ballistic on socials,” he starts. I frown at nothing. What the hell happened? We fucking won last night.

“What? Why?” My mind, more anxious and paranoid than it’s ever been, conjures up a million different disasters that could’ve happened since I saw my team last night.

“Because they fucking benched the two best defensemen in the fucking league,” he says triumphantly. The duh is silent, but I hear it just the same.

“Oh,” is all I can think to say.

“People are not happy, Santa. Some of the posts with more likes and shares are exposing all of your career stats. Sure, they’re talking about Sweetheart too.” I bite back the growl that wants to come out at Butcher calling him that. I really fucking hate that nickname. “But what’s interesting is that the conversation is turning to why you haven’t been acknowledged as one of the greats before.”

My heart starts racing.

This is what I’ve been wanting people to say when talking about me for my whole damn career.

Sure, I’ve had my share of glory, hoisting the Stanley Cup over my head three times, but being celebrated as an individual is new. That elusive James Norris Memorial Trophy... it still haunts me.

“What, uh—” I cut myself off to swallow hard. I have no idea what I’m supposed to say right now. What I should ask, or do .

“How long are you two benched for?” he asks, seemingly unaware of my minor freakout.

“We do not know,” I tell him quietly. Charlie strolls into the kitchen at that moment, and I look him in the eye when I remember my words from last night. “We were punished for fighting during practice,” I confess, and wince at the string of oaths he barks over the phone.

“That’s beneath you, Santa.”

“I know,” I acknowledge, still not looking away from Charlie as he goes about making us a couple of shakes. “Believe me, we both know. But we are good now. They made us move in together, and we have to spend all our time together basically.” I wait for him to say something, and when he doesn’t, I start to ramble. “I promise we are good now, Butcher. And we will go on the roadie today. They have to plan on playing us if they are taking us right?”

His only answer is a non-committal sound. Charlie keeps acting like he’s not listening to a single word I’m saying while I can’t look away. He’s wearing a dark blue suit today, and it looks fucking amazing against his olive skin.

“Well, if you want people to keep talking about how great you are and how much better the team would be doing with you on the ice, then you have to get back on the ice, Santa,” Butcher points out the obvious.

“I will,” I tell him, letting him hear my conviction.

“Then we’ll have more leverage when we start negotiations for your next contract. ”

“Perfect,” I say, though my stomach feels unstable at the thought of having to talk to Gab about any of it. “Anyway, we have to get going, Butcher.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you get back to it. Keep me updated on when you’re gonna get back on the ice.”

“Will do.”

The kitchen is way too silent when I end the call, and I feel like shit for some reason.

I try to figure out why while I make sure the hash browns aren’t burnt and that the scrambled eggs are still warm, then I plate it all, but I come to no conclusion.

“The fans are mad.” My words come out rushed and way too loud when I pass Charlie his plate. He looks up, his black eyes threatening to swallow me up with their intensity.

“Why?” he demands, confirming my suspicions that he didn’t hear the first part of the conversation with Butcher.

“Because we weren’t on the ice last night. They’re...” Fuck, I can’t say it. I just can’t. It would suck, wouldn’t it? To explain to him that people are celebrating me and “discovering” how awesome I am while their thoughts on Charlie have stayed the same.

But it’s because they already knew how fucking good a hockey player he is.

And now they’re finding out I’m just as good as he is.

Is that what made me feel like shit?

Whether it was or wasn’t is irrelevant. I have to keep the conversation with Charlie going so I don’t get distracted again and touch him... or more.

“Apparently they’re finally realizing how fucking awesome I am.”

I get the reaction I want; he snorts and starts eating while I keep boasting like a narcissistic frat boy.

“Yes, apparently,” I start, pulling shit out of nowhere. “They’re realizing I should’ve been named the best defenseman on the ice a bunch of times and haven’t. They think it’s a disgrace that I wasn’t on the ice last night. Saying how we would’ve probably had a shutout had I been down there.”

Charlie looks back up, his face set in an impassive expression but I see the humor in his eyes. Those eyes tell me everything.

“You’re really hung up on that, huh?”

“I mean...” I trail off with a shrug and get a start on my own breakfast.

“Nikolay,” he says way too seriously. I expect his eyes to look just as serious, but there’s even more mirth in them now.

“What?” I ask, not having a single clue what he’s about to say.

He leans in a little and unleashes a devilish smirk on me. Not gonna lie, my heart kind of stops for a second.

“You could play for ten more seasons and never win more James Norris Memorial Trophies than me.” I want to kiss that smirk off his face so bad. It would also have the added benefit of shutting up that condescending tone.

I frown at him, willing myself to keep the mood lighthearted, because surprisingly his words don’t sting. They just turned the heat to an inferno.

“And you could play for ten more seasons and never have as many Stanley Cup wins as I do,” I toss back.

“True,” he admits with a nod and settles back on his chair. “Isn’t it great that we have a shot at getting you one of those trophies and getting me a chance to hoist the Stanley Cup, though?” He raises an eyebrow at me and goes back to eating as if he didn’t just light a different kind of fire under me.

How is it possible that I’ve never wanted anything more?

I want to be there when he holds that legendary cup over his head. I want to see his face when they give us our rings. And I want him to clap for me when I’m named the best defenseman in the league.

If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make both our dreams come true.

We arrive at the small airport outside the city earlier than planned, but I’m fine with that. With any luck, I’ll be able to sit next to Bear during the flight and maybe get a chance to cool down a little .

Laney—who’s starting to go a bit overboard in my opinion—has other plans, though.

“You two are sitting together.”

I keep my mouth shut and lead Charlie to the second last row, where I always sit with Bear, and send him a look so he’ll sit in the window seat. I like to be able to get up whenever I feel like it, and since I’ve been keeping my distance all season, I have no clue if he’s a sleeper or what.

There are some guys already here but over the next twenty minutes the whole plane fills up. I’m surprised when the two seats across the aisle from ours stay empty, but when Jules and Bear stroll down, I realize this was probably planned.

“We need to talk,” Jules says in his captain voice. Then he tells the eight players around us to listen to some music, his tone giving no room for argument. And they don’t argue, because we rarely do with Jules. He might not be the oldest guy on the team, but we’re all well aware he knows better than us.

I don’t dare look back at Charlie to see his reaction to this ambush—because that’s what this is. I don’t think Bear and Jules want to talk to me about the kiss I told them about just two days ago, but I’m still acutely aware that any mention of it right now could make things awkward with Charlie.

“You two know we need you, right?” Jules asks once we’re all settled and the plane starts moving.

“We know,” Charlie answers from next to me .

“Last night was a fluke,” Bear says, leaning forward in his window seat to look over at us.

I make sure to keep my back completely pressed to my backrest so Charlie can see them, and my eyes don’t leave Jules’s even when Bear speaks.

“What do you mean?” Charlie asks.

“It means we got lucky. New York started to get sloppy and your tips really helped the young guys, but if we want to win enough games to get to the playoffs in good enough shape to win it all, we need you guys on the ice.”

“We know that,” I say, maybe with more force than warranted.

“ Both of you,” Jules tells me, with just as much hostility in his tone.

“Picard, I am telling you we are good.” I point my thumb at Charlie without looking. “I have no issues with Charlie anymore.” We enter a staring contest that’s only broken when Charlie clears his throat.

“We really are.” I do turn to look at him this time. “We’re turning into besties,” he says, with just enough humor to have us all snorting at him. He’s great at that—making people relax.

When those people let him , I think with regret. God, I wasted so much time hating him. And all because I was jealous before I heard his words. Jealous enough to be willing to believe he was a seriously bad human.

I should probably talk about that with him too... at some point .

“Yes,” I continue and look back at Bear and Jules. “We are behaving and doing everything they asked us to do. We will be on the ice in no time.” I nod to emphasize, and I can see Bear’s happy with my words, but Jules looks skeptical.

“Heart, Mater wants to talk to you about some of the notes you gave the guys last night. Why don’t you go over there when we’re leveled off?”

I smell another ambush coming but keep my mouth shut.

“Yeah, sure,” Charlie says, and we sit back for takeoff.

Ten minutes later when the seatbelt sign goes out, I stand to let Charlie pass, and this time it’s Jules giving me the look , so with an epic eye roll, I slide into the window seat.

“What now?” I grumble, really hoping he’s still not going to ask about the whole kissing-a-man thing even though Charlie’s clearly out of earshot.

“What the fuck did he say to you to get you to stop hating him?” he hisses, leaning in. I understand this is something he doesn’t want anyone to hear, so I speak softly too.

“He explained the circumstances.” I feel like that’s enough information, but I’m quickly proven wrong when Jules only gets more agitated.

“You’ve hated him for years. He’s actually the only person you’ve ever hated, and you got over it with an explanation ?!”

Okay, when he puts it that way . . .

“Look,” I start and shift in my seat. “It was a huge misunderstanding. I am not going to go into details because it is inconsequential now... I thought he had made fun of someone specific, but turns out he was making fun of someone else. Someone who deserved to be made fun of,” I clarify.

Jules looks like he’s trying to process every word carefully, so I give him time.

“Just like that?” he asks, clearly trying to make sure I’m not just bullshitting him.

“Just like that,” I confirm. Then I sigh, and expand as much as I feel I can. “I am not saying it just disappeared—the hate—but I am getting used to talking to him by reminding myself of the truth. Of the reality. Hating him was like pushing a giant boulder up a hill, and now all that weight is gone it is like it was never there to begin with. I made the boulder up because I was already resentful toward Heart to begin with, because of all the comparisons. I have accepted that now—my part in it all.”

Again, Jules takes a long moment to think over everything I just said, and I appreciate it, I really do. He’s always been thoughtful and analytical.

“Yeah, he’s never seemed like a bad guy, certainly not bad enough to do something to piss you off that much.”

I take that as the peace offering it is. He won’t push me to tell him the minute details of it all. The relief is short lived when my phone lights up with two texts.

Max

I saw you got benched.

Are you okay?

I delete them in the practiced way I’ve developed over the last few years, and Jules’s sigh from next to me tells me he read what they said.

“You’re still doing that, huh?” he asks, in a deceptively easy tone.

“Yup,” I answer simply. Then again I feel like I owe him more. He’s been the one to be with me for it all—him and Bear and Mater—so yeah, I do owe him this . “I know what you think about it, so it will be best for us if we do not discuss it any longer.”

Jules allows me only a second of silence.

“You’re going to regret it,” he tells me, not unkindly.

I shake my head.

“I already have more than enough regrets for a lifetime.” And this one won’t be one of them , I add silently.

Jules stands and claps me on the shoulder silently, then walks up the aisle to get into his seat next to Mater.

I see Bear giving me a painfully sympathetic smile from across the airplane, and this time I can’t be grateful for it.

Charlie comes back, and I stand to let him pass, then take my seat again. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his lips are naturally turned up at the corners, and the relaxed look of his shoulders, tells me that whatever he talked about with Mater helped him—unlike anything I said to him last night.

Jealousy burns in my gut. I know it well, having felt it for so many years when it comes to Charlie. But this time I’m not jealous of him .

God, I have to get rid of this fucking feeling. All the feelings. They need to be burned and buried.

But it’s not that easy. When is anything?

I reach into my backpack and pull out my big headphones, the ones that are like a sign to anyone around me that says in big, bold letters, “DON’T TALK TO ME.”

It’s not until Charlie has done the same, though, that I play music.