Page 77 of Breaking the Pucking Rules (LA Vipers #1)

CASEY

F or almost as long as I can remember, the days leading up to the holiday season get exponentially harder.

Every year, I tell myself that it’ll get easier. Every year, I’m wrong.

I’m hopeful that this year might just be the one that the grief and loss won’t be quite so bad. It’ll be there. It’ll always be there. But less, maybe.

Kodie has been the best distraction, as has his daughter.

As promised, he and the Vipers slaughtered his old team, winning yet another shutout game. They also won their next home and road games. They’re killing it this season. They’ve got their eyes on the playoffs and the cup, and honestly, I think they’ve got a good chance.

But of course, better than all of that, Sutton and the Polar Bears won their home game, and there were no injuries or trips to the ER. I call that a double win. There was no way I could deal with a repeat of that experience quite so soon.

Kodie has mostly kept my mind off the impending holidays, but with him on the road and needing to be at home with Sutton, he’s not here as much as I’d really like.

I miss him something awful.

I know it’s early—we’re not even public with our relationship yet— but I need more.

Does that make me a crazy-obsessed puck bunny who always needs more than players are willing to give? I really fucking hope not.

Showing him my scrapbooks the other night was the most mortifying thing I’ve ever experienced. Fuck knows why I told him.

His reaction, though...I never could have predicted that.

I shake my head, my heart so full of love for a man I’ve adored from afar for so many years.

I pull into Dad’s driveway with a lump in my throat and emotion burning my eyes.

Holidays without Mom are awful.

It doesn’t matter how many years pass; the hole she left is still as huge and raw as ever.

Pulling my cell out, I send Kodie one final message.

As much as I might want our exchange to continue, we both need to focus on our families today.

I hope that maybe one day, we could be celebrating together as one big family.

But today, we have to be strong for our parents and make the best of a day where we’re to be thankful, even if those we love aren’t with us.

Casey: I can’t wait until later. I’m so thankful for you and everything you’ve brought to my life.

The dots start bouncing immediately as if he is sitting waiting for a message.

55: That’s a really lovely way to say you’re thankful for my dick, Trouble.

I roll my head as a laugh huffs out of me.

Casey: I’m thankful for a whole lot more than just your dick. I’ll show you later.

55: Is it bedtime yet?

Casey: Give Sutton a hug from me x

Dropping my cell into my purse, I push the door open and climb from my car.

To my disbelief, Dad didn’t say a word about bumping into me at the arena the next morning. He didn’t even look at me suspiciously.

Maybe I didn’t lie as badly as I thought I had. Or maybe it was his exhaustion from road games and traveling. Whatever it was, I’m grateful, because it’s given me a little more time to try and figure out how I’m going to tell him about Kodie.

There’s a part of me that believes it’ll be fine. Dad only wants the best for me, and being with Kodie makes me happier than I’ve ever been in my life. But also…all he’s ever told me is to stay away from his players.

And now, I’ve fallen in love with one.

With my heart in my throat, I make my way to my childhood home. I’ve got so many amazing memories under this roof. But I also have a lot of painful ones.

I understand why Dad never wanted to move out. Mom is everywhere we look. But at times, I’ve wondered if it’s held us back.

As soon as I move toward the front door, it opens, and I find my dad standing there in a shirt and slacks, just like he still does for every holiday, because Mom loved it when we all dressed up.

“Care Bear,” he announces, allowing me to hear the crack in his voice.

He might be putting on a good show, like he’s done every year since she’s passed, but he still feels the loss just as potently as I do.

“Daddy, Happy Thanksgiving,” I say stepping into his arms and hugging him as tightly as he does me.

I want to say that the house smells amazing and my stomach rumbles on cue, but that’s not the case.

“Did you put the turkey in at the time I told you?”

I look up just in time to watch guilt pass over his face.

“I forgot to set my alarm,” he confesses.

“Dad,” I laugh as I slip past him and into the house. “You promised you had it under control.”

In the past, I’ve stayed over the night before to take care of the cooking. I’m not a good cook, and neither is Dad, but we’ve managed over the years. But last night, I couldn’t be here. How was I going to sneak a six-foot-five hockey god into the house without anyone realizing?

Of course, I didn’t tell Dad the real reason for staying away this year, and thankfully, he didn’t question me. Instead, he just assured me that he had it all under control.

Apparently, he did not.

Walking straight over to the oven, I peer inside to find our turkey not quite as cooked or as golden as it should be by this time.

“So…dinner is going to be late then,” I deadpan.

“Meh, it’s not like we’ve got anyone else waiting for it.”

His words are meant to be a joke, but they fall a little far from the mark.

“Right, well, roll your sleeves up, old man. We’ve got to prep the rest.”

“Less of that,” he mutters as he does as he’s told and walks to the sink to wash his hands.

I chuckle, but it doesn’t come as easy as it would on any other day.

We work seamlessly, getting the rest of our dinner prepped before we reward ourselves with a beer and head for the couch to watch the parade.

Dad sits in the spot he has for as long as I remember, and I curl my feet beneath me in the corner of the sectional where Mom used to sit.

It weirdly makes me feel closer to her, knowing that if she were still here, this is exactly where she’d be.

Well, unless she was fussing with everything in the kitchen to ensure we had the most perfect day.

She always tried so hard, ensuring we had all the trimmings.

But in reality, all we needed was each other.

Dad and I didn’t care about having the most succulent turkey or the perfect pumpkin pie.

Thanksgiving was never about the food; it was about family, and it was never more obvious than the year we became a member short.

I let out a pained sigh as one of the alarms on my cell bleeps, uncurling my legs and standing.

“I know it’s hard, Care Bear. But it’s getting better, right?” The emotion in Dad’s voice is like a knife through my chest.

He needs me to give him hope, but I’m not sure how much I have.

“She’d want us to keep living. She’d want us smiling, laughing, and making the best of life.

” I swear, I say something like this every holiday season, but it feels different this year.

Something has shifted in me, and there’s this nagging feeling inside me that I’m finally going to be able to enjoy the holidays again—all the while leaving Dad behind to continue grieving.

“It’s okay to move on, Dad. To find happiness elsewhere. It doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten or that you don’t still love her.”

He swallows thickly, his eyes glistening.

My stomach knots with regret. I hate pushing him. I know that when the time is right, when the woman is right, he’ll do what he needs to do. It’s just that sometimes…sometimes I feel like he needs to have my permission to do so.

He has it. And I’d hope he knows that—I’ve said it enough over the years. But hearing it and acting on it are two very different things.

A lthough it’s a few hours later than planned, Dad and I sit down to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. It’s delicious and, like always, way too much food for two people.

While Dad watches football, I put the leftovers into containers and fill his fridge and freezer. At least it should stop him from ordering takeout every night when he’s home for a while.

Guilt rushes through my veins every time I glance at my watch, my cell, or the clock on the kitchen wall. I shouldn’t be wishing the day away, but my need to be with Kodie is getting unbearable. He’s going to make everything that’s awful about today better, and I can’t wait.

When the time finally comes, I slip my feet into my heels and grab my purse from the hallway before walking into the living room.

There’s a huge part of me that wants to change my mind when Dad looks up at me with sad eyes.

“That time already, huh?” he asks.

“I can stay.” The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to catch them.

A second passes, and then another as I wait.

“What? Don’t be silly. You said it yourself earlier. She’d want us to be living our lives and laughing. Go, spend time with your friends. Family isn’t just about blood, Casey. Family is also those we choose.”

I nod, the lump of emotion in my throat too huge to force out any words.

“Go, Care Bear. Call me tomorrow?”

“Of course. Please try not to drink all the beer in the fridge.”

He chuckles, which is basically confirmation that he will.

“And it’s not too late for you to go out with friends as well, you know,” I whisper as I kiss his cheek.

He mutters some kind of agreement that I know is a whole heap of bullshit before I leave him with a fresh bottle of beer, waiting for the next quarter to start.

“Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Care Bear. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he calls before I pull the front door open and slip out into the mild fall evening.

Yeah…we’ll see about that.

The second I’m in my car, I set my GPS to the address Kodie gave me earlier and blow out a large breath.

Like Dad, he lives on the outskirts of the city. It’s not too far away, and thanks to its suburban location, I shouldn’t need to worry about the press catching me. Something I wouldn’t be able to say if he lived in a fancy penthouse in the city center like Linc and most of the other guys.

In an attempt to distract myself from my nerves, I turn up the volume on my favorite playlist and press my foot to the gas.

In only a few minutes, I’m going to be inside Kodie Rivers' house, and hopefully soon after, his bed.

A laugh bubbles up, filling the car.

This could be up there as one of the best Thanksgivings I’ve ever had.

As I pull into his large driveway, his front door opens, revealing the man himself standing there in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, I upgrade that thought. And fuck, am I thankful.