Page 19

Chapter nineteen

Rebecca

Three days before Christmas, Dad and Jill arrive. “Merry Christmas, Becca.” Dad greets me with a hug.

“Hi, Dad. It’s not Christmas yet.” I relax into his arms. I’d not realized how starved for human touch I’d become recently.

The last person I touched outside of work was Holt.

When he kissed me.

Three weeks ago.

No, I’m not counting.

Okay, fine. Yes, I am. And now I’m thinking about that night. Again. I push all thoughts of Holt away and instead focus on the fact my family is here for Christmas.

“My turn. My turn,” Jill singsongs, and I giggle as she pushes my father aside to hug me. Although no one could move Calvin Jansen unless he wanted to be moved, even now at the ripe old age of sixty-eight, it’s more like he gets out of her way. “Hey, Becca.”

“We have a little while before we should leave for the arena. Can I get you something to drink or eat?” I ask when we’ve moved into the living room and they get comfortable on the couch.

The one thing my dad requested we do while he and Jill were in town for the holidays, was go to a hockey game. He claimed, and I quote, he wanted to see where I worked and who I worked for. I was happy to oblige and got tickets from the marketing department for today’s game .

“Sit down.” Dad points to the chair next to the couch. “You’re making me nervous standing there. Hovering. We need to talk.”

“What’s up?” I sit down, trying to hide the nerves in my voice. Is he sick? Is Jill sick? They look the same they always do. A little older, but still as healthy and happy as usual.

“Mason called.”

My heart stops for a second. It’s never anything good when my brother calls. “H-he what?”

“He called. Last week.”

“Oh.” I study my hands suddenly, very interested in the small cut on my thumb. “What’d he say?”

“A lot. Becca, he sounded the way he used to.” That gives me pause, and I meet my dad’s eyes, wondering if he means what I think he does. “He’s been sober for over a month.”

I try not to get my hopes up. Mason’s been to rehab more times than I care to remember. Usually, his sobriety lasts a couple of weeks before he’s back to his old habits. I’m not sure he’s ever lasted a month before.

“That’s good.”

“He asked about you. Said he called you but hadn’t heard back. Asked me if I had any idea why you haven’t returned his call,” Dad says.

I close my eyes, remembering all the hurtful things Mason said the last time we talked.

How it was my fault he was an addict. That I should have known better, being the older sibling.

That I shouldn’t have introduced him to my then boyfriend’s little brother, because that was the gateway to his drug addiction.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to him.” My voice cracks with emotion.

Jill clears her throat, and I blink open my eyes. “Maybe now isn’t the time to talk about this.”

My father nods.

I stand, needing a moment to collect myself. “Be right back.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder before all but running out of the room and into the kitchen.

Blinking rapidly to stop the tears that are threatening to fall, I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with tap water.

I take a few steadying inhales before gulping the water down.

Setting the empty glass down, I lean against the counter and hang my head.

Someone comes up behind me, but I don’t move from where I’m staring down at the sink.

“Are you okay?” Jill asks, rubbing my back.

I shrug, sucking in a breath. We’re silent for a few seconds, her rubbing circles on my back, and me trying to collect myself.

“Every time I talk to Mason it ends badly.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, but think about it. He sounds better. Your father didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know. I’m going to get changed so we can leave.” I kiss her on the cheek. “Thanks, Jill.”

“Sure thing, doll.”

After getting changed into my Storm jersey, and grabbing everything I need, I sit on the chair I vacated earlier and pull on my sneakers. “We should go so we can beat traffic.”

“We’re ready whenever you are,” Dad says, standing.

The drive to the arena is quiet, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Parking and getting through security is a quick process, especially with my employee badge, and pretty soon we’re walking down the aisle to our seats at center ice, in the 200 level.

“These are great seats,” Jill says.

“They are,” Dad agrees.

As much as I’ve come to love sitting close to the glass, it’s not the best place to see all the action.

That’s why I picked these seats. We’re higher up and will have a better view of what’s going on.

What I didn’t take into account is that we’re sitting directly across from the Storm’s bench.

I don’t have time to contemplate my choice and what it might mean because both teams take to the ice for warm-ups.

“Your team’s goalie is intimidating.”

“Huh?” I turn to my stepmom, unsure if I heard her correctly.

“I swear he’s watching us.” She points toward the ice.

I turn to look directly in front of the Storm’s bench where Holt—because of course he’s the goalie tonight—is doing splits and staring right at us .

But there’s no way, right? He’s probably so focused on his pregame prep he doesn’t even realize who we are. The last time I saw him play, I noticed how he didn’t even blink during his warm-ups.

Why is it so hot watching him stretching on the ice like that?

I shouldn’t stare. I really shouldn’t. But I’m not the only one. And at least I’m not taking videos and pictures the way the woman a few rows in front of us is.

Before I can avert my gaze, Wes and Hunter skate over to him. They exchange words then turn in our direction. Holt stands up, shakes his head, and says something to the guys before skating over to the net.

“Shit,” I mutter as Wes and Hunter raise their sticks and wave at us.

“You’re popular,” Dad says.

I shake my head, leaning around Jill to address him. “It’s just the way they are.”

He studies me for a second. “You sure about that?”

I flap my hand at him. “Yes.”

He lets out a huff of laughter but stays silent.

I turn back around to focus on the guys warming up, trying to ignore what my dad said, but I can’t help but peek over at Holt, once or twice. Okay, a bunch of times.

I’m checking to make sure he’s doing alright. I’m not thinking about how hot it is that he can do splits, and that he’s so flexible. Nope. Not at all. I’m also not wondering what positions he can get into in bed. Why am I thinking about him in bed? He’s off limits.

Finally, warm-ups end, and the guys leave the ice. I fidget in my seat before finally standing.

“Anyone want a drink or anything? I’m going to use the bathroom before the game starts.”

“A beer would be great,” Dad says, pulling out his wallet.

“I got it,” I tell him.

“I’m fine, dear,” Jill says.

I’m walking out of the women’s bathroom a few minutes later when Sutton appears.

“Rebecca,” she says, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “How are you? Where are you sitting? ”

“In section 208. I’m here with my dad and stepmom. Figured they’d enjoy watching the game from there.”

“You could have used the box, you know.”

“Thanks, but I thought they’d want to be closer to the ice. Maybe next time.”

“Makes sense.” I turn to walk away. “Wait, while I have you.” I turn back to her. “Remember how you told me at happy hour, which, by the way, we should plan another one, to tell you when I’m going to another speed dating event? There’s one this Friday, the twenty-eighth. Go with me? Please.”

“Sounds fun. Count me in.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think twice, and I internally cringe.

Speed dating, and talking to random strangers, is not my idea of a fun night. But maybe I’ll meet a nice guy. Someone to see casually here and there when our schedules allow it. Someone to take my mind off the Storm’s starting goalie, who I can’t stop thinking about.

“Wonderful. I’ll text you the details. I’ve got to check on a few things. Have a good Christmas.”

“You too.”

She waves before pivoting on her heel and disappearing into the crowd.

I walk over to the concession stand, trying not to think about what I just agreed to.

No use agonizing over it now.

Besides, it’s a good idea.

Most definitely.

Maybe.