Page 59 of Holiday Crush

Buzz buzz

I stopped on the corner of Main and Myrtle, and squinted at the text on my cell.

Where are you? I was just at R&G. The meeting went well. Weird. Call me.

Tears welled on cue, blurring and scrambling the letters.

Fuck, this is it.

Everything was ending, tying itself into a neat bow on Christmas Eve.

Of course, it was. I wasn’t a complete idiot, but I’d hoped for a magical alternative outcome…holiday-style. That wasn’t going to happen.

I swallowed around a ball of unwelcome emotion and braced myself against the wind as I turned onto Main Street.

A group of carolers sang “Jingle Bells” in front of the barber shop, Crabby Annie passed out complimentary maple cookies in front of Henderson’s wearing a Santa hat and a horrible holiday sweater with blinking lights, and a group of kids were making a snowman near the fountain across from Town Hall. Elmwood couldn’t have been more idyllic if it tried.

I swallowed my tears and wiped at my eyes, valiantly fighting the urge to cry my heart out. And why? I should have been freaking out about Stacy’s news, not pining over a man I’d known would leave. This wasn’t the universe being unfair; this was me being a fool.

I should have known better than to fall in love with my holiday crush. I should have known some wishes could never come true.

11

COURT

Gary McDermott was slick as fuck, but he knew what he was talking about.

“It’s all about sales and marketing, man. You’re turning thirty-five soon—”

“In February,” I supplied, sneaking a glance out the diner window in the general direction of Rise and Grind.

“Right. Well, not to be a dick, but you’re a mature commodity. I can sell your speed and agility, but what really makes you an asset is your LGBTQ affiliation. The Tritons are trailblazers. They do big Pride celebrations, sell gear on their website, use rainbow tape…the works. As you may know, the NHL has boggled a few opportunities and made poor decisions recently that can’t be undone overnight. You can do an about-face, but it looks bad, right? So…they go to the minors and have their team raise the flags and fix their faux pas. Thanks to Vinnie and Riley, you’re a shoo-in. LA has a contract ready for you to sign. Nice figures, too.”

I blinked at the salary he recited. Almost twice what I’d been paid in Charleston. “Wow.”

Gary sat back and rested his arms on either side of the booth, looking like the cat who’d caught the canary. I supposed he had a right to ’cause…damn, this was more than I’d dreamed of, but it was also…weird. My sexuality had never factored into my game. Ever.

“I know. It’s a doozy of a deal. All you need to do is sign my contract, and I’ll release the Tritons’ contract to you. Sign away and you’ll be in La-La land by January first. We do everything electronically now.” He typed on his iPad. “Gimme your email address, and I’ll have my secretary send you my contract. If you check your phone in five minutes, we should be able to wrap this up before the bill arrives. Hell, I’ve been doing a lot of talking. I need another Diet Coke…and then, I have a plane to catch. Want anything?”

“No, thank you.” I shook my head and fiddled with my cell, glancing from the diner’s starburst chandeliers, sleek counters, and tasteful wreaths hanging from velvet ribbons on the windows.

The diner was a mainstay of my youth. It was catty-corner from the bakery and had been a traditional family breakfast spot for the Henderson clan and a hang out spot for high school jocks. Coach Moore’s family restaurant was known even then for its amazing shakes and fries. Thankfully, he’d almost always been at the rink, but we'd still had to keep the shenanigans to a minimum. Mrs. Moore would report back to the big guy, and no one wanted to be on Coach’s bad side.

However, if neither Moore was around, we’d blow paper wads from straws, toss french fries at each other’s heads, and generally act like hooligans.

None of that would fly in the new Elmwood Diner. This place, like so much of the town, had undergone an extensive renovation. It was a fine dining establishment that just happened to serve burgers…along with fancy farm-to-table fare. Nolan Moore and JC ran a tight ship, too. God help the stupid teenager who ended up facing JC after getting caught throwing sugar packets at their buddies.

I smiled at the thought and looked over at Rise and Grind again. When I was a kid, it had been a donut shop…and not a very good one. Nothing like what Ivan had—

“Oh, I’m grabbing a latte as soon as we’re done here.” Gary pointed out the window, following my gaze. “That place is amazing. The barista made a funky-ass looking lump and called it a wreath, but I gotta tell you, it’s the best latte I’ve had in Vermont. Hands down.”

I nodded in agreement. “Definitely the best.”

“Check your email again. You should have the contract now,” Gary instructed.

I started to obey, but turned my cell over and pushed it away instead. “I don’t think so.”

He blinked in surprise. “You need to think about it? I understand. It’s Christmas Eve and it’s a lot of info. Read through it, talk to Vinnie, your family, your lawyer…whoever, and get back to me the day after the holidays, so we can—”