Page 26

Chapter 26

Christmas Blues

Miles

T he apartment was too quiet, even with the game rerun playing low on the TV. I hadn’t turned on the lights, just the small tree in the corner, which blinked like it was trying to make up for the rest of the room. I hadn’t bothered to finish decorating it, just three mismatched ornaments dangling like they were ashamed to be there. Honestly, same.

Christmas used to mean something. A reason to head home, see my family, feel useful. But this year? My parents were on a cruise in the Caribbean for some last-minute “we finally deserve a real vacation” moment, and my younger sister had a wife, a new baby, and zero time for her older sibling. For the first time ever, I had nowhere to go.

And that was starting to sink in.

My phone buzzed beside me on the couch.

Nora: I’m coming over tonight. Need to give you your Christmas present before I leave for LA tomorrow. Also, it’s ridiculous I’ve never seen your apartment. Address, please.

I stared at it, my heart doing that thing it always did when her name lit up my screen. She had no idea what this year had done to me. How much I’d needed someone or something to remind me I still mattered.

Me: You don’t have to do that. I can swing by yours.

Nora: Nope. Not happening, Collins. I’m coming to you. Address or I’ll get it from the team directory.

Me: Fine. But lower your expectations. Like... way down.

Nora: *Santa emoji*

I sent her my address, tossed my phone onto the couch, and looked around my apartment like I was seeing it for the first time. It wasn’t messy—I’d never been one for clutter—but it felt... impersonal. Like a place someone lived in out of necessity, not choice.

The walls were still that bland beige they came with when I moved in last year. I’d told myself I’d paint. Hang more art. Make it feel like home. But back then, I’d been waiting and hoping that my girlfriend at the time would move in with me. That we’d pick colors together. Fill the place with our stuff. Our life.

She’d broken things off a month later.

I’d stayed and didn’t change a thing. Just kept living around the emptiness.

The only personal touch was the shelf in the corner lined with Lego sets I’d built. Tiny pieces clicked into place when the rest of my life didn’t.

For the next few hours, I busied myself with cleaning and arranging and rearranging the few personal items I had on display. A framed photo of my parents on their thirtieth anniversary. A puck from my first NHL goal. A picture of my sister Amy on her wedding day.

My chest tightened as I looked at the photo of Amy, radiant in her wedding dress. She used to need me. When we were kids and our parents were working extra to pay for my hockey, I was the one who walked her to school, who helped with her homework, who made sure she had what she needed.

And now? She was spending Christmas with her in-laws in Colorado, starting new traditions with her new family. My parents were somewhere sipping drinks with tiny umbrellas.

And where did that leave me? In an apartment that felt more like a waiting room than a home.

But what was I waiting for?

I finished cleaning and sat down on my couch, beer in hand. The TV droned on with some highlight reel from last season that I wasn’t really watching until Dominic’s face flashed on screen, celebrating a goal against the Bruins. My stomach twisted in a way that was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

I was happy for him. I really was. The moment in the ultrasound room when he’d whispered “Baby Wilson,” I was relieved. Genuinely relieved. After weeks of watching him try to find his footing, seeing him finally step up had lifted a weight off my shoulders.

But apparently that weight had moved somewhere else inside me. Because now there was this hollow ache spreading behind my ribs when I thought about what came next.

If Dominic was showing up now, then of course Nora would choose him. That’s what people did, right? They chose the father of their child. They made it work and built a family. And maybe that’s exactly what Nora should do.

I’d been raised by two parents who loved each other, even if they worked so much I’d barely seen them. The baby deserved that chance too.

But the thought of stepping aside, of going back to being just Nora’s... what? Former fake boyfriend? Placeholder? It left me hollowed out in a way I hadn’t expected.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to get my shit together before Nora arrived. What was wrong with me? I’d known from the beginning this was temporary. A favor for a friend. A way to protect them both.

So why did it feel like I was the one who needed protection now?

The buzz of the intercom made me jump.

I set my beer down so quickly it sloshed over the rim, darkening a spot on the coffee table. For a second, I stared at it, watching the liquid spread like I wasn’t the one responsible for cleaning it up.

The intercom buzzed again.

“Coming!” I called, wiping up the spill with the sleeve of my sweatshirt before crossing to the door. I pressed the button. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Nora’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Let me in, it’s freezing out here.”

I buzzed her up, pulse racing a little too fast. A minute later, she knocked. I opened the door to find her bundled in a red parka, cheeks pink from the cold, a gift bag in one hand and a larger paper sack in the other. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, catching the light like something out of a dream I wasn’t supposed to have.

I stepped back, and she crossed the threshold and paused for a second, looking at me.

“Hi,” she said softly, like the word carried more weight than usual.

“Hi.” I closed the door behind her, trying not to read into the way her eyes lingered.

Should I hug her? Kiss her cheek? Shake her hand? What was the protocol when your best friend was falling for your fake girlfriend who you’d somehow started falling for too?

“You okay?” She set her bags down and took off her gloves and coat.

“Yeah, just tired.” I waved a hand vaguely, not quite meeting her eyes. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? I think I have some hot chocolate somewhere...”

“I’m fine.” She watched me with that piercing gaze that always made me feel like she could see right through me. “Miles.”

“Hmm?”

“What’s wrong? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because I can tell something’s off.”

I let out a breath, shrugging like it didn’t weigh a thousand pounds. “Just holiday blues, I guess. It happens.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she let it drop, reaching for the gift bag instead. “Well, I brought you something that might help with that.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” I felt suddenly awkward. Why was it so much harder to get gifts than to give them? “Hang on. Let me grab yours.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she echoed, laughing.

I smirked, already walking over to the little cluster of gifts under my sad excuse for a tree. I picked up the one with the silver wrapping paper with snowflakes and brought it back to the couch.

She set her gift bag on the coffee table between us. “Open mine first.”

I sat down next to her, close enough that I could smell her perfume. I grabbed the bag and pulled out the tissue paper, revealing a Lego box nestled inside with the brand-new Star Wars release I hadn’t even bothered trying to buy because it sold out in seconds.

“How did you…?”

“You mentioned it. That you build them after road trips to decompress.” She shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I started tracking the release and got lucky.”

“You remembered that?” I looked up at her, genuinely stunned. Everyone usually got me hockey stuff. Or gift cards.

“Of course I did.” She bumped her knee against mine. “You think I don’t pay attention to you, Miles?”

Something caught low in my throat. One random comment, weeks ago, and she’d remembered. She’d noticed.

“Thank you,” I said, fingers still brushing the box. “This is... perfect.”

“You’re welcome.” Her smile softened. “Now gimme.”

I handed her my gift, nervous in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

She tore into it with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old, making me smile for real. Inside was a leather-bound journal, the cover buttery soft and embossed with a simple butterfly pattern. She ran her fingers over it.

“I thought you might want to document everything,” I said quietly. “It’s acid-free paper so it’ll last forever.”

She looked up at me, eyes shining. “It’s beautiful.”

I gave a small shrug, unsure how to sit still under her attention.

She traced the edge of the journal for a second, then tilted her head. “Now are you going to tell me what’s really going on with you?”

I tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sigh. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me? Yes.”

I leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know where I fit anymore, Nora.”

“What do you mean?”

“In all of this.” I gestured vaguely. “You’ve got Carter, who’s all in, no hesitation. You’ve got Dominic, who’s finally stepping up. And me? I’m what? The guy who fills in the gaps? The helper? The placeholder?” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I don’t blame you. I just don’t know where that leaves me.”

She was quiet for a second, and when I finally glanced at her, she was watching me like she saw every thought I was trying to hide. “You think that’s all you are to me?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have one.

She reached for my hand. “You’re not a placeholder, Miles. I don’t know exactly where this is heading. But I do know I want you there, wherever ‘there’ turns out to be.”

I looked at her skeptically. “And if Dominic decides he doesn’t want Carter and me in the picture?” Because that’s really what it boiled down to; he was the father of her baby.

She rolled her eyes. “Dominic doesn’t get to decide; I do. It’s my life, and yeah, it’s unconventional, but I’ve seen it work. Paige and her guys are happy. We just have to find our rhythm now and be honest with each other. And that includes admitting this isn’t fake anymore.”

She squeezed my hand, then stood up with a spark in her eyes. “Which reminds me!” She darted over to grab the paper bag she’d left by the door. “I brought sugar cookies to decorate. Consider it our first official date activity.”

“Sugar cookies?” I couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden change of topic. “That’s your grand romance plan?”

“Hey.” She pointed a finger at me, trying to look stern but failing. “Don’t knock the Christmas magic of frosting therapy.”

As she pulled out containers of premade cookies and various frostings, I watched her. This woman who’d crashed into my life and upended everything. Who remembered the little things. Who wasn’t making empty promises.

I grabbed a tube of green icing. “All right, Hastings, prepare to be amazed by my cookie decorating skills.”

Her laugh filled my apartment, making it feel, for the first time in a long time, like a home.