Page 35 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

My week has arrived.

It’s December 23. And it’s time to celebrate Christmas.

I sit crisscross on Beckham’s bed, sorting through a box of ornaments I just picked up on clearance at Home Joy. Because Valentine’s Day is already starting to appear on the shelves, they have to start marking down Christmas to make room for more merchandise.

And it’s a perfect time to begin picking up stuff on sale.

I select a blown-glass gingerbread man ornament with pink icing and smile. I can still put these up in the kitchen. Yes, I know it’ll only be up for a little while now—I usually take the decor down January 2—but I can still enjoy it for the moment.

I think I’m going to celebrate everything today. I’m in love, it’s Christmas, and I’m sharing it all with Beckham.

I grin as thoughts of Beckham fill my head. He’s in the shower right now, getting ready to go to the arena for his last game before Christmas break. This month has been a whirlwind of activity, and I’ve loved it all. We’ve had hockey games. The team holiday party. I’ve had shows and my sales have been through the roof. I’ve been busy painting more jars as inventory keeps selling out.

A problem I never ever thought I’d have.

And it’s a problem I will never ever take for granted.

When Beckham has been in town, I’ve practically lived with him. On nights when he didn’t have a game, we went out to eat. Got coffee. Spent nights cuddled up on the sofa watching cheesy Christmas movies and then action flicks when Beckham said he needed a palate cleanser.

I’ve also spent time with my friends. I had a Christmas cookie exchange party. I invited Ella, Chloe, Scarlett, Becca, and Emilee, and everyone got on well and it was a lot of fun.

It’s been a whirlwind of a holiday season. But even with all the activity, I missed Beckham whenever he was on the road. We had our Connectivity Video Chats, but I couldn’t wait for him to come home.

I swallow. I know why.

It’s because I love him.

I’ve been fighting labeling it for so long. For stupid reasons. Like it’s too soon. I don’t know him well enough. All the things people tell you that you should think before declaring you love someone.

The truth is, I’ve loved him for a while now. I kept telling myself I was falling in love, but I know now, without a doubt, it was love the whole time. I know this man. I know what is in his heart.

And I know what is in mine.

Beckham is exactly what I needed, but never knew it. He supports me. Believes in me. Makes me laugh. Challenges me. He’s fierce and protective and loyal. I love the way he looks at me. Touches me.

And I love the way he loves me.

Beckham has a game tonight, but then I get him all to myself for his Christmas break. His next hockey game isn’t until the twenty-eighth.

Okay, so not all to myself, since we’ll spend Christmas with my wheels-off family, but still. A lot to myself.

I can’t wait to shower him with Christmas happiness and love.

And tell him I love him on Christmas Eve.

An excited shiver races through me at the thought of it. Beckham told me his family tradition is to open presents on Christmas Eve, and he hasn’t experienced it since he began playing professional hockey. I’m going to surprise him with all his presents on Christmas Eve, and then I’m going to tell him how I fell in love with him.

And I cannot wait to say those words to him.

But first, we have a game tonight. I get up, as I’m going to treat myself to some cozy clothing and hot chocolate for the next few hours before I go to the arena. I have a drawer in Beckham’s dresser, and I pull out my pink long-sleeved T-shirt with the vintage Santa on it—complete with the pink hat that Beckham loathes—and a pair of pink drawstring shorts with blue snowflakes all over them. Then I put on my fuzzy gingerbread woman slippers. I work my hair into braids around my head, and by the time Beckham appears in the doorway wrapped in nothing but a towel, I grin up at him from the bed, playfully posing with my head propped up on my elbow.

“You want to pin me to the mattress and take me right now, don’t you?” I tease.

“Well, I do. Because I always want to have sex with you. But I also want to get you out of that sickening outfit. What are those? ” he abruptly asks, screwing up his face and pointing to my feet.

“Gingerbread lady slippers,” I say, playfully flexing my feet at him. “I picked them up today at Home Joy.”

He snorts. “You should have left those at Home Joy. Those look like Chewbacca.”

“They do not!”

He grins. “They do.”

Then he turns around and walks into his closet.

I frown. Hmm. That’s too bad. I was rather enjoying the view of him in a towel, with the beads of water dripping down his chiseled body, but the man has to go to work and I don’t want to delay him.

“Well, unless Chewbacca is wearing pink icing for his hair and facial features, I can assure you they are gingerbread women slippers,” I call out to him.

I can hear the sound of clothing rustling, and I know he’s slipping into some incredible designer suit. Minnie pops off the bed and goes into the walk-in closet, and soon I hear Beckham talking to her in what I call his “Minnie Pinny voice.”

“Minnie Pinny! Have you come to see Dad? Do you love your daddy?”

Swoon. It’s so freaking cute I can hardly stand it.

Oh, and it’s one of the 12,721 reasons why I love him.

Soon Beckham appears, looking hot as hell in black suit trousers and a white dress shirt. I pop off the end of the bed and move in front of him as he’s buttoning his shirt. “I think I’d like to help you in this endeavor,” I quip, taking over.

He groans. “You make me want to run the risk of being late today, Cupcake. Because now I want you to get me out of this shirt.”

“Oh no. That Beckham has stayed in Denver. Miami Beckham is early.”

I finish buttoning and he captures my hands with his. “That Beckham was the worst version of myself. With you, I’ve found the best version.”

Then his mouth captures mine for a kiss.

Mmm. I love his kisses.

I love him.

I move back and smile up at him. “I might have helped you find this version of yourself, but it was always there. Right here,” I say, putting my fingertips over his heart. “I couldn’t have helped you find something that didn’t exist.”

His eyes grow liquid. “Your belief in me means everything. I never want to let you down, Georgie.”

“You won’t,” I say simply. “Now go get your tie. I don’t want you to ruin your streak of being early.”

His mouth crooks up into a smile. “No, I don’t want to ruin that, either. Coach is pleased with me, but one slipup will send everyone questioning me and if my good behavior has been a temporary act and it was just a matter of time before the real Beckham showed up.”

He drops a kiss onto my forehead before going into the closet and retrieving a platinum tie and black suit jacket. Beckham tosses the jacket onto the bed, and I watch as he loops the tie around his shirt collar and knots it.

“You look so gorgeous in a suit.”

“Wait until you see how I look out of it later tonight,” he teases.

I chuckle at that, and he picks up his jacket and drapes it over his arm. “All right, I should go,” he says. “I’ll see you at the game.”

He leans over and kisses my cheek.

“Oh, Beckham?” I say as he pauses in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve washed your favorite tumbler and put it next to the coffee maker. So you can bring it as your accessory for when they shoot arrivals tonight.”

Beckham narrows his eyes at me, and I smile wickedly at him. “The pink tumbler with nutcrackers all over it,” he says flatly.

“Of course!”

He rolls his eyes. “Only for you, Cupcake.”

My heart is full. I bought that tumbler for Beckham as a joke, but he has taken it to every home game this month, and it’s gotten loads of comments on social media.

Basically, the girlies love him for it.

“Have a good game. See you later,” I say.

He grins and walks out of the room, with Minnie eagerly following behind him.

I putter around the bedroom a little bit, reviewing my purchases and answering some texts on my phone. I hear the garage door open and close, so I know Beckham is gone.

Okay. Time to get these gingerbread ornaments up in the kitchen, make myself a hot chocolate, snag a couple of cookies, and watch some wonderfully cheesy Christmas romance movie for a couple of hours.

I retrieve the box of ornaments and my phone from the bed and make my way to the stairs. I get about halfway down when my slipper slides off the step, throwing me completely off balance. I drop the ornaments and my phone and grab wildly for the banister, but all I get is a handful of the Christmas garland I’ve wrapped around it, which rips off in my hand. I scream as I try to right myself, but I can’t, and I fall down the stairs. Oh my God. Oh my God. Bang! My head smashes hard into the side wall, and I swear I see stars. Thud! Then I feel a sharp pain in my ribs. Thud! I roll over the ornaments and hear glass crush underneath me. Thud! Pain sears through my back as I continue to roll. My God, my neck! Why does my neck burn like this? I’m spiraling down the stairs, fighting to take a breath through the pain that is tearing through my body.

And then the world suddenly goes black.