Page 6

CHAPTER 6

GRIFFIN

“ S anta came! Time to open presents!” my dad shouts, pounding on my door as he walks past. Groaning, I open my eyes and look at the clock on my nightstand. It’s only eight o’clock. I was planning to take advantage of my day off by sleeping in. I hear a nearby door shut followed by another, and I realize everyone else has gone downstairs. Fuck me.

Sitting up, I slip from under the covers and stand. I stretch my arms over my head and yawn. I’m barely awake and I’m still tired. I might need a nap later. Grabbing a t-shirt from my dresser, I tug it over my head and step into the pajama bottoms Shirley gave me last night. I make a quick trip to the bathroom, then grab a ball cap from my dresser, pulling it on as I leave my room. My bare feet are silent on the cold wooden stairs as I descend. I hear voices coming from the kitchen, and head that way.

“Good morning,” I mumble.

“Merry Christmas, Griffin!” Shirley yells, hurrying toward me.

“Merry Christmas,” I echo as she hugs me. I give her a quick squeeze in return and draw back just in time for my dad to take a turn.

“Merry Christmas, son.” He thumps my back.

“Merry Christmas, Dad. I’m glad you’re here.” After the words leave my mouth, I realize I mean them. It’s nice to have someone to spend the holiday with.

“Me too. I’m glad we invited ourselves.” He chuckles.

I glance at Christine, who’s leaning against the island, clutching a coffee mug between her small hands and looking like my dad also woke her from a sound sleep. Her hair is in a knot on top of her head and she’s wearing the same red and green plaid pajama bottoms as the rest of us but somehow she looks adorable in them.

“Merry Christmas,” I say, tipping my chin toward her.

“Merry Christmas,” she mumbles back, looking like she’d rather be in bed. She blows on the contents of her mug before taking a long sip.

Opening one of the top cabinets, I grab a mug and fill it with coffee.

“Who’s ready for presents?” Shirley claps her hands together excitedly. “I made a breakfast casserole that should be ready in about forty minutes.”

That’s why I smell bacon. I thought I was imagining it because I’m so hungry.

Carrying my mug, I follow them into the living room area and settle in my favorite chair. There’s a large wall of presents that wraps around the front of the tree. “Where did all this come from?” I ask.

“Santa brought it,” Shirley says.

“From North Carolina?” I question.

“Yep. Santa shopped early,” Dad answers as he sorts through the presents, dividing them into two piles. “These are Griffin’s.” He points to the pile closest to me, then shifts his hand toward the other. “And these are Christine’s.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” I say.

Shirley rolls her eyes. “Oh, hush. What kind of Christmas would it be without presents?”

“Your visit is enough of a gift.” I never expected to wake up to this. I haven’t felt this surprised on Christmas morning since my mom was alive. After she passed, the holidays just weren’t the same.

I sip my coffee while Christine opens her gifts. There are books, yarn, clothes, and jewelry. She seems pleased with each item.

“Your turn,” Shirley tells me.

I pick up a present from the floor and tear the paper away, revealing a flannel shirt. “Thank you. I like this,” I say. It feels awkward with everyone watching me. I should’ve opened my gifts at the same time as Christine. The next two things I receive are socks and boxer briefs. I try not to think about how strange it is that Shirley picked out underwear for me. I guess she’s taking her new stepmom title to heart. The rest of the presents I receive are a daily inspiration calendar, winter gloves, a popular thriller book I’ve seen being promoted, and a framed picture of my dad and Shirley from their destination wedding. The photographer captured them sharing a look of pure happiness, reminding me once again how glad I am that my dad has a special someone to be with.

I hold up the frame. “This is a great picture of you two. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the wedding.”

“Don’t even mention it. We got married during football season. You can’t just skip a game,” Shirley says.

Rising from the chair, I cross the area and remove two envelopes from the mantel. I pass one over to Shirley. “This is for the two of you.”

Shirley’s smile is filled with gratitude. “Thank you. You didn’t need to get us anything.”

“I wanted to.”

Shirley tears open the envelope and opens the card. A plastic card slips out and my dad retrieves it from the floor. He and Shirley look over the popular restaurant gift card together and then he clears his throat. “Griffin, thank you. It’s too much.”

“Not at all. I figured you two can have a night out while you’re here or the next time you visit.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Dad says.

“It’s the least I can do,” I reply, moving over to where Christine is sitting on the floor. I hand off the other envelope. “Merry Christmas.”

She can’t mask the brief flicker of surprise that shows on her face before I notice. Her green eyes lift, meeting mine. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I return to my chair and watch her as she slides her finger in the upper corner of the sealed envelope. She carefully tears it open and removes the card. She reads the front, and when she opens it she lets out a happy squeak. Her wide-eyed gaze swings back to me and she beams. “Oh my God! She uncrosses her legs, rising from the floor, and then rushes over and throws her arms around me. “Thank you.”

I grin, feeling inordinately pleased with her reaction. I hug her back, holding her close, and school my features so our parents can’t see what our close proximity is doing to me. “You’re welcome.”

When she steps back, our eyes connect once more and her lips curve into a smile meant just for me.

“What did you get?” Shirley asks, gaining our attention.

“A gift card to a bookstore in Virginia Beach.”

“Sounds like your big brother already knows what makes you happy,” Shirley says.

“Griffin, I have something for you too.” Christine hurries over, plucking a package from between two branches on the side of the tree. She delivers it to me before taking a seat once more.

To say I’m surprised would be an understatement. I wasn’t expecting anything from her. Tearing the polar-bear-themed paper away, I find a charcoal gray scarf that looks like it was hand-knitted. I glance at Christine. “Did you make this?”

She nods, her cheeks suddenly rosy. “Yeah.”

The neat craftsmanship impresses me. There isn’t a single stitch out of place. “I love it. This will come in handy on all the early winter mornings on my way to the stadium. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her gaze darts to the gifts on the floor in front of her.

“Christine can knit all kinds of things. She’s very talented,” Shirley tells me.

“Okay, Mom.” With a wave of her hand, she dismisses her praise and begins carefully stacking her gifts in a pile.

It’s obvious she’s uncomfortable receiving compliments. Or maybe she doesn’t like having attention on her.

I scoop up my presents and stand. “I’m gonna put this in my room. I’ll be right back.” I head up the stairs, dropping everything on my bed. Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I pull up the chat I have with some of my teammates, and type out a message.

Me: Merry Christmas.

Cooper: Merry Christmas. Was Santa good to you?

Me: Yep. No coal for me. What about you?

Cooper: It’s been great so far.

Rogan: Merry Christmas. Hope you all have a great day.

Me: You too.

Thor: I’m about to stuff my face with homemade cinnamon rolls. All is well.

Me: Tell your mom I said hi and to save some for me.

As the only son in a family of girls, Thor’s mom spoils him rotten any chance she gets.

Thor: Fuck you. They’re mine and mine alone.

Me: Nice Christmas spirit, asshole.

Thor: It has nothing to do with Christmas. I never share baked goods.

Rogan: You selfish bastard.

Thor: You’re just jealous of my baked goods.

Rogan: You’re right. I am.

Cooper: I haven’t had Mrs. Sorensen’s baked goods yet. Am I missing out?

Me: Dude, you don’t even know.

Cooper: I feel it’s only fair that I get to try one.

Thor: Fuck off.

Rogan: Griffin, how’s the visit going with your new family?

Me: Better than I thought it would.

Or maybe worse considering my unexpected attraction to Christine.

Rogan: Glad to hear it.

Me: Speaking of, I’ve gotta go eat the breakfast casserole my stepmom made.

Cooper: See you soon.

We have practice tomorrow since Christmas fell on a Wednesday and then on Friday we fly out for an away game. I need to snap right back into competitive mode and get my eating back on track after two days of indulging, but I’ve done it before without problems.

I leave my room and follow the scent of bacon to the kitchen where Shirley is dishing out the casserole.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she says, scooping extra onto a plate before handing it to me, along with a fork.

“Oh, I am,” I reply. I sit on a stool at the island and take a bite. I taste eggs, cheese, hash browns, and bacon. It’s amazing. “Shirley, why couldn’t you have met my dad when I was in college and still living in North Carolina?”

She laughs. “Everything happens when it’s meant to.”

I’ve heard people say those same words for most of my life, but I don’t necessarily believe them. What about all the horrible things that happen? Was the timing meant to be for those too? There’s no logic I can subscribe to that allows me to think my mom passed away when she was supposed to. She was meant to live a long life with my dad and me, not die tragically in some fluke accident.

“You really believe that?” I ask.

She nods emphatically. “I do.”

“I think it’s something people say to make themselves feel better when shitty things happen.”

“I also believe positive things can come from horrible situations,” she says.

“I guess that can be true. When we play poorly it’s usually the kick in the ass we need to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’re still young. You have plenty of living to do and lessons to learn. Wait until you fall in love.”

I laugh. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon.”

“So you say. But I’m going to remind you it’ll happen when it’s meant to be.”

I can’t fall in love when I’m not putting myself in a position to do so.